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siren-in-the-shadow · 2 months ago

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Twisted Fate: Cazador X Reader

Chapter 4

Word Count: 3.1k Mentions: Mature Content, She/Her, Baldurs Gate III, Slow Burn

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Cazador stepped into Y/N’s room, fully expecting to find her awake and ready to tackle the day. Instead, he was met with the sight of her peacefully asleep, the soft rise and fall of her chest mesmerizing. He lingered by the doorway, a puzzled frown crossing his face. As he stood there, observing her serene expression, an unexpected sense of intrigue washed over him. “What if—” he began, but then shook his head, trying to push away the thoughts that threatened to distract him. This was no time for distractions; their mission demanded his full attention.

He walked over to her sleeping form, admiring her beauty while reassuring himself that it was permissible; after all, women were meant to be admired.

“Wake up,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. But Y/N only muttered a few incoherent “hm” sounds, her eyes still closed, blissfully unaware of his presence.

Cazador’s brow furrowed in annoyance, and as he reached out to shake her gently, she instinctively let her hand fall into his, her touch light and feeble, as if she were still lost in the comforting embrace of sleep.

“Hey Y/N” he spoke loudly, yet holding her hand softly.

“Daddy?...” she muttered softly, her voice laced with confusion, as if still caught between the waking world and the remnants of dreams.

Cazador was caught off guard, a slight blush rising to his pale skin at the sound of her sleepy voice. The term hung in the air, an unexpected pleasure blooming within him. He found himself indulging in the name for just a moment, knowing she was asleep and unaware of the effect her words had on him. The warmth of the situation wrapped around him like a soft blanket, igniting a thrill he didn’t expect.

As he observed her, he couldn’t help but take in the gentle curve of her features, the way her hair cascaded across the pillow, framing her face perfectly. A surge of arousal coursed through him, blurring the lines of propriety in the haze of morning light. Yet, he quickly shook off the thought, reminding himself of the mission that lay ahead.

Clearing his throat to regain his composure, he ordered, “Wake up,” this time with a firmer tone, determined to pull her from her slumber and remind her of the task ahead.

Y/N jolted awake, her heart racing as the sudden light flooded her vision. Panic surged through her as she processed the figure looming above her. Cazador stood there, his dark silhouette imposing and his piercing gaze locked onto her, sending a jolt of fear coursing through her. Confusion gripped her, and her mind raced, sputtering out questions that tumbled from her lips in a frantic rush.

“Where am I? It’s morning? What time is it? Why are you here?” Each question blended into the next, her thoughts a chaotic whirlwind as she struggled to grasp the reality of her surroundings.

Cazador raised an eyebrow at her frantic questions, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. “Calm down, little mouse,” he said, his tone smooth yet firm, aiming to steady her racing heart. “You’re in your room, and yes, it’s morning. We need to leave to find that wizard.”

Y/N panted softly, her heart still racing from the sudden wake-up call. As she fell back against the pillows, she rubbed her face with her hands, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Cazador’s gaze involuntarily flicked to her chest, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her breaths.

He found himself momentarily captivated by the way her body reacted to the panic and confusion, a slight, involuntary heat creeping up his neck as he quickly averted his eyes. “Hurry up,” he urged, masking the unexpected intrigue with his usual cool detachment. “We don’t have all day.”

A moment stretched between them, the air thick with unspoken tension as Cazador found himself still staring at her. The initial panic in Y/N’s eyes began to fade, replaced by a curious look as she took him in, her gaze traveling up and down his imposing figure.

“Tall you… how you that tall?”she stammered, propping herself up on her elbow and blinking up at him with a mix of confusion and lingering drowsiness.

Cazador’s brow arched slightly at her remark, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m not someone easily overlooked, little mouse,” he replied, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. He composed himself, stepping closer to tower over her. “So, are you going to get up on your own, or do I need to drag you out of bed?” His voice held a teasing edge, but the intensity of his gaze suggested there was more behind his words.

Y/N stretched, letting out a long yawn as she blinked up at Cazador. “I’m awake, I’m awake,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “Okay, just give me a minute to shower.” She pushed the covers aside, trying to shake off the remnants of her drowsiness as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

As Y/N stood and walked toward the large bathroom, she could feel Cazador’s gaze lingering on her, his eyes never leaving her form. “Ten minutes,” he said, his tone firm yet oddly protective.

When Y/N emerged from the washroom, she noticed that Cazador had vanished, leaving her alone in the room. However, her eyes were drawn to a neatly laid-out set of clothes on the made bed. The fabric looked comfortable yet elegant, perfectly suited for the day ahead. She quickly slipped into the outfit, feeling a mix of anticipation and curiosity about what awaited her.

Y/N walked down the long, dimly lit corridors, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. She reached the end of the hallway and paused, taking a moment to gather herself. With a hopeful smile, she called out, “I’m ready!” The words echoed softly in the silence, a small declaration of her determination to face whatever lay ahead.

As Y/N's voice echoed through the corridor, Cazador looked up from the book he was engrossed in. He sat in a large, ornate chair, one leg casually crossed over the other, an air of relaxed confidence about him. A smirk danced on his lips as he set the book down, his gaze sweeping over her.

“Well, look who finally decided to join the world of the awake,” he teased, his voice smooth and rich, tinged with amusement. “I was beginning to think you’d taken up permanent residence in that bathroom.” His eyes sparkled with playful mischief, clearly enjoying the light-hearted banter between them.

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a grin at his teasing. “I’m not that slow,” she replied, crossing her arms in mock annoyance as she approached him. “Some of us just need a little extra time to prepare for the day.” Her playful defiance hid the flicker of excitement in her chest at the prospect of their adventure ahead.

Cazador chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Well, you certainly look ready,” he said, his gaze appraising her outfit. “But remember, it’s not just about looking the part; we have a task to accomplish.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression turning serious for a moment. “We need to find that wizard.”

Y/N glanced around, the unfamiliar surroundings only heightening her sense of uncertainty. “I’m not familiar with this city,” she admitted, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice. “I’ll need you to lead me to where he is.”

Cazador paused for a moment, turning to face her. “He lives within the city, but on the outskirts,” he replied, his tone steady and authoritative. “It’s not a place you’d want to wander alone.”

She nodded "let’s get going,” she urged, determination shining in her eyes. Cazador gave a slight smirk, knowing that he’d be the one to guide her through the maze of the city

As they walked through the bustling streets, Y/N couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and curiosity. The vibrant colours and sounds of the city surrounded her, pulling her in like a magnet.

“Cazador,” she began, glancing up at him, “what’s this city known for? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He glanced down at her, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. “It’s known for its... unique charm,” he replied cryptically. “You’ll find a mix of cultures here, each adding its own flavour to the city.”

Y/N nodded, intrigued. “And the people? Do they always look this serious?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’ll get used to it. Many have their own battles to fight. But don’t worry; they’re not all unfriendly. Just... cautious.”

“What about you? Have you lived here long?”

“Long enough to know my way around,” he replied, his tone growing more serious. “But this city can change quickly. Always be on your guard.”

“Speaking of the city, how big is it?” she asked, glancing around at the winding streets and towering buildings.

Cazador considered her question for a moment before responding. “It shouldn’t take us more than thirty minutes to reach the outskirts. It’s not as sprawling as some places, but it’s easy to lose your way if you’re not paying attention.”

Y/N nodded, her curiosity now tinged with a hint of apprehension.

As they navigated through the throngs of people, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider. She glanced around, noticing the curious gazes directed at her, a mixture of intrigue and scrutiny in their eyes.

“I feel like some animal with the way people are looking at me,” she said, her voice laced with frustration. “What is it with this city?”

“This city feeds on curiosity,” he said coolly. “And pretty women are rare these days. Don’t take it personally.”

His tone was casual, but the subtle smirk tugging at his lips hinted at something more.

She rolled her eyes, a hint of sarcasm colouring her voice.

“Oh, great. I’m a rare commodity now. Just what every girl wants—to be stared at like some exotic animal in a cage.”

Y/N opened her mouth, ready to voice her thoughts, but was abruptly cut off by Cazador’s sharp tone. “Do you always have to ask so many questions?” he asked, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. “Sometimes, it’s better to just keep quiet and observe, especially in a place like this.” His eyes flicked toward the bustling crowd, emphasizing his point as he tried to balance his annoyance with a protective instinct.

Y/N’s voice softened, taking on a playful tone as she tilted her head up to look at him. “How will we pass the time, then?” she asked, her eyes searching his face. “I want to know you... I want to understand who I share this curse with. Don’t you want to know me too? Surely, you have questions of your own…”

Her words hung in the air, her curiosity evident. Cazador's eyes momentarily flashed with something indecipherable, but his demeanour remained unchanged. "Getting to know you serves no purpose in our current situation," he replied, his voice icy and detached. "What truly matters is the mission at hand."

Despite his cold composure, a flicker of softness crossed his features. “Knowing me would only complicate things.”

"Oh, you think you're the big bad wolf, huh?" Y/N shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "You're just a man" She teased.

A sharp laugh escaped Cazador's lips, though his eyes darkened as he stops walking to look down at her. "You think I’m just a man?" His voice was low, dangerous, as if daring her to challenge him further. "You have no idea what I am, or what I’m capable of."

He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers. "But, by all means, keep underestimating me, little one.

“Then tell me,” she challenged, her voice soft but daring. Her gaze locked onto his, searching for answers in the depths of his dark eyes. "I want to know."

Cazador glanced sideways at her, a bemused expression on his face. “What do you want to know?” he replied, his tone laced with mockery. “I’m a creature of habit—hunting, scheming, and surviving. Not exactly riveting stuff. But if you want a glimpse into my world, just remember it’s not all charming.” He paused, letting the weight of his words linger before continuing to walk.

Y/N fell silent for a moment, her mind racing as she tried to process his words. She opened her mouth to respond, but before the words could form, a faint, muffled cry drifted through the air from the opposite direction of the path. Her attention snapped toward the sound, her heart quickening. The cry was distant but unmistakable—distress. She squinted, trying to make out the source, her worry mounting. "Wait, what is that?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she strained to see.

Cazador turned his head to the left, quickly locking onto the small figure crumpled on the ground, resembling a wounded child. His instincts screamed at him—it was wrong, too perfectly placed, too vulnerable.

Before he could warn his little mouse, Y/N had already bolted forward, her instincts taking over as she rushed toward the seemingly injured child. Panic surged through him; he could sense the danger lurking beneath the surface of this city. He sprinted after her, determined to catch her before the mimic could strike.

In a heartbeat, he closed the distance, reaching her just as she was about to reach the child. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him as he hissed, “Shhhh, stop! It’s not real—it’s a damn mimic!” His grip tightened around her waist, anchoring her to him as he tried to steady her racing heart.

Y/N froze in shock, heart racing as she felt Cazador’s arms around her. Confusion washed over her, and it took a moment for her to gather herself. As her gaze fell upon the creature, her heart raced, and she gasped at the grotesque form of the mimic, its slimy surface glistening ominously in the dim light. The illusion of a child melted away, revealing the horrifying truth. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she muttered, her voice trembling as the reality of the situation sank in. Still in his arms, looking at the mimic, her eyes wide with fear, and whispered, “Thank you….”

Cazador gently released her, taking a moment to catch his breath after the sprint. As he looked at her, a flicker of care crossed his features before it was quickly overshadowed by frustration. “You need to listen to me!” he exclaimed, his voice sharp. “I could have told you it was a bloody mimic from a mile away!” With that, he grasped her arm firmly and began dragging her back toward the original path, his annoyance evident in his tone but his grip still protective.

As Cazador dragged her along the path, Y/N winced, feeling the pressure of his grip digging into her arm. “Ow, Ow! You’re hurting me!” Y/N gasped as Cazador gripped her arm tightly, pulling her away from the mimic. She winced, her eyes pleading as she searched for a hint of sympathy in his expression.

Cazador paused, his fierce facade softening for a moment as he glanced down at her. Realizing how tightly he was holding her, he reluctantly eased his grip. “I’m trying to keep you safe!,” he yelled, his tone losing some of its edge.

“I'm sorry, okay? But it looked like a baby! How could you just stand there? Do you really have no heart?” she retorted, frustration bubbling over as adrenaline coursed through her.

As Cazador released her arm, Y/N rubbed the spot where his grip had left a mark, a blend of irritation and lingering fear coursing through her. Ignoring her, he strode down the original path, his pace unrelenting.

“Hey, slow down! You’re walking too fast!” she shouted after him, quickening her steps to keep up. “Damn you, this isn’t a race!” Frustration boiling over, she sprinted forward and tried to shove him aside. To her annoyance, it barely budged him—he was solid as a wall.

Cazador turned around, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her try to shove him aside, clearly amused. “Is that supposed to be a challenge?” he quipped, an eyebrow arched in playful disbelief. “You might need a bit more strength to move me.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You sweet idiot, running straight into a mimic like that.”

“Why didn’t you warn me? I could’ve seriously hurt myself!” she huffed, stepping closer to confront him and pressing her hand against his chest. “Are you really that heartless that you don’t care about me at all? Not even to fucking warn me?”

Cazador’s expression darkened, and he snapped, “You think I’m heartless? I’m trying to keep you alive!” His voice took on a haughty edge, dripping with disdain. “I should have warned you, but let’s be clear—I told you to always be on your guard, didn’t I?” He shoved her shoulder, his irritation palpable. “Your safety only matters because it directly affects me. If you get hurt, I suffer the consequences.”

He reached out and grasped her hand, pulling her closer as he pointed to the sigil on their wrists. “This hellish thing binds us, Y/N. If you’re in danger, so am I.” He spat the last words, frustration evident in his voice, though a flicker of concern lingered beneath his cold exterior.

As she processed his words, the weight of his self-interest became clear. There was no surprise, no flicker of hope that his concern extended beyond his own immortality. Of course, he only cared because it directly affected him—anything else would have been out of character. The realization felt oddly familiar, a reminder of the cold, transactional nature of their bond. After a moment of contemplation, she sighed, shaking her head slightly. “Okay, let’s just move on, please. But in the future, can you at least try to communicate with me better?”

Cazador took a slow breath, nodding as his eyes flickered to the glowing sigil on their wrists. A smug smirk tugged at his lips as he traced a finger lazily over her mark. “Well done. You've managed to make it worse,” he muttered, the tension in his posture easing just a little. His fingers slipped away from her hand, amusement and irritation dancing in his gaze. “Come on. Walk with me.”

They walked in silence for a while, stealing glances at each other, yet somehow managing not to get caught. Both were lost in their thoughts as their minds raced.

As Y/N opened her mouth to ask how much longer, Cazador cut her off, saying, “Look,” and pointed to a small cottage in the distance.

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Hello darling, Thank you for reading!

Please like/reblog if you enjoyed :)

OMGGGG I wrote this chapter wearing my Astarion T-Shirt I was giggling so hard at the irony. My sweet boy.

-Siren

#baldurs gate 3 #cazador x tav #cazador x reader #cazador szarr #bg3 astarion #bg3 cazador szarr #bg3 cazador #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 cazador #Twisted Fate Series

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daisyofwaterdeep · 1 day ago

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Hiii it’s the Caz anon again!! Thank you for the kind response 🫶 I have a few prompts I’d like to request but to make it easier I’ll send them as different asks! (Also don’t feel the need to get these done fast!! ik I’m in line behind like 30 people lol)

1) Everyone around them thinks Cazador is the dominant one in the bedroom based on public appearances, how reader often does not speak unless spoken to and never leaves his side and how Cazador is well, Cazador. But in reality, Cazador is sooo tired from his long nights of tormenting spawn and negotiating with Nobels that all he wants is for his service dom partner to ride him until he can’t think straight (BDSM, femdom, Cazador secretly likes being humiliated)

'Punishment'

Cazador/Reader Contains: sub/dom dynamic, spanking, blood drinking, handjobs

!NSFW!

He's in a terrible mood. A night of rubbing elbows with the upper crust is already enough on his plate, but to then come home and find that his spawn were only able to procure a single human for dinner...Even punishing the vermin wasn't enough to shake the air of foulness he can feel rolling off of him.

Still speckled and smeared with spawn blood, he marches straight to your chambers. The moment he lays eyes on you, lounging comfortably in an armchair in a sheer-fabric nightie with a book in hand, he feels the frustrated tension in his muscles loosen.

You don't look up at him immediately, your eyes flitting down the rest of the page before slowly dog earing your spot. You sit up more straight in your chair and lay the book on the side table before finally aknowledging his presence.

"You're late." Your eyes rake over him briefly, "And filthy."

Cazador inclines his head, "Forgive me."

"Oh, darling. You know better than that, don't you?" You beckon him forward and put your hand up to stop him in front of you. "I don't give forgiveness. I give punishment."

Cazador can feel it like a physical thing--the weight of the day, the anger, the frustrations, they're slipping off of him like water over feathers. He's sinking into that exciting and still unfamiliar place of letting go, of relinquishing himself. The fresh blood in his veins moves faster as you twirl a finger in the air and give your command.

"Undress."

He does so, a sense of numb euphoria blanketing him as he lets his mind go blank, knowing that he doesn't need to think right now, only obey.

Bare before you, he stands still as you look him over. His ears twitch and his cock stiffens under your wandering gaze.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"But not enough."

"No."

You reach a hand out, letting your fingers brush against the dip of his hip. "I'll get you fed, darling. Don't worry about that. But first," You adjust yourself in the chair before patting your thighs, "Across my lap."

Gods, how he loves you. The way you can tell his hunger and anger just from a look. How you know exactly what he wants. How your warm thighs feel against his stomach as he rests his weight against you. The feeling of your hand, gliding over the backs of his legs, down the curve of his spine.

And he loves the pain of your hand coming down, the flat of your palm connecting cleanly against the fat of his ass with a sharp noise. He jolts against you, his swollen cock bobbing against the side of your thigh.

"Count them for me, love."

He draws in a hitching breath and lets it out, "One."

Another hit, in the same spot. He can feel the blood rushing down, filling his cock and reddening his ass, leaving him feeling light-headed.

"T...two."

You deliver your punishment with slow, lingering slaps, his voice starting to tremble and raise with each one as the sting builds to a burn. You alternate cheeks, then give the backs of his thighs the same treatment. His thoughts are slow and lurching and dark blotches appear in his vision, like inkstains. His lips catch on his fangs as he pants out each number-- 18, 19, 20, 21...

His body has stopped jerking with each hit. Cazador hangs limply against your lap, his cock oozing thick strands of precum that dangle from him before falling onto the carpet. Tears prickle his eyes and run down the sides of his nose, clogging his throat and making the whine in his voice more pronounced as he counts out obediently, mind now blank.

27, 28, 29...

Another slap comes down, but this time, your hand stays. He whimpers out a weak "Thirty," and shivers as your fingers smooth over his sore skin.

"Very good," You coo to him, brushing a lock of hair behind his quivering ear, "You always take your punishments so well."

Boneless and weak, he sniffles as you gently ease him up, supporting him as you both make your way to the bed. The cool satin of the sheets against his burning skin makes him gasp and shiver with relief. You slide into bed next to him, brushing more of his long black hair from his face.

"Would you still like to eat?"

Cazador groans, his arm already snaking around your back to pull you closer, "Yes."

You let your head fall to the pillow, exposing the side of your neck. He can already see it-- the flutter of your pulse just under the skin, beckoning him in. He feels like a fledgling again, hungry and desperate to the point of delirium. He resists the juvenile urge to duck down and tear your throat open, but still finds himself being far too rough. He bites harshly into your neck, his teeth puncturing your carotid artery with practiced ease.

And then bliss. The first pump of your blood fills his mouth and brings him to life, the taste flooding him as his eyes roll closed and his sighs through his nose. He sucks and gulps greedily, groaning into your neck as his stomach warms with you.

Your soft hand slides up his thigh and grabs his still-leaking cock. His groans shift into high whines as you begin stroking him, first in time with each pull of his mouth, and then with the speed of your own heartbeat. It's mesmerizing, like he's being consumed with the rhythm of you. It's ecstacy, and love, and adoration, and everything to him in that moment.

Cazador spills against you with a desperate whimper, his entire body shuddering before relaxing. Only when your hand stills does he realize that your heartbeat has grown weak, and he quickly lifts his teeth from you, laving at the punctures with his tongue.

"My apologies, love." He cups your face and draws your gaze up to him, "I took more than I should have."

Your eyes seem dazed, but they still sparkle with your vitality. You smile and roll over on your back, drawing his head to your chest.

"Nothing a little sleep and a potion of healing won't handle." You begin petting him, smoothing out the silken strands of his hair, "Do you feel better?"

Cazador nods against you, then moves his head until he finds your heartbeat once more.

"Do you want to talk about whatever happened today?"

He sighs, draping an arm around your stomach, "Perhaps tomorrow. For now, I only wish to hold you close and sleep."

You trace the edge of his ear, voice lowering down to a whisper. "Then sleep well, my love, and sweet dreams."

Obeying your orders had never been easier.

#cazador szarr #cazador x reader #daisy dabbles #nsft #requests #oh #to spank a vampire.....god i wish that were me

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year ago

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Kidnapped Astarion

I have a very specific thing I can't stop thinking about. That involves Astarion getting kidnapped by Cazador for the ritual and him taunting him over the lie that Tav gave him away. Sold him even.

Tw: Lies, manipulation, mentions of torture, bad times had all around, it's long as fuck, betrayal (or at least the lie of it). Like Cazador is involved so all bad. Very bad. This also has VIOLENCE. Like canon game violence but it is BLOODY. You've been warned. Also happy ending :)

So now let's get to that angst:

It had all happened so fast.

One moment Astarion was laid back in the tent you share, reading a mediocre book as he impatiently waited for your return. He loathed when you went out without him, even if it was for good reason. He wasn't exactly welcome company when it came to solving Gale's problems, especially when it came to the bomb nestled in chest. You both knew his inability to keep his sarcastic quips to himself would not be an asset while exploring a sacred library. Besides, he didn't have much room to complain, not when he accompanied you on ninety-nine percent of your outings.

But that didn't mean he had to like it. Even if it was shaping up to be a nice, uneventful evening. He had set your tent a little farther away from the others, considering the complaints that some....well most had made about the volume of your nightly activities. It was quiet, peaceful even. The atmosphere tranquil enough for him to fully relax.

What a mistake that had been.

When the flap of the tent opened he didn't even look up, fully expecting it to be Shadowheart or Lae'zel coming round to dig about in his darling's things. It made sense, considering how it was one of the few times they wouldn't be risking walking in on something. You had such a bad habit with that "open door" policy of yours. One that had exposed nearly every party member to quite the show. Though in Astarion's view, they were just unreasonable. When you were both loud they complained. When you were quiet and they walked in on it they would whine even more. How could you win with people like that?

Perhaps a sign on the door would have done the trick, but Astarion would be lying if he didn't enjoy the others being fully aware of who could make you cry and moan. The risk was just more thrilling, if not the slightest bit annoying.

But the intruder was staying still at the opening, quiet as could be. It was odd enough to have Astarion glancing upward, his heart stopping in his chest at what he saw.

It was a man, frantically muttering something under his breath. A man that he recognized. The idiotic Petras, trying to cast some kind of incantation. It had Astarion scrambling upward, reaching for his dagger. But it was already too late. The spell was finished and Astarion could feel his senses start to fade away, one by one.

He had gotten sloppy, relying on the safety of camp that had never existed. And now he was paying the price, and what a price to pay. Even as he fell to the magic, one feeling managed to stay in place until the bitter end.

Terror.

And then, he felt nothing at all.

The next thing Astarion knew he was being awakened by a slap of cold water to his face, blinking up into horrifyingly familiar light. He immediately recognized where he was. The torture room, his arms hanging from the ceiling, his toes barely scraping the floor. It hurt to be suspended like this, a pain he was still so familiar with despite going months without. And in front of him was the cause of it all, sneering at him like the maniac he was.

Cazador.

"You're finally awake," He grinned, dropping the bucket that was in his hands, "You've been a very bad boy Astarion. Just what am I to do with you?"

Astarion wanted to answer, to curse at him, maybe even beg to just be left alone, but nothing came out. He was too stunned, too stupefied that he ended up here after everything he'd gone through. Everything you'd gone through. How could it end like this?

"I don't fully know what you were up to with all that time away from your family," Cazador continued, stepping close enough for Astarion to feel his disgusting breath on his skin, "But I think I may have the gist. Galivanting around with your merry-band of degenerates. Seems fitting."

Astarion gave a full-bodied flinch when Cazador started to graze along his collarbones with a gentle finger, his touch freezing and revolting. The gentleness wouldn't last, Astarion was surprised it was even there to begin with.

He should have realized there was a reason for it.

He trailed up his neck, stopping to trace a bruise you had left the night before. If only he had known that it was almost certainly the last time he would get to touch you. The realization was nearly enough to bring tears to Astarion's eyes, but he refused to cry in front of this creature, not if he could help it.

"Seems like you may have even found yourself a favorite amongst them. Tell me pet, who was it?"

"Fuck you." Astarion spat out, his fury managing to shine through his despair.

Astarion expected a hard slap for the insolence, but instead Cazador just laughed, loud and full-bellied, "You've gotten quite the temper since you've been away, haven't you? I wonder where that came about?"

It was a false question, Astarion could tell from the way his eyes were crinkled. Like a child excited to reveal a surprise. Cazador answered it for himself, "Is it that lovely little thing that you've been following around. Gods, what's their name again...Tav, is it?"

"Don't you dare say her name," Astarion growled, his righteous fury overcoming the ever-growing terror and dread, "They have nothing to do with this!"

"Oh but they do," Cazador grinned, stepping back to do one of his famous gloating sessions, "Just how do you think I found you? Luck? No my dear, you were given."

Astarion's answer was as immediate as it was hateful, "You're lying! You know nothing of them. Nothing of us."

He won't believe it, he has no reason to. You...you loved him. And you were probably looking for him as they spoke. You would never betray anyone like this, least of all him.

But Cazador remained unphased. If anything he was looking at him with pity, "Oh you poor thing. You think she cares? You think she loves you? I'm disappointed Astarion, it seems you've learned nothing from our time together. What is there to love, hm? Nothing that I can see. Though...they sure did seem to love the gold. You fetch quite the high price my dear. But it will be worth it."

Lies. It was all lies. It had to be. Astarion shoved his uncertainty back down, bellowing out, "Liar!"

It was forceful enough to even make Cazador falter for the briefest of moments, a split second that anyone else would have missed. But he pressed on, shaking his head, "Darling, don't you find it strange that you were all alone that day? That no one came to your aid? Where do you think you're love was, hm? Wait, don't tell me. I can remember...ah yes! With Gale, correct?"

Astarion swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. How...how did he know that?

"It was a fabulous excuse, was it not?" Cazador continued with a laugh, "We came up with that one together. After a little fun that is. I can see why you fell for their treachery Astarion, they are quite lovely, aren't they?"

No. No, no, no.

"Stop it," Astarion hissed, "Shut your mouth. I-It's not true."

"Oh but it is. I'm not sure if you're aware but you're quite the headache darling, not many can handle it. Not including myself. She even told me of that hilarious speech you gave. About wanting something real. It was just as funny to her as it was to me."

Astarion stared at him, at a complete loss for words. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. But...how else would he know that? In a camp full of people why did no one come to his aid? But the cruelty of it all...it was exactly the type of thing Cazador was versed in.

Setting up the same type of trap that he'd trained Astarion for, that he had used on others countless times. And he fell for it, he lost the game he thought he'd mastered.

His faith was slipping, hard and fast when he asked the horrible question, "How do you know that?"

"Because I sent them to you," He said with that disgusting grin, "It was no coincidence that you met. You were kidnapped, I needed you back, so I hired some help. It's a pity that they were captured as well. The pause to our plans was quite inconvenient. Our Tav just can't help but get distracted, can she?"

"No..." The word slipped out of Astarion without his consent, his mind racing. That couldn't be true. It didn't make sense. T-There had to be another explanation. If he could just think he'd find it. But...what point was there? He was already captured, taken. If anything, all of this being a grand scheme from Cazador was more logical than someone loving him.

He had gone through many, many tortures during his time here. Unspeakable, horrible things that he would never wish on anyone, excluding the man in front of him. But this...this was the worst thing he'd ever done to him. He had tricked him, you had tricked him, and he whole-heartedly fell for it, like the fool he was. The fool he would die as.

He didn't know it was possible, but this would be the greatest pain he ever knew. He was sure of that. Cazador had managed to do it. He had broken him, finally.

His tears were falling on their own accord, plentiful and pathetic. Cazador cooed at him, tracing his cheek with his horrid hand, "It hurts, doesn't it? I missed that expression on you my boy. You were always at you're prettiest when you had given up."

He wiped Astarion's tears away, gently holding his face as he spoke, "If only this was enough. The things I want to do to you for running away... I want to make you scream, make you beg for death. Just like how things used to be. If only we had the time."

Cazador let go, stepping back with a sigh, "How I wish that they had gotten you to me earlier. Though it's too late to pout about it now, the preparations are almost complete. But don't fret my boy, your end will have the meaning that your life failed to posses. Come along now."

Astarion hung there, limp as Cazador unhooked him from above. This was it. He was going to die here, as nothing but a pawn. He didn't even try to fight it when he was led down, deep into the palace to a place he'd never known existed. He kept his eyes closed for most of the journey, simply for the fact that he didn't have the strength to keep them open.

It was...a horrendous feeling to be incased in that red energy, floating in the air with all of his brothers and sisters as Cazador finished his preparations. It forced his eyes open against his will, making him see the hell that had been hiding beneath his feet all these years. He had been wrong about the sacrifice it seemed, it wasn't just them. There were thousands of bodies, barely alive in hanging cages, strewn throughout the place.

It was horrible, but fitting. Where else would something like him die? All he wished was that Cazador would hurry, so he could be done with it all. He has to much time to think in these last moments, too much time to examine your betrayal.

He...hates you. For it all. He hates you more than anything, enough for that same fury to come bubbling back to the surface. How dare you do this to him, after everything you'd been through. He should have killed you while you slept, while you let him drink from your throat. He should have killed them all, the vile sacks of shit.

If his soul ever found it's way back from the hell it was about to be damned too, he'd find you. His revenge was no longer reserved for Cazador, but for the wretched bitch hat tortured him in ways he didn't even think were possible. He'd do worse to you than anyone could imagine.

You were the cruelest thing to ever exist, as heartless and horrid as the monster before him.

So why was he still crying over it?

It didn't matter anyway. Not now. Now, all he could do was wait for the bitter end.

But then...he felt something. A familiar presence tickling the back of his mind. A barely there whisper, no words that he could make out. But it was getting stronger. Clearer.

It...it was you. Calling out to him with your illithid connection, begging for an answer.

My love, where are you? Astarion please, please tell me your there. Help me find you.

He can scarcely believe it. But he wasn't going to wait for his emotions to catch up to what could be an escape. He was screaming in his brain, trying to send out any signal that he could.

I'm here. I'm here. Don't let him take me. Please.

He could hear you in his head, the sheer relief from your mind nearly overwhelming, I'm coming. Hold on, I'm coming.

Astarion didn't even have the time to doubt. Because the next moment you were bursting through the ornate doors, nearly your entire team in tow.

Astarion had never seen you look the way you did then. He was so used to your kindness, the warmth and light that you tried to spread everywhere you went. You were always smiling, always laughing, always trying to share the same with others.

But now you were breathing hard, near feral in your posture as your eyes darted around, landing straight to the shocked Cazador. You looked murderous, vicious enough to send a shiver down Astarion's spine. Your teeth were bared, your whole body trembling with rage as you started to advance, weapons already drawn.

And in that moment Astarion was sure that you were the most gorgeous, perfect thing he had ever seen. Or ever would.

It was brutal, bloody battle. One that ended with you slitting Cazador's throat as Astarion watched in awe. You let the body fall to the ground, blasé before you finally ran to him, releasing him from his prison.

Then he was being pulled into the most crushing hug of his entire life. One that he was helpless to return. He clung to you, uncaring for their rather large audience.

He was too busy burying his face into your hair, breathing you in as you whispered into his shoulder, "Thank the Gods that you're still here."

The pain in your voice was so raw, so real. Astarion needed no other evidence to be sure that every word from the dead man's lips had been a lie. He was also positive that he had never cried this much in his life, but now it was a different kind of sob he was trying to choke back. The flood of relief was crushing, the truth that your love was real was nearly enough to destroy him all over again. Not for cruelties sake, but to make something new. To kill every last doubt he had that he was nothing, worthless. How could he be when you were here? When you came for him?

He pulled back reluctantly, smiling down at you with tear tracks on his face. He kissed your forehead, covered in sweat and blood, and gods knows what else.

It was all finally over. You both turned to the rest of the group, your hands clasped together as you made your way to where Cazador lay dead. It was satisfying to see, but such a shame that Astation wasn't the one to do the deed. A regret he'd have for the rest of his days.

Or so he thought.

But then you were turning to Shadowheart, your sweet face curling back into the disgust from earlier when you ordered, "Revive him."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as she did what she was told. Cazador came back into consciousness, in what looked to be an extremely unpleasant experience. He was coughing blood, the spell doing just enough to mend his mortal wounds, but not nearly powerful enough to give him a fraction of his strength back. He stared upwards, his eyes wide at the sight of you lording over him.

And for the first time in two hundred years, Astarion saw fear in the other man's eyes. Wonderfully delicious fear.

He felt you squeeze his hand as he stared at him, speaking quietly, "He's yours. To do with what you please. Do...do you want us here for this?"

He could hear the hidden meaning in your words. This wasn't just a choice of what to do with him. It was a choice of what to do with them all. He had taken notice that he was the only one that you had freed, his brethren still suspended in air.

He turned to you, his voice strong for the first time since he'd come back to this pit, "I want you here for this."

You nodded before looking back to the others to tell them to wait outside. They did so reluctantly, obviously without confidence in his decision making abilities. He ignored the especially worried look Karlach sent his way, too focused on the piece of vampiric trash in front of him.

Cazador was still coughing, his mouth forming more vile words, "Y-You don't have to do this. I can-"

"Silence," Astation seethed, partly surprised when it worked to shut him up. But then again, he had never been placed in a position to see his master be the one without an escape, "Your life is in my hands now. Tell me the truth. How did you find me?"

Astarion could see the fury behind his eyes, the humiliation of being ordered around by his own spawn. But his desire for life won out in the end.

"Luck," he spat out, "Sheer luck. Yomen saw you in the city, at Shar's Caress with this one. He followed you, found your camp and reported back. I sent Dalyria and Petras to fetch you, gave them a powerful sleeping scroll to knock out your allies. And then you were mine again."

Astarion shouldn't have been surprised that he had the audacity to glare at Tav, seething, "Or at least you would have been."

"And my memories?" Astarion pressed, "How did you know of us?"

"The tadpole squirming behind your eyes doesn't change the fact that I am your master," Cazador said, "Your mind is mine to shape, to understand. It was more difficult than before, yes. But I had enough to know what to say."

Of course. He should have known, "So that was your last torture then?"

"Yes," Cazador said simply, a sneer managing to appear on his bloodied face, "And you have to admit, it worked wonderfully."

"You can kill him now if you'd like," You piped up from his side, staring down at the vampire like the trash he was, "Or...you can take his place."

You hesitated for a brief moment before steeling yourself, looking Astarion in the eye, "Whatever you choose, I'll be here for you. I promise."

Astarion nodded, weighing his options. It was so very difficult to not just kill him where he laid, like the pathetic dog he was. But then again...the ritual would mean endless power. Power that he could use to protect himself, to protect you. So nothing like this could ever happen again.

Astarion looked up, his eyes searching every last one of his brothers and sisters faces. They looked scared, perhaps even resigned to their fate. Just at the hands of another. Astarion hadn't expected the image to make him feel ill, yet it did.

Could he do it? Sacrifice them all, along with everyone else trapped in the bowels of their personal hell? He could. He knows he could. Yet...

He looked back at you, the only thing he had ever loved. The one person to show him a different way to live, who was giving him the freedom to be his own person. But... he wanted that person to be someone worthy of you. Someone who would make you proud.

And there was only one way to do that. Astarion let go of your hand, reaching for the dagger you kept at your belt before striding over to Cazador. He stabbed him with little fanfare, no warning, no chances to beg. And then he did it again, and again, and again. Until he lost count, until the body of his former master was mutilated, his chest nothing but unrecognizable gore.

He wasn't quite sure when he started crying again. He only realized it when he could barely breath through his own screams, every bit of rage, hurt, and humiliation that had been beaten into him coming straight to the surface. He sunk to his knees as he sobbed, tossing the knife to the side.

The whirlwind inside of him was too much, so overwhelming that he was afraid he'd be lost to it. But then he could feel it, you wrapping your arms around him, kneeling next to him as he broke down.

He clung to you, burying his face into your neck as he cried, desperate for your comfort, your touch. You were crying too he realized, your voice breaking as you gently spoke to him, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should have been there to protect you. I love you, you did the right thing. I'm sorry."

You had nothing to apologize for, but that didn't stop your words from acting like a soothing balm to all of his internal wounds. But he would get through this. Because for the first time Astarion knew, without a shadow of a doubt he wouldn't have to get through it alone. With you by his side, he would never be alone again.

He wasn't sure how long you both spent there, kneeling in a pool of his tormentors blood. But he knew he felt different when he pulled away, changed.

Free.

He cupped your face, wiping away your tears while only managing to smear the mess about. But it didn't matter that you were both covered in blood and viscera, not when he had you.

"I love you too," Astarion whispered, finally allowing himself to unload the burden of hiding away from you. No more of that. He was yours, fully and completely, "I love you so much. I-I thought that this was it. That I'd never see you again. That you betrayed me-"

"Never," You interrupted, your voice fierce despite how it was breaking, "I never will. You're all I want, all I need. I should have been there, I'm so sorry-"

"No more apologies," Astarion murmered, pressing a quick kiss to your bloody mouth, "No more. We're here. That's all that matters."

You nodded, kissing him again, so sweet despite everything that should have made it sour. Despite his own words, Astarion couldn't help the white hot shame that passed through him. How could he have doubted you, even for a moment? Doubted this, the most beautiful that ever happened to him. Never again would he question what you had together, to let his mind be poisoned by others.

But there would be more time for the two of you later. The rest of your lives if he had anything to say about it. But for now...you freed him. And it was his turn to do the same.

Astarion pulled back, sighing as he looked around the room at his brethren. They were still hanging in the air, all privy to quite the show. He freed them, forgave them even, despite every horrid thing they'd done to eachother over the years.

But that didn't stop him from clocking Petras squarely in the face the second his feet touched the floor. The other man took it well enough, fully knowing that Astarion was capable of much, much worse. Though he was well aware that Petras had been compelled to kidnap him, it didn't change the fact that the punch was very satisfying.

As for the rest of the spawn, the thousands trapped here, he let them go as well. Down to the Underdark, where they could at least have a chance of controlling their feral nature before associating with mortals again.

Then it was time to leave this wretched place, forever. He would never be hurt here again, never controlled. He was free, finally. And with you by his side, what else could he ever ask for?

#astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 cazador #hes such a piece of shit #but I feel like this is something he would totally do #happy ending #but god damn that was rough #angst #a lot of angst #its there #front and center #long fic #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #im feeling spawn astarion man #i started this side blog for the ascended version but...#spawn is bae #female tav

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morgana-ren · 1 year ago

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i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion spoilers #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #heh that last one messed yall up huh #heres a fix for it #SUPER sappy FYI #SO ENJOY!#I don't usually write sap (or angst) so I am bad at this #sorry its bad fellas #I GENUINELY could not think of a way for him to fix him becoming her cazador so uh #have a retconn #call this a fast fixer upper lmao

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eefos · 2 days ago

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HD pics of Aaron in Kraven the Hunter.

#aaron taylor johnson #atj #kraven the hunter #Kraven #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven el cazador #kraven movie #kraven x reader #sergei kravinoff #sergei kravinoff x reader #nosferatu #28 weeks later #tangerine #bullet train tangerine #the fall guy #James bond

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devoted-tiefling · 1 year ago

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#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #cazador szarr #THE COMMENTS KILL ME

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vampiresfromxenon · 1 year ago

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I Wanted To

Astarion x gn! Reader/Tav

Almost 3.5k words

Tags: Fluff, kisses, cuddling, angst, biting mention, no use of y/n, words of affection (so much sappiness), soft! Astarion, they’re in love your honor!!

CW: Slight mentions of SA and trauma (extremely minor, incredibly light piece)

Summary: You and Astarion decide to start your relationship over once you both confess your feelings. It's a mutual decision to take things extremely slow, celebrating little victories of intimacy here and there. Tonight, you can't hide your words of affection as he becomes more comfortable and vulnerable around you.

It’s been a few months traveling with this rowdy crew, and you can’t help but smile thinking about how much you love them all. Granted, they all piss you off on the daily, what from Shadowheart and Lae’zel attempting to kill each other, to Gale eating your favorite pair of enchanted gloves, but you can’t help yourself from smiling every time you think about how close you’ve all grown. One particular member in the party you have become very close with stands out a bit more than the rest, and thoughts about him are enough to make you unsettlingly giddy.

For the longest time, you and the pale elf fought your feelings, too cold to warm up to each other. You both had a wicked past, something that tainted your current perceptions of love and romance. His may have been far more extreme than yours, but regardless of that fact, your feelings and emotions were still valid. For a short few weeks, you found yourselves being extra intimate, dismissing it all as stress relief and nothing more. Those little excursions were merely there as a form of self protection: He gained your trust and protection, and you felt less alone and vulnerable at night. Or, so you thought, until you noticed how distant he was, his eyes never meeting yours every time he sought to pleasure you.

It wasn’t until recently that these barriers slowly began to be chipped away for the both of you, your infatuation not only becoming more real, but unfortunately, more terrifying. One night, you approached him, being brave and understanding if he had other thoughts about what you two could be. It was late, most of the camp either asleep or preparing for bed. You approached him, a soft hand on his shoulder, even though he was well aware you were there. What you were there for though, remained a mystery to him. He turned, smiling at you, taking your hand and kissing it affectionately. As your heart raced, you began a discussion with him, asking his thoughts and feelings about your ‘connection’ rather than just bombarding him with an overwhelming confession of love.

He seemed stunned to say the least, unsure of what to say or how to feel. It was strange for him, his cold heart beating a little faster, feeling a little warmer at the sight of you in front of him, actually seeing him for him and not just another plaything. All these feelings were bubbling up inside him because, for the first time in a long time, someone not only asked him what he wanted in a romantic relationship, but they respected anything he said on that subject matter. In all his nervousness, he felt that he could be honest in his reciprocation to see how far you two could go, this time with real feelings. That was a few weeks ago, and all this time since has been magical.

You haven’t intimately slept together since just before that night, instead establishing boundaries and focusing more on the non-sexual ways to be intimate, loving, and kind. He loves the way your hand brushes his, the way your fingers interlace with his as he moves in to hold your hand. You love the way his hand lands on your back, stretching to your hip to pull you closer to him, especially when meeting new people from town to town. While you still struggle with eye-contact in general, it feels easier around him, especially now since he has found himself to be more comfortable actually looking at you, taking in your appearance and being more present in your conversations.

For many nights now, you’ve been cuddled up nicely in one or the other’s tent, fingers interlaced, hands gently wrapped around hips, legs occasionally intertwined. He still continues to feed on you, though he makes sure to gain your permission before bed each night. On the nights where you felt too tired, too drained mentally even, he would leave you be, hoping to keep you as comfortable as possible. Those nights were just as romantic, as you could feel his breath against your neck as he cuddles you tightly, his lips on your shoulder as he falls into the soft rhythm of sleep.

Tonight didn’t start off any differently from any other night; you both gathered in his tent, doing your nightly routines as per usual (always before promptly passing out until the next morning hit you like a boulder). Most nights he would wear a nice, silky pajama set, one he purchased from an unreasonably expensive fashion designer in a small village. You didn’t have as luxurious of pajamas, but yours still covered most of your body, keeping you feeling safe and snuggled up each night.

Neither of you expected that this night would change everything.

He’s standing off to the side of your shared bedroll, changing into his pajamas while your back is turned to him, fiddling with the blanket you both share. You notice just how used this blanket is, and you realize that it might have been the only thing giving him comfort, the feeling of security over the past 200 or so years. Astarion was far from one to share, whether it was his feelings or his belongings, and it isn’t long before you have a second realization: you are possibly the only person to have ever slept with that blanket besides him. Your fingers gently roll the decaying fabric between your fingers, taking in all of his memories that have been exhausted on the threads.

You hear him walking over and you drop your thoughts about the blanket, not wanting to pry into more of his distressing past. He kneels, picking up the blanket and sliding next to you, your bodies touching in an instant. Turning your attention away from the blanket, you look up to see your love is shirtless, moving around in the bedroll, trying to be more comfortable at your side.

You know just how insecure he is about his scars from Cazador, that disgusting, vile, treacherous bitch, but it was so lovely to see him stepping out of his comfort zone. While you’re quick to notice this new change, he’s even quicker to notice your reaction. Diving back into his comfort charm, he smirks at you, loading a phrase to protect his vulnerable side.

“Like what you see, darling?” His eyes flutter to the side a bit, and you immediately notice his withdrawal from the conversation. With a calm and gentle hand, you caress his cheek, turning his attention back to you.

“I always love what I see…” You smile, your eyes looking at him in such a way that your face beams with pride, though you try to find a balance between that and neutral so as to not overwhelm him. To see just how much he trusts you, is willing to open up to you and be vulnerable… Your heart can barely take it. In a quiet voice you’re sure to check in on him, wanting to make sure he feels secure in his choice. “Don’t feel you have to do this for me though, okay?”

His hand reaches up to hold yours against his cold cheek, his stare suddenly becoming more present. “I wanted to.” His voice is low, his hand taking yours off his face as he leans in gently to kiss your palm. He kisses your forehead before moving to lie down, making himself comfortable in your small space.

You sit there for a moment, considering your options. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but you want him to be aware that you feel the same sense of shared comfort. As he turns to the side, looking at a book he left on the ground earlier, you move to remove your shirt, tossing it off to the side. He moves the book away from you both so you don’t roll into it in the night. Turning back to face you, he pauses, taking in the sight of your bare chest. He looks up at you, tilting his head, nearly asking you the same question you just asked him.

Before he can say anything, you lean slightly closer to him, your voice a loud whisper. “I wanted to.” His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s flattered by this display of intimacy. You begin to crawl under the old blanket with him, and he pulls you close, his hand around your waist. The feel of his cold, soft skin against your bare back is enough to send shivers down your spine, and you realize that this must be so close to what heaven feels like. His free hand reaches up and caresses your jaw before tangling in your hair, gently playing with it as he knows it helps you fall asleep.

Your hand rests on his bare chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat slowing down as he continues to relax in your care. You lie there for a while, trying to sleep, but something is keeping you awake. Perhaps it’s the looming threat that you could all die soon in brutally vicious ways, or the fact that you don’t want to waste a single second enjoying this time with your new lover. Suppose you’ll never truly know.

Regardless of what is keeping you up on this night, you begin to feel a little restless, unable to lie there in that position for too much longer without your arms going numb. You sit up a little, leaning on the arm you’ve been lying on, trying to not wake your companion. However, his body shifts with you, and it appears that he is still just as awake as you are.

“I didn't wake you, did I?” You whisper in a worried voice.

“Not in the slightest, my dear. Unable to sleep tonight, as I am sure you understand.”

You sigh, still leaning over him slightly, his hand that was once on your waist now drawing circles on your shoulder blade, the hand in your hair now resting on your hip. You want to speak, but you find yourself getting lost in the way his face looks in the moonlight peeking through his tent flap. It frames his face so perfectly, almost as if this scene was sculpted by the Gods. He notices your sudden distance, and he is quick to check in on you.

“Are you alright, love?” He asks, a tinge of concern in his voice, once again tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“Sorry… Yes, yes. More than alright.” You reassure him, not breaking your focus. A beat; he attempts to determine what’s on your mind. Thinking he’s found it, he smirks.

“Admiring how beautiful I am?”

“Yeah… Just looking at creases around your eyes…” You say in a loving tone, not even remotely aware of how backhanded the comment you just made sounds.

He begins to shuffle, pushing you away, offended by your lack of sincerity. “Alright, there’s no need-”

“No! Not like that.” You chuckle, snapping back into reality. You grab him, pulling him back to you, his head pressing back into the pillow below you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-” You can’t stop yourself from laughing a little at the sight of your pouting partner underneath you.

You notice just how unamused he is, and you abruptly stop laughing, clearing your throat and composing yourself in a more serious manner. Your hand reaches up and the pad of your thumb brushes against his crows feet, your mind falling back into your feelings of love and adoration for him.

“The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh… The way your eyes sharpen when you’re glaring at me, like you are right now… The way they soften every time I walk in the room… I love those wrinkles, they’re such a beautiful part of you.” He relaxes again, taking in your words, though still unhappy at your mention of his wrinkles, making him feel old. Though, no matter how much he hates his aging characteristics being brought up, he will never turn away any form of flattery.

“Well, augh. You really are sweet, aren’t you? But I’m sure you like more of me than just my dreaded wrinkles.” He was definitely fishing for compliments, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t aware of just how much you wanted to smother him in loving words. You lean forward and kiss his crows feet on both sides, surprising him. Smiling, your thumb traces over his eyebrows, taking in their shape and feel.

“My eyebrows, really? Nothing else catching your eye?” He whines, his hands going back to resting on your shoulder blade and hip. He can feel your body shake as you laugh, your head falling forward towards his chest as you continue to giggle from his pouting. You bring your head back up, focusing on his face once more.

“One thing at a time, dearest.” You pause, analyzing the shape of his eyebrows. Just how sharp they are, how often he uses them to his advantage when he is charming people. As you continue to gaze at them, he raises one of them, making your heart go crazy.

“You’re so expressive. Your eyebrows are so perfectly shaped, the way you use them like a weapon… I know it’s silly, I know they’re just eyebrows, but they’re your eyebrows, and they mean so much to me.” You trail off, your face flushed with embarrassment as you realize just how overly sentimental your words are. He smiles at you, knowing just how hard you’re trying, and appreciating every second of it. You kiss his eyebrows before quickly moving on.

Your fingers trace along his face, noticing his mole. By now he’s exhausted, you’re three for three with things he’s sensitive about. “Darling, if this is your way of making me feel less upset about not being able to look in mirrors, I must say it’s starting to work.” His words deceive his face and body language, but you still try to abide by his wishes.

Wanting to show your love, without spending too much time on it, you mention how much the mole under his eye suits him, how he would almost seem incomplete without a beauty spot. The usage of ‘beauty’ in ‘beauty spot’ convinced him to let it slide, but the ice you were dreamily skating on was wearing thin. Kissing his mole, you move on once again.

The skin of his nose was soft as you trace the pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose. “Your nose… it’s so sharp. Don’t laugh, but one of my favorite feelings is when I wake up and your nose is either on my back or my neck. I can feel your breathing on my skin, your nose pressed against me while you sleep. It’s so calming, having any little part of you so close to me.” He looks at you a little confused, mostly due to the fact that you’re still here appreciating him. The things you’re saying, they’re so small and insignificant, yet you enunciate each word like it’s the most important thing you’ll ever say. Each word has a purpose, a meaning, and they fall out of your mouth effortlessly; something he still has yet to learn how to do.

You kiss the tip of his nose, your fingers tracing down his face to his smile lines. Oh his smile lines. You just can’t help but adore his smile lines, no matter how much he absolutely hates them. He hates them because they age him, but you love them for all the same reason. To know he laughs, smiles, has any semblance of being happy is enough for you to be overjoyed at the sight of these lines that prove the existence that he has been able to enjoy life enough to have physical proof on his face.

“Don’t you dare.” He teases, though you wish he could bear with you for just a moment to explain your thoughts. Figuring you could do it another time, as tonight has already had enough excitement, you kiss his smile lines and spare him from your honeyed words.

Last, but certainly not least: his lips. Your thumb traces over his lips which are closed together, gently pushing up just enough to where you wonder if he was trying to secretly kiss your thumb. As you continue to run your thumb over his lips, reminiscing on all the times your own experienced his, he takes you by surprise.

Removing the hand from your hip, his thumb graces your lips, and you find yourself trying to inconspicuously kiss at it like he did to you just moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, but he uses his finger to silence you, gently shushing you.

“My turn.” His voice is smooth and tender as his thumb continues to trace over your slightly parted lips. “Your lips… They have always been so soft and inviting.” He pauses, still staring at them.

“I must admit, I despised them at first.” A confused expression crosses your face just before he continues. “They would taunt me on a daily basis, the one thing I couldn’t have no matter how much charm I threw at you. When I was eventually graced with them, I loathed the way my name would be cried out from them, almost as if you were saying it like a prayer. It tore me apart, wanting something I wasn’t sure I actually wanted, or even felt like I deserved…” He trails off, though his gaze remains constant on you.

“How do they make you feel now?” You softly ask, just barely loud enough for even yourself to hear.

He thinks on this for a moment, searching for the proper word.

“Safe.”

He leans up to you, cupping your cheek as he kisses you, the most delicate and loving kiss you two have ever shared. You both pull from the kiss, exercising restraint and respect for your pre-established boundaries. A hand resting on his chest, you encourage him to lie back on the pillow once more, which he does. You lean forward, kissing every part of his face that you mentioned, as well as a few spots just because you wanted to. Kissing his lips again, you pull apart just enough to whisper against his lips.

“I admire everything about you. Every aspect of you is just so lovely… Thank you for being here, with me. I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

He smiles, his fangs poking out this time. His hand moves a strand of hair out of your face as he clears his throat.

“And thank you for all the kisses.” He says, resuming his usual charm. You try to hide your slight disappointment, but you know he is trying his best and you can’t expect him to always meet you halfway, especially in this time of healing.

“Always.” You whisper, lying down next to him as he wraps his arms around you, holding you closely. It’s late, and now that you have this feeling lifted off your chest, you find it easier to sleep. Your heart rate begins to slow, your breathing finding its usual pattern, your lover wrapped up tightly with you.

When you’re on the edge of falling asleep, you feel his head tilting down towards yours, which is resting on his chest. His lips kiss the top of your head, his chin then resting on that same spot. A quiet voice breaks the air, unaware that it still has an audience.

“I love you.”

You freeze, unsure of whether or not you have actually fallen into a dream state, or if you just heard him correctly. In this state of grogginess, your body shifts as you attempt to determine the truth.

“Shit. Did you hear that?”

“Mhm.” You sleepily groan. He lets out a sigh of relief, thinking he’s talking to you in your sleep like he has before. Settling further into the bedroll, making himself more comfortable, he pulls you tighter, finally deciding to rest.

“I love you too.” You break the silence, your voice more awake this time. His eyes flash open, his red irises laser focused on you. You can feel his heart pounding as you rest on his chest, and you lean over and kiss just above his heart.

“Safe.” Is all you can say before promptly passing out, your warm skin slowly heating up his own. He sits there for another moment, taking in the events of today. It was a lot, to say the least, but he felt comfortable and confident in his decisions, and that was almost truly a first for him. His hand finds its way back into your hair, stroking it as he begins to drift off to sleep, for the first time in a long time feeling comfortable, guarded, protected, safe.

Author’s Note:

He’s extremely OOC, I’m 95% sure lmao but I love making characters total softies, even if we don’t see that side of them in the media they’re from. (I'm still in the very beginning of Act 2 so I'm learning a lot about him through this site too)

I’ve never experienced love, I’m also sure that’s obvious- I’ve always wanted to do something like this with someone though (look at their face and kiss all my favorite spots). While I was writing this, I felt so awkward writing such sappy dialogue, but I realized that moments like these aren’t smooth and rehearsed; feelings get mushy and oftentimes people say dumb and dorky things because they’re just so in love. I hope it gets translated that way at least hahaha

My Spotify is fucked because I listen to specific songs on repeat whenever I write. I have probably about 4-5 hours of “Blue Moon” by Billie Holiday logged on there now because of all the time planning, writing, and thinking about this fic- I got this song from Neil’s Astarion playlist, it’s so sweet and loving :)

Edit: So many people are saying he’s actually pretty in character so thank you for the validation because I was nervous 😭

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 9 months ago

Note

hey! i just had a request (if you like it!) - cazador taking astarion’s partner (reader/tav) when all the siblings try to kidnap astarion, and turning them, intending for them to take astarion’s place - ofc astarion and crew arrive in time and scene progresses as normal, but now reader/tav is a vampire spawn. just fluff and hurt/comfort

Oh wow this became far darker than intended, I hope you don't mind. I do feel a little bad for reader in this one, honestly. Part 2 can be found here!

Spoilers for act 3!! If anyone still needs this.

Astarion’s shout stirs you from your peaceful slumber and you sit up with a start, eyes wide. Your hand automatically shoots to your weapon, fingers curling around it when you see two figures slowly approaching your lover who back away, hackles raised.

“Peace, brother. We’re here to take you home.” One says and you frown, ready to step in if needed. The other one urges Astarion to return with them, to ‘be reborn’ and you quickly make your way to Astarion’s side, ready to fight if need be. You didn’t care that those two were vampire spawn, you would defend Astarion with everything you had. You weren’t going to lose him now, not after coming all this way.

Astarion’s hand gently brushes against yours, a silent thank you for your show of support as you size your potential opponents up. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Astarion moves to step slightly in front of you and begins to tell his siblings of his plan to take Cazador’s place in the ritual, to ascend and his siblings are none the wiser about the lies he’s weaving.

You know how desperately he wants the ritual, how he yearns for the power it will give him and yet you’re torn between convincing him otherwise and letting him take it. You don’t want to see him drown in the pursuit of this power but you know how much it means to him, the idea of being able to walk in the sun again, the idea of no longer being under someone else’s control, so you keep silent, your mind in turmoil.

Either way, the encounter ends with Cazador taking control of the spawns and it delves into a fight as Astarion does all he can to protect himself and you do all you can to ensure neither spawn manage to lay a hand on him. By the end of it, you’re panting from exhaustion, scratches lacing your skin but the two spawns have been backed into a corner and you have emerged victorious alongside Astarion.

Or so you think.

Suddenly, a chill runs down your spine and mist turns into a humanoid figure with glowing red eyes. Astarion’s eyes widen and he takes an instinctive step back. The two spawn cower as a sneer forms on the humanoid’s face, a clawed hand reaching out towards you.

“Y/N I presume? I have heard much about you, it is an honour to finally meet you.”

Cazador.

You swallow hard, refusing to show the vampire lord a hint of fear and meet his burning gaze that stares into your very soul.

“Cazador,” you say, tone measured. “If only I could say the same.”

Why was he here? Was he going to forcefully take Astarion away? If he was, you were pretty much powerless to stop him by yourself and he would be able to start the ritual. You keep your eyes fixed on the vampire lord who is smiling unnervingly, standing your ground as he takes a step towards you.

“Thank you for taking care of my precious lost son,” he places a hand on your shoulder which you brush off, glowering at him. He remains unfazed despite your rude gesture, the smile still fixed on his face.

“You’re very welcome,” you say stiffly, still uncertain about what Cazador was here for. He hadn’t spared a glance at Astarion at all, which was odd and the other two spawn hadn’t made a single move to kidnap Astarion, even though now was the best time to do so.

“In return, I would like him back so that he may return home.”

“No.” You immediately growl without a second thought. “I will not let you lay a hand on Astarion again.”

“How courageous of you,” the vampire lord chuckles. “To think that my son has found someone like you…to guide him back. I really am extremely grateful to you.”

Astarion makes a noise, ignoring the shaking in his hands and moves to stand next to you. He can’t leave you to face Cazador alone, not after he’s promised to always be by your side and so despite the nauseating fear that is rising in his throat, he forces himself to face his tormentor.

“Now then, my boy” Cazador continues, gaze finally turning towards him. “I will give you a choice. You, or your precious Y/N.”

“What?” Astarion narrows his eyes.

“Choose. You, or Y/N.” Cazador repeats.

“What do you intend to do?” Astarion snarls. Cazador doesn’t answer his question and simply raises three fingers, slowly counting down. Confused, Astarion opens and closes his mouth, unsure of the consequence each choice will spell and a wide grin forms on the vampire lord’s face once the last finger is down.

“Time’s up, my boy. I suppose, I will have to make the choice for you since you cannot make up your mind.” Cazador places a hand on your shoulder. “Say goodbye to your precious Y/N.”

Astarion takes a step towards you, your name on the tip of his tongue but he is too late, slowed by the tadpole and Cazador whisks you away along with the other two spawns, back to his palace.

“No, no, no!” Astarion roars, hand grasping thin air. “Cazador!”

The others come running over at the commotion, confused when they see Astarion on his knees, sobbing and cursing.

“What happened?” Halsin asks, kneeling next to the wailing vampire.

“Cazador!” Astarion snarls through the tears. “He took Y/N!”

“He took Y/N? Aren’t you the one he’s after? Why did he take them?” Wyll asks.

“Didn’t you say you’d protect them? Why didn’t you?” Lae’zel snaps. Astarion whirls around, ready to tear Lae’zel apart but Halsin holds him back, the vampire thrashing in his grip.

“Calm down, Astarion. We won’t get anywhere fighting amongst ourselves. Do you have an idea of where Cazador might have taken Y/N?” Halsin’s low voice gently rumbles.

“His damned palace, probably,” Astarion mutters, guilt tearing away at him. He should have given Cazador an answer, he should have been stronger and pressed Cazador for answers, he should have pulled you away from Cazador the moment the vampire lord had placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Then we will head there immediately,” Jaheria smoothly takes command and the other nod in agreement. The longer you were with Cazador, the dimmer your prospects, for who knew what Cazador wanted with you? Time was of the essence.

“We will get Y/N back,” Gale said firmly. “We will rescue them.”

At Cazador’s palace, you were held in place by blood red glyphs as Cazador circled you, ruby eyes glowing in the darkness.

“You are a fascinating creature, Y/N. Time and time again, I’ve taught my imperfect son not to form a relationship, that such bonds are a weakness he cannot afford, and yet he still chooses to form a bond with you. He knew of the consequences that would follow, and still decided to proceed. I wonder what about you makes him decide to risk it all.”

You remain silent, glaring as hard as you can at him. He leans in closer, a cold finger traces along your jawline and stop at your chin.

“Is it because of how much you make him think you care for him?”

“I genuinely care for him, unlike you!” You spit, jerking away from his touch.

“Or maybe your looks.” He pretends to contemplate before tightly grabbing you by the chin and pulling you towards him.

“No…that can’t be it.” He smirks. “Oh, I know. It’s the delectable taste of your blood, isn’t it? I can see the bite marks, he clearly loves drinking from you.”

“Piss off!” You snarl despite the fear creeping into your chest. “Whatever goes on between Astarion and I is none of your concern!”

“Oh, but it is. He is, after all, my son.” Cazador leans even closer, pressing his lips against the bite marks on your neck. “And you too, will become my child.”

His fangs sink into the soft supple flesh of your neck, painful and harsh unlike Astarion’s bite and you hiss, struggling to get away but the glyphs hold you tight. Your heart thunders, blood rushing in your ears as you snarl, spit and thrash as hard as you can but his fangs remain firmly lodged in your neck, your precious lifeblood gushing down his throat. Spots start to form in your vision and you feel yourself weakening, life fading away.

“Oh, don’t worry.,” you barely hear him as the world starts to turn black. “I don’t kill my own children.”

When you wake, everything is dark, but something feels different. Your sense of smell is sharper, you can see the lines of wood in the dark and…

“Welcome back, my child.” The sound of wood scraping rakes your ears and you quickly cover them, hissing.

“How are you feeling?” Cazador smiles, setting something down before turning to you, holding out a hand.

“Get lost!” You slap his hand away, trying to take in your surroundings. You’re in some sort of underground area, judging from the leaking ceiling and the musty smell in the air. The tiny squeaks of rats fill your ears and you notice chains hanging from the wall in front of you, covered in dried blood.

“How rude. It seems the first thing I must teach you is manners,” Cazador tuts. “Repeat after me, ‘I am fine, thank you for asking, master.’”

“Go —” A presence dominates your mind, sending your tadpole squirming as it tries to take back your mind. You scream, the tadpole’s fight tearing your mind apart and you hear Cazador snarl in frustration.

“That blasted thing!”

He looks back up at you, a smile slowly reforming itself upon his face. “Still, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to have complete control over you for my plan to work. All I need is you.”

“What do you intend to do?” You pant, head throbbing.

“Why, have you take that boy’s place in the ritual of course. He chose to sacrifice you instead of himself. Now come along, I would rather not have to drag you out in front of your new siblings.”

You quietly follow him, mind still struggling to wrap around recent events. One moment you were trying to find Gortash and Orin to prevent The Absolute from taking over Baldur’s Gate, and then next you were Cazador’s latest vampire spawn, a sacrifice for his ascension. Cazador didn’t seem to mind your silence, tightly holding onto your hand to ensure you couldn’t just run away, not that he would have much of a problem catching you anyways.

He leads you to a grand hall where a pentagram has already been drawn with blood in the center of the floor and seven pedestals surround it. His other vampire spawn each stand on one, waiting for further instructions and you glance around nervously. Would the others be able to find this place before it was too late?

Cazador unsheathes a dagger, snapping his fingers and glyphs appear around your wrists and ankles once more, forcing you to kneel on the ground in front of him. He slices your clothes open, tossing them away until you’re half naked and bends down next to you.

“I believe you know what comes next.”

Bile rises in your throat, your clawed fingertips digging into your palm as you prepare yourself.

“Go rot in the hells.”

He laughs, knowing that all you can do is spit words at him and raises the dagger with a sadistic grin.

Then plunges it straight into your back.

The pain tears you apart from the inside, gnawing at every fibre of your being as you keenly feel each and every sinew being split open by the dagger, warm blood coating your back. You can hear screaming, was it coming from you? You couldn’t tell, your mind was far too hazy to make anything out.

Everything hurts, everything hurts, everything hurts.

You scream until your voice turns hoarse, but Cazador doesn’t stop. He continues with his work of art, twisting the dagger whilst its blade is embedded in your flesh whenever you collapse, shocking you back into reality. Over and over again he marks your flesh with Infernal script and you wonder how Astarion pulled through this.

Suddenly, the dagger stops. Cazador shouts something but your ringing ears can’t make out anything. Something red slams into the vampire lord and sends him crashing into the floor with a war cry, followed by an axe.

The glyphs holding you up disappear and you feel yourself falling, but not an inch of your body obeys your command to break your fall. Before the floor can meet you, a pair of warm arms wraps around you, holding you steady.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

You stare blankly at the floor beneath, wishing it had ended your suffering but then you remember that you’re a vampire spawn now and simply smacking into the floor wouldn’t kill you.

“Y/N? Talk to me,” the voice speaks again. Your swimming vision barely manages to scrape together an image and through the haze your mind recalls a name. Wyll.

A small noise escapes your lips and the Blade of Frontiers lets out a sigh of relief.

“You’re alive, that’s good.”

“No,” you whisper. “Not. Alive.”

“Not in that sense,” someone else speaks. Halsin.

Something new warms your back, blue light shimmering around you, “don’t you dare fall asleep.” Shadowheart.

“As…”

An angry cry pierces through the air. More shouting. Then. Silence. A figure rushes to your side, silvery curls stained with blood.

“Y/N!” There’s panic in the voice. “Darling?”

“As…ta…rion.”

“You’re safe now,” he pulls you into a hug. “You’re safe now.”

“Hurt…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Astarion chokes. “I’m sorry I let that monster take you, I’m sorry I let you get hurt, I’m sorry I was late.”

His apologies are met with silence, your body limp in his arms as you struggle to stay awake. You want to reassure him, you want to say something but your body refuses to cooperate.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “It’s my fault that you were taken, I promised to protect you and yet, and yet I —”

“It…s…ok.”

“It’s not!” He snaps. “It’s not ok! Nothing is! I let Cazador take you! I let him turn you! Now…now you can’t walk in the sun anymore! Not once that damned tadpole is removed! You’ll constantly feel the hunger! Others will call you a monster!”

Astarion stops when he sees the fresh tear streaks on your face, biting his lip hard. You come first, you need him right now. He pushes his self-hatred away and focuses on you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly, ignoring the blood that seeps between his fingers. He presses his lips against the top of your head as your shoulders shake.

“I’m right here, my love. I’m right here. I promise, you’re never alone. You will never be alone. I will be right here, by your side to help you shoulder your burdens as you’ve helped me. I promise.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #cazador szarr #bg3 cazador #tav #bg3 fic #bg3 angst #bg3 fluff #hurt/comfort #hurt/angst

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thechaoticdruid · 11 months ago

Text

Not my horny GOT loving ass thinking about an AU where (Fem) Tav is one of Cazador's mortal relatives, a niece if you will, and is sent to live with him after her family ends up dying in a fire. Cazador ends up planning on marrying Tav off for political gain, wanting to use her to manipulate her future husband (who in this instance I assume would be someone powerful amongst the nobility). The only issue is Tav is innocent and inexperienced, shy and meek. Not someone skilled in the art of seduction.

So Cazador assigns Astarion to be her 'teacher' and well through some events Tav ends up falling in love with Astarion and vice versa which very much complicates the fact that Tav has to marry someone else!

Can't help but also think about innocent sweet Tav melting his heart by always being concerned about Astarion during their 'lessons'.

She can tell something isn't right sometimes when he touches her and insists they don't have to do anything! That she would just deal with her uncle.

But of course Astarion is too afraid of what Cazador would do to either of them to let her do that.

Oh well I thought this was going to be a horny fic idea but then it turned into angst. Eh that's good too. The idea is up for grabs if anyone wants to take it, but @ me so I can read if you write it plz.

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sorcerous-caress · 1 year ago

Text

Putting makeup on them

[ Bg3, fluff, several characters ] [inspired by this ]

Minthara

You straddled her waist as you held the makeup brush. Minthara's laying figure below you remained stoic even as she closed her eyes delicately when you started applying the eyeshadow.

A peaceful silence fell between the two of you. Time fading with each gentle stroke against her skin. Her stressful life and age showed in the subtle wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, you paid no mind to conceal them.

Instead, you focused on her eyes and thin lips. Picking the right colours to complement her violet skintone and grey hair.

When you finished, she made no move to remove you from on top of her, nor did she offer the mirror you handed her more than a mere glance before focusing back on you.

"You did well." Her freshly painted lips said, gloss still shining on them.

Gale

Deep brown eyes looked up at you from where his head laid on your lap, puppylike and lovestruck as he smiled.

"I can't say I had personal experience in this field, but you'd be pleased to find me a most pleasant student." His smile slowly grew into a huge grin as you applied a cream to his face with your fingers, rubbing it into his skin with care.

"Is that what your professors told you? A pleasure to have in class?" You replied, picking up the brush and applying the perfect blue to compliment his eyes, "close your eyes for me."

"Well, no." He closed them, "in the most generous of cases, I was and as they described, a menace."

You chuckled as you tried to keep your hand study with all of his squirming, "I'm starting to agree with them." Maybe he found the sensation ticklish.

Dammon

You cupped his jaw in your hand, tilting his chin up as you leaned in closer. His throat moved as he swallowed, hands fidgeting with the hem of his appron.

"We're almost done, I'm just adding the final touches." You said as you readjusted the brush between your fingers.

He attempted to nod before hesitating and deciding against it to not mess up your work.

The most lovely of blushes adorned his sharp cheekbones as you finished applying it, leaning back and admiring your work.

Dammon seemed more at ease now, as he saw the pride in your eyes at your effort, something he was very familiar with.

Picking up your hand that did all the work, He held it gently in his own as he gave it a small kiss.

The Emperor

You weren't sure where to begin, or even if makeup is safe for mindflayer skin. Tentacles floated and twisted in the air around your form, as if ready to envelope you. Their tips would occasionally brush and trail along your figure, although The Emperor made no effort to acknowledge them.

"I'm waiting." His voice echoed in your mind.

You decide to go with a kid safe makeup kit. If it's safe enough for kids to eat, then it's safe enough for mindflayers... you hoped.

In a strange way, he did make the edible glittery highlights work for him. You thought as you admired your work.

Only when you went to grab the small mirror from your pouch, did you notice that the tentacles have successfully entangled themselves around you while you were too focused to notice.

The Emperor kept pretending that nothing unusual was happening.

You handed him the mirror, and he picked the small thing with his hand as he took a look.

"Now that I've indulged you more than enough, I need you to focus on your mission." Was the last mental message you got before you were unceremoniously kicked out of the Asteral plane.

Gortash

Servants scuttered around the ceremonial hall, carrying food trays and putting the last touches on the decorations.

Gortash sat on his throne in the middle of the commotion, fully dresses in his best of robes, with each silver line and accessory shined just enough to almost resemble a mirror.

You stood in front of him, between his knees, parted to give you the space to get closer. Brush in one hand and your makeup pallet on the other.

If you recall correctly, you did finish helping him with the makeup an hour ago. But apparently, some incident happened that caused him to require your assistance again, and immediately, as the servant who came to fetsh you claimed.

Gortash looked up at you with half lidded eyes, a grin on his lips as you took in his perfect face of makeup.

There wasn't much for you to do, really, the makeup was the same as when you finished an hour ago. So you just stood there while pretending to do something as you brushed away at his skin with an empty brush, occasionally adding the most subtle of powders.

Eventually, it had to end when a servant informed both of you that the guests should be arriving soon.

"Be a dear for me and stay close during the coronation. Who knows when I might just need your expertise again."

Mayrina

"It's been so long, I haven't done this since..." her words trailed off as her lips quivered, "Connor's funeral."

You gently wiped the tear stained black makeup from around her eyes. She held on to your shoulders as you cleaned her face.

Her eyelashes fluttered when you applied mascara to them, her fingers holding onto you as if to anchor herself.

"You shouldn't have...I might just cry and ruin it." She looked away from you with shame brewing in her throat.

"Then I'll just wipe it, and we will start over again," you reassured her, "as many times as you need."

Tears threatened to spill from her glossy eyes as she gave a small smile, carefully wiping away the tears she took a deep breath as she faced you again.

"No, no, I won't. I can be strong, like you." She gave your shoulders a squeeze.

Cazador

Candlelight illuminated the room to make up for the tightly closed curtains. You wondered how anyone is able to tell night from day in this palace.

Your fingers were shaking, you took a deep breath to steady them.

Blood red eyes followed your every movement.

Clearing your throat, you presented the pallet of colours to him. "Which one would you prefer?...Sir."

His lips curled in a mock smile, fangs just peaking through for a split second.

"Black."

He always chose black, yet you always asked.

You worked quickly and efficiently. Your purpose was to give some life to his undead skin and conceal anything that might cause suspicion.

Maybe he was waiting for you to slip, you thought as you applied the subtle black liner. Maybe he's waiting for the day you forget to ask beforehand.

You almost shudder at the thought of what he might do that day.

Karlach

She is trying to kill you, you thought, she definitely is doing it on purpose.

"I said I'm sorry, come on," her arms wrapped around you, attempting to soften you up with a hug, "please?"

You weren't buying it at all.

Each single time you'd finish applying her lipstick, she'd lean forward and drown you in kisses. All over your face, your neck and hell even your ears.

The first time was endearing, and the second time was a bit much, but 5 times in a row? You'd be a fool if you fell for that obvious trap again.

"Can you blame you? How could I possibly resist." She whined as she buried her face in your neck, "You're just so focused when you do it, and I get this urge..."

She continues, "you know, sometimes I just can't believe it, the fact I can touch you and kiss you and hug you, I haven't even felt a single touch in so long and suddenly I'm free from that damn engine to do everything I've longed for and more."

...

God dammit karlach.

With a sigh, you tell her fine, you'll do it again.

Maybe you really are a fool, but who wouldn't be after seeing that genuine smile of happiness on her face. You'd be the biggest fool in all of faerun if it meant keeping her happy.

Shadowheart

"What, like a doll? Are you sure you won't ask to dress me up next?" She gives a teasing smile as she sits next to you on the couch, looking over your side of makeup equipments and scattered brushes.

"You say that like you don't like the idea." You tease back as you get closer to her, one leg resting on her lap.

"Hmm, maybe I do. What are you going to do about it?" She lets you brush her hair behind her ears, using clips to keep it in place as you get a clear view of her full face.

"I'll let you pick mine if i get to pick yours."

That catches her interest, "You'll just hand me the power of putting you in anything I want... you do know how to persuade someone."

As you start applying her makeup, you feel her relax with your touches. Her skin is very soft against your fingers.

You take your time, making sure to pick something that suits her personal style. As enticing as the thought of going on with a full hot pink on her, you know there will be consequences later. She doesn't forgive nor forget.

After painting her lips, you hand her a mirror. She observes her reflection with a surprised expression.

"I knew you were good at this, I just didn't expect...wow" her eyes are mostly focused on the reflection of her lips.

With a smug experience, you ask if it her highness the princess has any complaints.

"Yeah....just one thought." She puts the mirror down as she leans closer, holding your thigh on her lap so you don't move away.

Pressing her lips onto yours, she kisses you with passion, making you chase after her as she pulls away.

"This colour looks much better on you."

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francis-writes · 1 year ago

Note

How about some general headcanons for Cazador in bed? What he's like, what he's into etc

Cazador NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Unfortunately, he doesn't care much about your well-being. When you're done, he goes to do whatever and you can either still lay there or go away.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It's a tough question for two reasons. First, because of his vanity Cazador wouldn't be able to choose just one thing. Second, since he's a vampire and can't see his reflection in a mirror, he barely remembers how does he looks like.

In your case... hmm, still a tough choice. Perhaps your thighs because of how soft they are to squeeze and how easy it is to left bruises on them. Or maybe your neck because of the delicious blood he drinks from it. Or maybe your hands for how they caress his body.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Depends on the mood, he likes both marking your body with his cum and finishing inside you (especially that he can't get you pregnant).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His main dirty secret is that Cazador likes when you dominate him. He would never admit this to anybody but he enjoys when you humiliate him, give him commands and take complete control in the bedroom.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He had a fair share of lovers so he definitely knows what he's doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He doesn't have a preference, it really just depends on his whim.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Cazador can be humorous during the act but it's usually in more malicious tone, for example if he's mocking you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's an elf so he rather can't have body hair except for on the head (which is why Larian finally gave up on giving him a beard which I terribly regret)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I'm sorry to say but sex with Cazador isn't romantic in the slightest. It serves only fullfilling his desires and gaining maximal pleasure.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He practically never does it. There is no need, if he's a mood he can always call you or one of the other spawns.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

What kinks he DOESN'T have? BDSM in different configuration (he's a switch), edging, overstimulating, bondage, biting (with sucking your blood), knife play (with carving your skin), etc. Anyway he's open to try almost anything.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He's bedroom. He likes to take you proper, without haste, without servants who could bother you and in comfort of his own chambers.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Obedience. Even if you dominate him in bed, he desires your loyalty and complete submission in public. He wants you to treat him as your Master when other spawns look.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing. He's very possesive and he wouldn't let you have any other lovers. If you're out of his mansion, he gets angry if you even talk to others. Of course, you lure victims for him but you can't choose your lover or stay with anyone for longer than needed.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes to eat you out, sometimes to dominate you and make you squirm and sometimes when you're in control and sit on his face.

He won't refuse a good blowjob either, though it isn't one of his favourite things to do.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I wouldn't exactly call it rough, rather desperate. He fucks you as if his life depended on it and whether he does it a bit slower or faster, it's always full of passion. He devours you like a starving men.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

No. Just no. He doesn't want to take you in haste, he needs to savour the taste of your body. He looks for finer things in life and for him a quickie is a sexual version of going to McDonald when you can enjoy a 5 star restaurant.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes, as I mentioned he is up almost to anything and your safety doesn't concern you more.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a powerful vampire lord so yeah... you may pass out and he would still have energy for more.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I will said for the third time, he would eagerly try almost everything to spice up your sexual life and he probably has a chamber full of different toys.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's a menace. He loves to tease you until you pull him to the bedroom and even there he likes to get you wet and turned on and then left you unsatisfied out of pure malice.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Cazador is rather quiet in the bedroom, you can only draw sighs or sometimes quiet moans from him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Pretty average. Not too pong, not too thick but enough to fill you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Rather big, he enjoys all the luxuries and pleasures of the world and sex isn't any exception. He likes to fuck a few times a day but if you are too tired he may reluctantly find someone else for the night.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As I remember, elves doesn't really sleep, they just meditate? But in general he rests for a moment.

#cazador szarr x reader #cazador x reader #cazador szarr #bg3 cazador

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siren-in-the-shadow · 2 months ago

Text

Twisted Fate : Cazador X Reader

Chapter 2

Word Count: 2.1k Mentions: Mature Content, She/Her, Series

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Y/N pushes past Cazador, she feels a flicker of triumph, but it’s short-lived. She barely makes it a few steps out of the prison cell when she hears his footsteps echo behind her, unhurried and confident. His voice cuts through the silence, laced with mockery.

“Running already?” he taunts, following her with that signature smugness. “I expected you to have more of a plan, considering the little show of defiance.”

Y/N stops but doesn’t turn around, clenching her fists. She’d hoped to put more distance between them, but it seems Cazador has other ideas. He closes the gap with unnatural speed, suddenly standing beside her with that infuriating smirk.

“I’d hate to see you stumble around aimlessly,” he continues, his tone sharp and commanding. “If we’re to break this curse, we’ll need information—knowledge that I possess and you lack.” He gestures down the shadowy corridor. “The library awaits. Or do you prefer ignorance?”

Y/N bristles at his words, but she knows he’s right. With a huff, she turns to follow him. He leads the way with a certain elegance, guiding her through the winding hallways until they reach a massive set of double doors. He pushes them open, revealing a dimly lit room beyond, filled with towering bookshelves and the faint, musky scent of old paper.

He strides into the room, glancing over his shoulder to ensure she’s following. “Welcome to the library,” he says, his tone now slightly more serious, as if even he respects the weight of the knowledge contained here. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

As Y/N steps into the library, she’s immediately struck by the sheer volume of ancient tomes, relics and scrolls that surround her. The towering shelves whisper secrets of the past, and she feels a mix of awe and caution—these books likely hold dark and dangerous knowledge.

Lost in the wonder of the library, Y/N didn’t notice Cazador’s eyes tracing her form. His gaze held a mix of curiosity and something more profound, but she was too captivated by the shelves of ancient knowledge to sense the weight of his attention.

Her fingers twitch with the urge to explore, but before she can reach for a nearby artifact, Cazador’s voice pierces the silence. “Careful,” he warns, his gaze icy. “These aren’t toys for you to play with.”

With her heart racing, Y/N steels herself, ready to delve into the depths of the library and uncover the secrets they need, despite the shadows lurking within.

Y/N glanced away, hesitating for a moment before she muttered, “Sorry.” She barely looked at Cazador, but the word hung between them, heavy and unexpected. After a beat, she turned back to him, searching his face. “Well… where do we start?” she asked, a mix of determination and curiosity in her voice as she took in the towering shelves around them.

Cazador nodded toward a shadowy corner of the library. “There,” he said, his tone serious yet subtly inviting.

As they pored over the towering shelves of the library, Y/N felt an unexpected sense of camaraderie with Cazador. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, and she focused intently on the texts before her, jotting down notes and trying to piece together the fragments of information they needed.

After some hours, her gaze wandered, and her eyes landed on a worn leather journal nestled between two larger tomes. Intrigued, she reached for it, fingers brushing against the intricate designs embossed on the cover. She hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Cazador, who was engrossed in a particularly large book, his expression unreadable.

Curiosity gnawed at her, and she carefully opened the journal. The pages were filled with what she deemed as Cazador’s elegant handwriting, chronicling his experiences and thoughts—some mundane, others deeply personal. As she read, she uncovered fragments of his life: the weight of centuries, becoming a spawn, the isolation that came with immortality. She was quickly skimming the pages; truly, she was fascinated and saddened by what was written. Was this really Cazador's experience? Was this the reality of his existence?

As she read about the heavy silence that filled his days and the weight of endless nights, her heart ached for him. Each entry revealed layers of a man caught in a constant struggle between his desires and the cruel nature of his fate. He wrote of battles fought not just against external foes but also within himself, grappling with the isolation that his immortality imposed. Y/N felt a surge of empathy, realizing that beneath Cazador’s cold demeanor lay a soul haunted by the very things that defined him—loneliness, regret, and a yearning for connection that he will probably never acknowledge, nor realize. A chill ran down her spine as she realized how much he had buried beneath his aloof exterior.

Y/N became so engrossed in the journal that she didn’t notice Cazador shift his focus from his book. When he finally caught sight of her, his expression hardened, and a dark look shadowed his face. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice low and commanding, sending a jolt through her.

Y/N's heart raced as she registered the intensity in his voice and the way he stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Startled, she jumped up from her seat, instinctively taking a step back to create some space. “I—I thought it would help with the cure,” with her eyes widening she whispered, her grip tightening on the journal as if it could provide her some comfort against his imposing presence.

“This isn’t a game, little mouse,” he said firmly, grabbing her arm and guiding her back to her seat. “You don’t understand anything, and it’s not your place to know. Stay in your place.” He pointed at her as if reprimanding a child.

Y/N frowned, trying to reason with him. “But I can help,” she insisted, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

He recoiled, smacking her hand away. “I don’t need your help,” he snapped, his eyes flashing with irritation.

Y/N felt a surge of fear at his sharp tone. She caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes, and for just a moment, she saw something shift in his expression—whatever it was, it had quickly vanished.

“Come,” he said, his voice more measured now, as he turned and walked toward the book he had been investigating. He gestured for her to follow, a begrudging acknowledgment that perhaps there was still a way forward despite their tension.

Cazador exhaled sharply, an annoyed look crossing his face as he placed a finger on the page. “I’ve found something,” he muttered, his tone almost begrudging.

“The cure?” Y/N asked, eyes lighting up with sudden hope. “Really? You found it?”

He shot her a disdainful glance, a smirk barely tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No, you sweet idiot,” he replied with a condescending shake of his head.

“There’s more to it than that, this is bigger than I thought.” He pointed at the page again, his annoyance simmering just below the surface as he waited for her to catch on.

Y/N’s gaze drifted down to the book, her brow furrowing as she struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar symbols scrawled across the page. She looked up, meeting his eyes, searching for answers in their cold depths. Her gaze flickered briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, trying to read the expression that seemed carefully guarded.

“What does it say?” she asked softly, frustration lacing her tone. Cazador let out a sigh, his annoyance evident. “It’s written in an ancient tongue—one even I can barely decipher.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “We’ll need to consult a wizard. This is old magic, and there are few left who can understand it.”

Y/N straightened, ready for action. “Then let’s go into the city.”

Cazador let out a low, mocking laugh, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “The sun has set, little mouse. Shops won’t open until morning.” Without another word, he turned and strode out of the library, making his way toward another room.

She hurried after him, frowning. “Where are you going?”

He glanced back, his smirk barely hiding his amusement. “Getting you fed.” He led her into the dining room, where he summoned a servant with a flick of his fingers. “Prepare something for our guest,” he ordered, his voice casual yet commanding.

As the servant moved to follow his orders, Y/N suddenly realized she hadn’t eaten all day, her focus consumed by the puzzles of his cryptic journal. Hunger tugged at her now, and she found herself startled that he had noticed, let alone acted on it.

Cazador turned to her, offering a slight nod—an unspoken gesture of care buried beneath his usual aloofness. It was subtle, but enough to make her pause, a hint of warmth slipping through the cracks of his cold exterior. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of something unexpected, something almost human, lurking just beneath the surface.

Y/N sat down at the table, and a plate was set in front of her with a quiet efficiency. She looked up at the servant, offering a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, and the servant gave a brief nod before retreating from the room.

Y/N noticed Cazador standing a few paces away, leaning against the wall as if he had no intention of joining her, yet his gaze never left her. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unyielding.

As she picked up her fork, Y/N looked up, noticing Cazador watching her intently, his expression unreadable. She hesitated, then gestured to the chair across from her. “Are you planning to just stand there?” she asked, curiosity lacing her words.

Cazador smirked, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “It’s interesting, observing you,” he said, a faint, almost playful edge to his tone. “You mortals are so... fragile, yet you’re so determined to survive. Always eating, sleeping, searching for some purpose.”

“Well, excuse me for needing to eat,” she said, a twinge of guilt creeping in as she took a bite. A light giggle bubbled up, and she added, “Not all of us can survive on pure arrogance.”

Cazador let out a small, breathless laugh before quickly turning it into a playful smirk. “Ah, but there’s something to be said for a diet rich in confidence. It does wonders for one’s complexion.�� His tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of genuine amusement in his gaze as he leaned against the wall, still watching her intently.

Y/N giggled, the lightness of the moment momentarily easing the tension between them. She laid her head down on the table for a brief second before sitting up again, finishing the last bites of her food. As she pushed her plate aside, she noticed Cazador moving toward her.

He settled into the chair across from her, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting. “What’s so amusing, little mouse?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing as he leaned forward slightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

Y/N shrugged, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Just tired,” she replied, lying through her teeth. She aimed to deflect his curiosity, not wanting to reveal how the complexity of their situation both frightened and intrigued her. “Oh, you know how it is! After being thrown into a stranger's prison, nearly becoming a slave, and then realizing I’m somehow magically bound to someone with the power to hurt me—yet doesn’t—well.” She waved her hand dismissively, trying to appear nonchalant.

Cazador didn’t respond, letting her words hang in the air. Without a word, he turned on his heel and started walking, gesturing for her to follow. “Come,” he said, his voice cold and detached, leaving no room for argument.

They walked in silence through the long, dimly lit corridors, the echo of their footsteps stretching endlessly through the shadows.

Cazador stepped aside, gesturing toward the room with a sweeping motion. “Get some rest,” he instructed, his tone brisk and businesslike, as though already preoccupied with something else.

He pointed to a tall wardrobe across the room. “You’ll find clothes in there,” he said, then nodded toward a door just off to the side. “And there’s a shower through that door. Use whatever you need.”

Y/N glanced around the room, noting the small, unexpected comforts he’d provided. They felt almost out of place, given the circumstances. Cazador watched her closely, his expression as indecipherable as ever, before finally speaking. “What a strange girl you are,” he murmured, his tone threading somewhere between intrigue and something almost tender, though still impossible to decipher. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that suggested he was seeing more than just the surface.

She met his gaze, wary yet curious, a part of her aching to understand what lay beneath his cold exterior. But as much as she wanted to reach out, she held back, tethered by the uncertainty of his presence.

He lingered, as if caught in some unspoken thought, before abruptly turning away and disappearing down the hallway, leaving her alone with her unanswered questions and racing thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well hello little mouse, If you're reading this then thank you for making it this far!

Ive been having so much fun writing this, my notes are filled with so so many ideas hehe y'all aren't ready for the series...

Please leave a like and comment if you enjoyed :)

Cheers X

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 cazador #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 cazador #cazador x reader #cazador x tav #cazador szarr #bg3 cazador szarr #Twisted Fate Series

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cowboybeepboop · 23 hours ago

Text

Crave

"Y/N, is this... what you want?"

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: You’re close friends with the two brothers from school in new york, years of a debilitating crush on Sergei finally builds into something more.

a/n: i just saw this movie like a couple days ago and all i can think of is needy virgin Sergei 😣 i didn’t proofread what so ever and also i wrote this in barely any time but i hope you all enjoy AND PLEASE IF YOU HAVE ANY KRAVEN REQUESTS SEND THEM MY WAY IM CRAVING THIS MAN

It's been a few successful days in avoiding the two brothers, you do this every year, like clockwork. Whenever Sergei comes back home, you distract yourself and stay away the best you can. It’s not worth the heartbreak to see him leave over and over again.

Dimitri has been calling you nightly, but each night you can hear the sounds of Sergei in the background. He plagues your thoughts, your dreams, your days. All you can think about is the warmth of his skin under your fingers and the gentleness of his touch.

You shudder as your eyes shut, warmth pooling in your panties as your mind wanders back to him. "Dimitri.. I've gotta go," you murmur into the phone. "I'm going to get some drinks with my friend here soon."

Dimitri replies enthusiastically, agreeing with your choice. He wishes you goodnight and hangs up the phone, leaving you with the image of Sergei's intense gaze, the feel of his muscles under your fingertips, and the lingering warmth in your stomach.

You can't shake the thoughts, the images of him constantly swirling in your head, the way his voice changes when he speaks, the touch of his hands. It haunts your dreams, and you can't help but feel an unexplainable intrigue and a growing desire for him.

You quickly get changed, ready for a night of reckless distraction, desperately seeking a way to forget about the complex hunter. You head out, the cool night air hitting your skin, the music getting louder and louder as you approach the club.

You arrive, and the thumping music and flashing lights engulf you, offering a temporary escape from your thoughts of the man who has been plaguing your mind. Taking in the overwhelming atmosphere of the club, the loud music, the flashing lights, and the sea of bodies, all of it works together to create a sense of chaos and excitement.

Despite the distraction, you can't shake the sensation of being watched, it lingers even as the bouncer returns your ID. Your mind drifts back to Sergei, and the memory of his intense gaze lingers in your thoughts, almost as if you sense his presence somewhere nearby.

You try to shake off the feeling getting a few shots to distract yourself and calm your wandering mind. As time passes, you've found your target: he's a decent-looking man, with a similar haircut to Sergei, a gentle demeanor, and he has a nice smile. He's good enough for what you need him for.

The two of you exit the building, the chill midnight air freezing your skin immediately, the man you're with clutches his jacket tighter. Obviously showing a lack of interest in helping you cover your skin.

Despite being with this man, you still can't entirely shake the feeling of being watched. It lingers, a constant reminder of the man you're trying to forget. Sergei watches from afar, his jaw clenched as he notices your shiver. You whip your head around, looking for the eyes that are following your every move.

You can't see him, but he's still there, standing in the shadow of a dimly lit alleyway. His eyes follow your every move, observing your interactions with the man beside you. His jaw remains tight, his gaze cold and intense.

As you whip around, you catch a glimpse of a figure in the darkness, just beyond the reach of the dim street light. It’s subtle, but the feeling of being observed lingers.

Unfortunately, this night will not be filled with any sort of satisfaction as you notice a group of men dressed in dark clothes, weapons hidden in their pockets. "Fuck." you whisper, using your arms to cover your skin the best you can.

The men approach, their intentions unclear, and the tension in the air is palpable. The cold wind bites at your skin, and you can't help but wrap your arms around yourself, your teeth chatter, and goosebumps rise on your skin, yet you can sense another gaze watching you, fixated, observing your every move.

Before you have time to react Sergei approaches from the shadows, giving the group a warning look as he steps closer to you. The men stop in their tracks, their gazes shifting to the imposing figure stepping out of the darkness.

Their muscles tense, and they exchange hesitant glances as Sergei approaches closer, his presence radiating danger, his piercing eyes fixed on the men in front of you.

His hands are gentle on your shoulder, causing you to jump as you turn to look at him, you immediately relax when you recognize him. Finding comfort in his strong protective arms.

His touch carries reassurance, his big, sturdy hands gently resting on your shoulder, offering a subtle sense of security. His eyes, no matter how cold they seem, convey a flicker of concern, a flicker of reassurance that speaks more than words.

The tension lingers, but the warmth of his touch somehow seems to offer a moment of tranquility, a gentle comfort despite the surrounding danger.

Sergei removes his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders to keep you warm. "I suggest you all disperse, go your separate ways," he warns with narrowed eyes. The men listen, running in different directions, even your date scurries away.

The men disperse hurriedly, leaving you and Sergei standing alone in the cold, the sounds of the night filling the air around you. You shiver, the cold air seeping through your clothing, but the warmth of his jacket offers some comfort, the fabric soft against your skin. The tension in the air is now replaced by a hushed stillness, save for the faint noise from the club behind you.

"You scared away my date.." you whisper, turning to face him while gripping the coat around you tightly.

He stands there, the cold air mixing with his breath, his expression cool and composed, but there's a hint of sincerity in his gaze as he looks at you. His voice, low and measured, responds to your words.

"Your choice in company leaves much to be desired." He watches you, studying your shivering form, seeing how you clutch his jacket tightly for warmth.

"I suppose you're right," you move closer to him, craving the warmth of his skin. "But, I did have a plan for how my Friday night would go." Sergei begins to lead you in the direction of your apartment, his hands gentle on your frame.

He walks beside you, his presence towering above you, his movements deliberate and measured. He remains silent as he guides you towards your apartment.

He glances at you from the corner of his gaze, seeing how you instinctively lean into him, seeking his heat and protection. He can't help but notice the way you grasp his coat, his gaze flickering to your hand gripping the fabric.

Once you reach the building you face him once again, the alcohol mixing with your unwavering horniness as you study his features. "Sergei.." you whisper his name, stomach twisting with desire.

His eyes meet yours, his icy gaze studying your face as you say his name. His eyes flick between yours, the sound of his name causing a subtle reaction in his expression, a flicker of some unknown emotion.

"Yes, Y/N?" His voice is composed but holds a hint of something unfamiliar, something subtle and hard to discern, perhaps an echo of a memory or a flicker of feelings he thought were long-forgotten.

"Don't say my name like that," you whine, your eyebrows furrowing with frustration.

His eyebrows raise slightly with curiosity upon hearing your words, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes. He studies the frustration in your expression, his gaze softening ever so slightly.

"How else should I say it?" He asks, his voice quiet but measured, a hint of genuine curiosity in his words. Despite his icy demeanor, there's a hint of gentle protectiveness as he looks at you, trying to figure out why the way he said your name made you react with frustration.

You groan, turning away from him, your body aching for his touch. "Forget it, I should get inside. It's cold."

He follows you into the building, the door closing behind you both. The sound of the city seems to fade away, replaced by the stillness of the hallway.

He studies you, noticing your frustrated groan and the way you turn away from him. As you stand there, he can sense your frustration, the unspoken desires still hanging between you two.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asks, his voice quiet and measured. He watches you, feeling a pang of curiosity as to why you seemed to grow frustrated at the mere sound of his voice.

You unlock the door to your apartment, the neediness in his tone making your panties soaked. "Sergei..." you practically whine his name, frustrated with the lack of awareness he has of how much he's affecting you.

As you unlock the door, his eyes flick to yours, the slight desperation evident in your voice causing his gaze to soften even further, his eyes fixated on you. He follows you inside the door, his eyes trained on your face.

There's a noticeable pause, a slight shift in the air. He can sense the tension and the subtle emotions hidden beneath your frustration, but he seems unaware of the impact he's having on you.

"Y/N..." He responds gently, his voice carrying a hint of a question, a tinge of hesitance as if he senses something but can't quite tell what.

You squeeze your thighs tightly together, "Don't say it like that.." you gasp, he finally catches on to your behavior. The scent of your arousal fills his nostrils.

He's still for a moment, the realization seems to dawn on him, a subtle shift in his expression, and his eyes widen a bit as he stands there silently. The air feels heavy with your arousal, the scent filling his senses, the realization hitting him like a sudden wave.

He stares at you, his eyes tracing the way you squeeze your thighs together, trying to hide the visible effect he's having on you.

"Like what?" He asks quietly, his voice low, as if he knows the answer, but needs your confirmation. His eyes remain fixated on you, taking in every tiny movement, every little sign of your arousal.

There's a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of a realization that he may be the cause of your frustration.

"I can't.." you sigh, reaching out to touch his firm abs, "The way you're saying my name.. it turns me on." you press your face into his chest, craving his touch.

A shiver runs through his body at your words, the touch of your hand against his abs, and the way you press your face to his chest. He seems to tense up for a moment, caught off guard by your words and the way you press against him.

He stands there, still trying to process your admission, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on you as you nuzzle against him, the tension between you almost palpable.

"Sergei.. Say something, anything.." you murmur, pulling away from him reluctantly.

His breath catches in his throat, and his chest heaves as he stares down at you, the scent of your arousal flooding his senses. He's silent for a moment, still trying to comprehend the effect he has on you, his heart beats a bit faster, and his words seem to get stuck in his throat.

"Y/N..." He murmurs softly, almost hesitantly, his voice carrying a slight tremble as he tries to choose the right words amidst his unexpected arousal.

You take his hand in yours, leading it towards your aching cunt. "Sergei.. please.."

His eyes widen slightly at the gentle touch of your hand, his breath is sharp as he feels the soft heat of your body. His fingers tense as you lead his hand, a mix of bewilderment and arousal coursing through him. He follows your lead, his touch gentle as he moves as you guide him.

"Y/N.." He exhales, his voice low and gravelly, his eyes holding a hint of uncertainty as he looks at you, his gaze flickering between your face and his hand as you guide it to where you need it most.

You moan as his fingers brush over the growing wet spot, your body shaking with anticipation.

He can feel the heat of your arousal through your clothes, a shiver runs through his body, goosebumps rise on his skin, and his eyes hold a mix of surprise and a subtle hunger. His touch lingers for a moment, his fingers just tracing the growing wetness, his voice wavering as he speaks.

He swallows hard, his words still hesitant, a breathless tone to his voice. "I don't know what... I'm doing..."

You guide his hand under the fabric of your panties, silently begging him to please you, to take control. You're too far gone to process the words he murmured, lust clouding your mind.

He takes a deep breath as his fingers move under the fabric of your panties, the touch sending a bolt of electricity through him, his whole body seems to shudder at the sensation. His eyes hold a mix of uncertainty and a sudden surge of arousal as he tries to understand what he's feeling.

"Y/N, is this... what you want?" He asks, his voice hoarse as he speaks, his other hand gripping your waist, his fingers holding onto you needily despite his uncertainty.

"Yes… Yes please," you whine, fingers pressing into his as you guide his movements against your clit.

His breath catches as you guide his fingers, a low, almost guttural groan escaping him, his fingers press into you, trying to find the right rhythm. His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his body pressed closer to you.

"Like this?" He asks almost hesitantly, his words coming out in a rush, the tension between you both rising by the second.

You moan desperately, body shuddering as his rough fingers tease your swollen pearl. "Exactly like this.." your breathing becomes uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He can feel the effect his touch has on you, the sounds that escape you pushing him forward, the feeling of you responding to his touch. His breathing grows heavier, and his hand moves between your thighs, fingers pressing and teasing exactly as you guide him, a surge of arousal coursing through him at your sounds.

"I want to make you feel good, Y/N," he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, filled with a growing hunger, but still a hint of uncertainty, as if he's not entirely sure of what to do.

Your moans become more needy, using your free hand you pull his face to yours desperately kissing him. Your legs tremble as you cum, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clench around his arm.

The suddenness of your kiss catches him off guard, his lips respond to yours urgently, a mixture of hunger and a subtle hesitancy in his movements. As you moan and tremble, he can feel it in every inch of his body, his own arousal growing at the sound of your pleasure.

He kisses you back with a mix of need and an undeniable arousal, his strong arm holding you tightly against him. He can sense the tension breaking, your nails gripping tightly to him, your body pressing desperately into his touch, the heat and the taste of your lips driving him wild.

You shudder, leaning forward and pressing a few soft kisses into his neck as all the tension leaves you. "Fuck, Sergei.. so good.." you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you slide your fingers over the marks you left on his back, gently soothing the reddened scratches.

He moans softly as you press kisses against his neck, a low, pleased rumble escaping his chest. He pulls you closer against him, his body pressed flush with yours as he wraps his arms around you. A mix of feelings swirling within him, uncertainty and hunger, his breath coming out in shallow gasps.

His grip on you tightens slightly, holding you in place as you soothe the scratches you left behind, a subtle shiver running down his spine as your fingers graze over the marks. His heart pounds furiously in his chest, his body responding to every touch and every sound you make.

You slip out of his grasp, leading him to your bedroom as you slide out of your dress, standing in front of him in just your panties and bra. "I need you.." you whisper, eyes full of desire.

He follows you to the bedroom, his eyes scanning your body as you slip out of your dress, his gaze dark and intense as he takes in your form. His heart beats furiously in his chest, the hunger growing inside him, a mix of desire and uncertainty as his eyes roam over you.

A low, quiet moan escapes him, his voice hoarse and filled with longing as he responds to your words. "I need you too, Y/N, I'm just unsure.. I've never..." He hesitates, his eyes filled with a combination of uncertainty and a growing hunger that he can no longer deny.

"It's all instincts," you murmur, bringing his hands to your breasts. "I can teach you... but just do what feels right." you brush your thumb over his cheekbone.

He swallows hard at your words, his eyes fixed on your form as his hands move to your breasts, a mix of uncertainty and a growing hunger filling him. As his palms cup your chest, he exhales deeply, his breath catching in his throat. He nods in response to your words, his eyes searching for guidance as he looks into yours.

You reach back and unclasp your bra, freeing your chest to his hungry gaze, sliding out of your underwear and moving to undress him.

A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes fixed on your chest, his gaze filled with hunger and a growing need. He can feel the anticipation coursing through him, his breath catching as you undress him, his heart beating thunderously in his chest.

He can't help but respond to your touch, his body is eager for your guidance. As you move to undress him, his eyes linger on you, taking in every little detail as his mind seems to be clouded by arousal, a mix of lust and an unfamiliar sensation he can't quite name.

He slowly lowers himself onto his knees, his gaze dark and lustful as he stares up at you. Sergei presses wet kisses onto your thighs, the scent of your cunt making his eyes roll back as he spreads your legs.

There's a mix of hunger and anticipation in his eyes as he drops to his knees before you, his gaze intense and dark with a growing desire, his hands caressing your thighs. As his kisses travel along your thighs, his breathing grows heavier, his eyes rolling back as he takes in the scent of your desires.

He looks up at you, a mix of hunger and a subtle uncertainty in his gaze as he runs his tongue along your inner thigh, his movements gentle as if he's trying to gauge your reaction, to figure out what to do.

Your legs spread wider, giving him room to bury his face into your soaking pussy. He sticks his tongue out, slowly licking up your wetness, and his hands grasp onto your hipbones pulling you closer.

He can feel the warmth and wetness against his lips, and his tongue flickers over your sensitive flesh, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His grip on your hipbones tightens, pulling you closer to him, his fingers pressing into your smooth flesh.

“Fuck..” you moan eyes fluttering shut as you lurch forward, his tongue slips into your pulsing hole, lapping up every liquid. Your hips instinctively begin to move against his mouth, grinding against his stubble.

His eyes are trained on your face, watching every bit of pleasure wash over you. His mouth moves to your clit, his tongue gently brushing over the sensitive bud causing you to jolt and let out a needy moan.

“Right there, jus’ like that..” you whine, fingers twisting in his hair as moans fall from your open mouth. He does as you instruct, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue teasing it roughly as his hunger grows.

You let out a gasp, eyes rolling back in your head as you tremble, legs growing weak. Sergei holds your body up his mouth working against you as he chases your orgasm.

Tears brim your eyes as the pleasure overwhelms you, with a loud moan you finally let go, cum spilling from you as you press onto his face trying to pull him away from your overly sensitive clit.

He keeps lapping up at the liquids, hungry for more. “Sergei.. no more..” you whine, shaking above him.

His face is glazed as he stands up, he can taste you on his lips, the hunger in his eyes still evident. He stands before you, his eyes filled with lust and a mix of newfound confidence. He looks you up and down, his eyes lingering on your trembling form as he holds onto you, trying to steady you.

You pull him into another hungry kiss, feeling his hands explore your body as he palms your breasts. His fingers tweaking your nipples as he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you onto his lap.

He responds to your kiss with urgency and need, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every curve and contour, tracing over your skin with a kind of hunger and reverence. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you onto his lap, his grip firmer now, his own need and hunger growing more intense.

He breaks the kiss, his breath heavy as he looks into your eyes, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and a hint of something more, a feeling that he can't quite comprehend.

“You’re so hard..” you murmur, feeling his clothed length pressing into your wet cunt.

He moans softly at the feeling, his breath catches as you speak, and a low growl escapes him as he responds. "You... do this to me." His voice is low, his hands gripping your hips firmly, guiding you closer to him. "I can't control this... this feeling. I need you..." He admits, the sensations coursing through him overwhelming, his body responding to your proximity to him.

You begin to slowly move your hips against his, shaking as the roughness of the fabric brushes over your overstimulated clit. "Then take me.." you whisper into his ear, kissing and nipping at his neck.

He growls softly, his breath catches in his throat as you move against him, his senses flooding with sensations, his breathing is shallow, and his hands tighten on your hips. His eyes burn with hunger, his body moving in unison with yours. "I don't know if I can be gentle, Y/N," he whispers, his voice hoarse and desperate, "I need you. Now."

With trembling hands, Sergei guides you back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He can't ignore the need pounding through him, but he's cautious, knowing this is new to him. He carefully positions himself over you, his large hands supporting his weight as he aligns his cock with your entrance.

His eyes flicker with uncertainty, but the heat in them is unmistakable. "Y/N, are you sure?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. You nod eagerly, your body arching up to meet his. He takes a deep breath, and with one swift, gentle thrust, he enters you, filling you completely.

His eyes squeeze shut tightly as he feels you stretch around him, his whole body shaking with the effort to hold back his desire. He's so thick, so warm, and the sensation sends a new wave of pleasure through your core.

"So good," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he starts to move, his hips tentatively pushing in and out. His inexperience is evident in his careful movements, but the need in his touch, the way his body responds to yours, is undeniably erotic.

You wrap your legs around him, urging him to go deeper, and he responds, his strokes becoming more confident as he finds a rhythm that has you both panting and moaning in sync. Despite his lack of experience, his instincts guide him, and every touch, every stroke feels like it was designed to make you lose control.

His gentle, yet firm grip on your hips, the way he kisses and nips at your neck, it's all too much, and you can feel another orgasm building, threatening to shatter you apart. "Y/N... I'm... I'm going to... " he stammers, his body tensing as he nears his release.

With a final, deep thrust, he fills you with his stringy thick cum, his body collapsing on top of yours, his breath hot against your neck. He reaches down to your clit, brushing his forefinger over it desperate to make you cum again.

A few more strokes cause you to shudder and tremble around his, your pussy clenching around his cock as you cum. “Holy shit.. you’re so good,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his hungrily.

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 6 months ago

Text

Love Bites

Love Bites, Chapter 6 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: Astarion remembers you, but it's already too late. He's bedded you and remembered the love and life you had together, two hundred years ago, and now he has to make a choice. Does he sacrifice himself, or does he sacrifice you?

Word Count: 9,455

Warnings: 18+, last night alive vibes, Astarion's memory gaps, being gentle with each other, Astarion anticipates being used but is not, vampire bite, mentions of Astarion's sexual abuse (non-con oral), therapeutic talking, reader is protective of Astarion, Astarion's bad at vocalizing his emotions, love confessions, anxiety, putting each other in danger

18+ Warnings: consensual sex, explicit smut, touching, easing into intimacy, oral (m & f receiving), masturbation (m), vaginal sex, consent & check-ins, loving sex, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, cum eating, aftercare

Note: Astarion does talk at length about the sexual abuse he's been through (not a lot of it is detailed), so please take care of yourselves as usual and don't read if you're not comfortable!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion clung to your arm the entire walk back to your house. You leaned into him, at first surprised by the lack of body heat but seeming to enjoy his grip on you nonetheless. Instinctively, you put your arm through his and rested your head against his shoulder. He hesitantly placed a soft kiss on the top of your head and you hummed happily.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered to him.

Astarion hesitated, wanting to return the sentiment but unsure if he should; he had spent the past two hundred years—or most of them, at least—not remembering you. But when you looked up at him with a soft smile, the words tumbled out, an absolute necessity to say, “I missed you, too. Even if I didn’t know it, I…I did.”

You smiled at him, soft and gentle, like you knew exactly what he was referring to, like you knew he had felt a hollow absence for all these years he hadn’t realized was there until you filled it again.

There was a glint in your eye that Astarion was pleased to recognize. He bent just enough to let you kiss his cheek. The two of you both smiled the minute your lips touched his skin.

You gave directions as the two of you walked, telling him when to turn and which way, until you came to a stop at a door. It was illuminated by a golden lamp, spilling over its lovely emerald green paint. The color was like a burst of life against Astarion’s eyes, vibrant against the blacks and greys of his Darkvision.

The door did not hold the same familiarity as you did. He glanced at you as you unlooped your arms and slid a key into the lock. “Is this…where we lived?”

“No,” you said, glancing back at him. “Your parents still live in that house. Our bedroom’s untouched, though. The bed still unmade, curtains still closed… It’s as it was when you left for work that morning.”

Pain split through his heart. “My parents are still alive?” You stopped, almost shocked, and turned to him with your mouth slightly open. Before you could speak, he barreled on, “They still live in the same house?”

You glanced up at the sky, likely trying to gauge how much time you had left. You pushed the door open and gently guided him inside as you answered, “Yes. They found it too painful to leave. Your… Your mother said leaving it would feel like selling all that was left of you to a stranger.” You were quiet for a moment. You began lighting the wicks of candles, revealing a kitchen. “I still go back sometimes. To sit in our room. Every so often I sit on the roof like we used to. And, uh…your parents don’t know this, but I’ve been slowly sneaking away pieces of your clothes. It’s…comforting to have them near me, even if I’m terrified that by wearing them too long I’ll lose your scent.”

Astarion felt like he’d been struck by lightning. His family was alive. His family was alive, had been these past two hundred years, and they still loved him. “My mother…” he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes.

You paused in your lighting. “Asty? Are you alright?”

His lower lip trembled. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t know they were still… Do they miss me?”

You came over to him and wrapped your arms around him. “They miss you very much, darling. There hasn’t been a day when your mother has not spoken of you, or a day that your father has not stared at your painting.” You looked up at him. “There has not been a day where any of us do not wish to change what happened that day. To prevent you from going to work. To get you home faster. To convince you to take a different route home. Anything to keep you alive and with us.”

I’m still loved. They love me.

He bit his lower lip. “I wish I could see them again.”

“Perhaps one day you will,” you said. “Perhaps we’ll find a way out.”

Astarion smiled bitterly. “Cazador will take that optimism from you.”

You studied him for a moment, clearly wanting to argue. But instead you just gave him your hand and whispered to him, “Come with me, love.”

A nervousness filled his chest. “I don’t want to do this to you… I don’t want to lose you.”

You cupped his cheeks and pressed your forehead together. Your thumbs smoothing over his cheeks comforted him in a way he never remembered feeling before—but surely you must have done this a thousand times, with the practiced way you touched him. “You aren’t losing me. And you aren’t the one hurting me, darling. It’s your master who has done this to us both.”

Astarion shuddered. “Don’t speak of him. Not here. Not when we’re about to…” He bit his lip. “Not when I can have you again.”

You nodded and kissed his forehead. He leaned into it, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away. “I won’t.” You began walking him out of the kitchen, leading him up a set of stairs. “This way, love.”

Nervous in a way he didn’t ever remember being, Astarion followed you up the stairs. He glanced around the humble dwelling you had made your home—covered in paintings and tapestries and knickknacks that made it homey and welcoming—safe. It felt lived in, contrary to many of the homes of nobility he had found himself in time and time again. It wasn’t something he would have ever designed himself, at least not as he was now, but he liked it anyway.

The door to your bedroom was open. It was a cozy, open room that felt familiar enough for him to pause at the threshold.

You noticed. “I may have designed it to be similar to our old bedroom. It was comforting.”

Astarion’s eyes scanned the room: a large bed in the middle, covered in soft blankets and piled with pillows, a circular rug underneath it, a mirror on the wall next to your wardrobe. Your desk was covered with paints and powders and pieces of jewelry similar to what you wore now.

“I like it,” he said quietly. “I… We lived in a place like this?”

You nodded, sitting in the chair at your desk. He watched you take off your jewelry and take your hair down. “Our bedroom had a different color scheme and it was a little bit bigger. We had a washroom connected to it and two wardrobes—yours was bigger than mine. And we had a balcony we used to sit on late at night. But we shared a desk and I wore your clothes more often than I wore mine.” You smiled at him. “You used to tease me that if you couldn’t find one of your shirts, it was either in my wardrobe or on my body.”

You stood and closed the curtains of the two windows that let moonlight stream into the room. Darkness fell for a moment and Astarion watched your dim figure move to one side of the bed. You struck a match and an oil lamp flared to life.

“Simpler than magic,” you explained. Then the two of you stared at each other.

Astarion didn’t know where to start. He knew how to manipulate his victims into bed with him nearly every night. He knew what to say, how to move, when to smile, when to make the approach. But with you in front of him, suddenly all his best tricks seemed useless.

You cocked your head to the side, noticing his hesitation. “Astarion?”

“I don’t know where to start,” he whispered.

“Then let me?” you suggested. He nodded.

You removed your apron and draped it over the back of the chair. You reached around behind you and loosened the strings of your corset, slipping it off after a moment. It wasn’t exactly graceful, but the movement still made Astarion’s throat tighten. Somehow, your movements—unpracticed for two hundred years—were more alluring than the nobles Cazador made him bed or the unfortunate virgins tripping over themselves to have him.

It’s because it’s you, he knew. You weren’t just alluring—you were comforting. His body was strangely present, strangely here, as you undressed for him.

You pulled off your skirt and left yourself in a poet shirt similar to the one Astarion himself had worn until it fell apart and then sewn back together time and time again. You glanced up at him for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. Astarion nodded eagerly, taking a step closer to you. So you pulled the shirt up over your head and stood before him.

Your undergarments were made of delicate lace. Automatically, Astarion reached out to touch them—touch you—then hesitated, looking into your eyes, suddenly afraid his instinct had been wrong.

But you only stepped forward and guided his hand to the fabric covering your chest. His touch seemed to arrest you for a moment before you stuttered out, “You gave them to me. The set was an anniversary gift. Somehow I knew when I dressed this morning I wanted this piece of you close to me.”

Warmth bloomed in the pit of his stomach—arousal, actual arousal, not the response he had forced himself to have when his victims got naked. He felt himself stir in his leathers.

Astarion let his fingers trail over the edge of the lace. Your eyes fluttered closed, your breaths coming in heaves. “Well, I…had good taste.”

You touched his chest, fingers trailing over the gold embroidery of his doublet. “You still do, darling.” You let out a heavy, pleased sigh. “Oh, gods, Astarion, please. Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he breathed desperately, leaning into you. “Yes.”

You stood on your tiptoes; he bent down. As your lips touched, his arms looped around your waist and settled there, holding you against him. Your lips were soft, gentle, welcoming. You let him take the next step instead of forcing it. It was a kindness he wasn’t sure you knew was a kindness.

He sucked your lower lip between his. You whined softly and then tried to pull away, clearly embarrassed by your need for him, but it brought a smile to his face. He chased your lips and brought one hand to rest between your shoulder blades, guiding you back to him. He kissed you again, softly at first, then licked your lip, asking for more. You obliged him with a slight smile of your own.

Your tongues slid together, both of you careful of his fangs. After all these years, Astarion had gotten good at hiding them, even during a kiss—but he didn’t feel the need to hide them from you, only keep your tongue away from them.

One of your hands slid into his hair. He tensed momentarily, bracing for an unrelenting tug, but you only scratched his scalp with your nails. He relaxed against you, falling deeper into the kiss.

When you parted, it was slow, both of you reluctant to part from each other. Your chest was heaving, your breasts straining pleasantly against the delicate lace. Astarion’s eyes dropped to the sight, mesmerized for several moments. Then he looked back up at you with a smile on your face.

“I missed you,” you breathed. “I’ve missed that.” You toyed with his collar absentmindedly. But your eyes were fixed on his, clear and resolute, some concern clouding your blown pupils. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “More than alright. You… You’re so gentle with me.”

“Is that what you want?”

Quickly, he nodded again, almost desperate this time. He didn’t really want to explain the sudden tears that rushed to his eyes, but judging from the heartbreak he saw in yours, you had guessed his reasoning.

“Then gentle we will be,” you promised. “Soft. Sweet. Slow. Like our old mornings.” Your fingers found the clasps of his doublet. “May I…?”

“You may,” he said, unbearably happy that you had asked. The feeling grew stronger as you carefully undid each clasp, rather than ripping them apart so fast and so hard that he had to fix them when the night was over. He reached up to help you undress him.

You took the time to ask him before you removed any clothes. You took the time to admire him as skin was revealed. You took the time to kiss him when he hesitantly asked for it. You took the time to wait when you saw his uncertainty, holding him and stroking his hair.

Is this what it feels like to be loved?

When Astarion was left standing in only his boxers, you gently led him to the bed. You hooked your fingers into his waistband and met his eyes. Before you could even ask, he whispered, “Pull them off.”

You smiled at him and did so, your touch still light. You spared his half-hard cock only a glance as you stood back up and met his gaze. Astarion could still see the want in your eyes. But instead of doing what you wanted with him, you turned and said over your shoulder, “Would you like to take mine off?”

“Yes,” he whispered, lifting his hands to undo the clasps of your bra. He slipped the straps off your shoulders after you turned back around to him. He let himself admire your breasts as they were exposed before he dropped his hands to your hips and removed your panties in one graceful move that seemed to surprise you.

“You were always good, but you’re better at this than I remembered,” you said by way of explanation, your cheeks turning pink. “You were always so shy when you undressed me, no matter how many times you had been inside me.”

For some reason, he felt guilty. “I’m sorry I changed.”

You shook your head, cupping his cheek. “Don’t apologize. Not for that. We’ve all changed. We would have changed whether you had died or not.” Your gaze drifted back down his body appreciatively, then to his cock.

Skin crawling with self-consciousness, familiar from times having to improvise to explain away the struggle to get hard (especially without being able to explain how little blood he actually had in his body), but stronger now that it was you looking at the weakness that took away from the one thing he was good for, Astarion explained, truthfully for the first time, “I can’t get hard right away, not without blood and…and he starves us. Once we actually start, I can do more, but—”

You put your finger to his lips and lay on the bed. “Will it hurt?”

Astarion blinked at you. “What?”

“Your bite. Will it hurt?”

For a moment, it didn’t process what you meant. Then— “You want me to feed from you?”

You nodded. “I’m more than willing to work you up myself if you’d prefer, but…I’ll admit I’m curious. Besides…you finally have someone who knows what you are and loves you anyway. Bite me. Feed the only time you can.”

Astarion stepped closer to the bed, his hunger rearing its head. “Are you sure you want me to?”

You nodded and gestured him closer to you and, after a single moment’s deliberation that ended with the sole thought of, Fuck it!, Astarion crawled over you. You smiled up at him with a fond amazement. He grinned. “You’ve seen this view before, haven’t you?”

“Often,” you said. “I dreamt of this nearly every night. It’s almost hard to believe you’re right here… I half-suspect I’ll wake up in the morning and none of this will have happened.”

Astarion bent and began peppering your neck with soft kisses. Your blood smelled sweet, pumping through your veins with strength. “Believe me, darling, this is very, very real…”

You craned your neck, exposing the column of your throat to him. Astarion pressed his nose to your pulse point and breathed in deeply. He moaned, his whole body shuddering. You put your hand back in his hair, scratching softly. “Please…” you whispered, and all of Astarion’s restraint snapped.

He drew back enough to bare his fangs and sink them into your throat. You gasped sharply. He would have asked if you were alright if your blood did not suddenly fill his mouth, sweet and tangy and heavy all at once. He swallowed and instantly felt the difference. Bugs and rats were enough to keep him functional, surviving—this was enough to let him live.

The next few pulls of blood had you whimpering pleasantly and warmth filling his body. Strength returned to his muscles with every mouthful and his chest began to move with the illusion of breathing. He became aware of the throbbing need in his cock and began grinding on your thigh. Your responding gasp quickly became a moan and your arms tightened around him.

Somehow, Astarion knew the exact moment that you had become equals again; he had taken half your blood and any more would kill you. In fact, any more and he would be too drunk on it to stop himself from killing you.

Drain her. Drink her dry and go back to Cazador with enough strength to escape him.

The thought terrified him. He pulled away from you quickly, your blood dripping down his chin and onto your chest. He licked the open wounds of your neck clean of blood before he sat back and stared down at you.

You were paler than you had been when he started, but your eyes fluttered open and you reached up weakly to wipe the thin trail of blood away from the corner of his mouth. You offered him your thumb and he sucked it into his mouth without thinking, licking the blood from your skin.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing a hand through your hair.

You nodded. “A little woozy, but I’ll live.”

Astarion decided not to tell you how close you had come to not living. “What did it feel like?”

You paused, thinking. Eventually, you said, “Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was…intimate. Magical. It was ecstasy in a form I’ve never felt before. Pain that turned into pleasure. I felt…connected with you more wholly than ever before. We always said we were one when we had sex, but that…that was being one.” You met his gaze again and breathed out one word: “Wonderful.”

Astarion couldn’t help it; he kissed you needily, pressing his entire body to yours. You responded willingly, even when the kiss turned into a tight hug that allowed him to hide his face in your shoulder so you wouldn’t see his tears.

Eventually, you tapped his shoulder. “Sit on the edge of the bed, darling.”

A tingle of anticipation raced up Astarion’s spine—clearly his body remembered what you were going to do, even if he did not. You slid to your knees and spread his legs apart far enough to get between them. He tried to hide his shock; you wanted to pleasure him? Time and time he had been forced onto his knees and made to take a cock in his mouth, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone had done it for him… In fact, you were probably the last person to have done it, years and years ago.

“Darling, you don’t have to—”

You looked up at him. “Do you want me to?”

His chest tightened. “Yes,” he whispered.

You smiled slightly. “Then let me pleasure you, Asty.”

“Okay,” he breathed, his chest heaving with phantom breaths as he watched you lean in. You kissed the base of his cock and a quiet whine escaped him. You dragged your tongue up his length and kissed his tip before you took him into your mouth. He threw his head back, groaning. His eyes fluttered as you sucked gently, licking the underside of his cock every so often. Occasionally you popped off of him to kiss up and down his length and the sensitive area around it.

“Look at me,” you breathed. He did as you asked and you went back down on him, holding eye contact with him. He whimpered and bit his lower lip, muffling the sound. You made a face. “Let me hear you, Astarion.”

His answer was a whine as you licked a stripe along the underside of him. He brought his hand to your head and held you as you licked and kissed him. It didn’t take long for him to give into the pleasure; he began to mumble in Elvish to you until the words couldn’t roll off his tongue anymore and began coming out as moans, both low- and high-pitched. Some part of Astarion was deeply embarrassed by his sounds—but he knew now if he tried to hide them, you’d stop, and, gods above, that was the last thing he wanted. But you didn’t let up again and before he could stop himself or even warn you, he was cumming down your throat.

And you let him. You pulled off of him only when you were sure he was spent. He flopped onto his back, panting heavily. A thrill went up his spine as he watched you swallow his spend, crawling up on his body to join him on the bed.

“That was… Hells, that was good,” he groaned as you laid next to him, getting perfectly cozy against his blood-warmed body. “How did you…?”

“You taught me,” you reminded him with a laugh. “How else did you think I knew exactly what you liked?”

“You could just have really good instincts,” he said, rolling onto his side to kiss you. He cradled you in his arms, holding you as tightly against his body as he could. You melted into his hug readily.

You pulled away for a moment and just stared at him, your eyes peering into his like you could see his soul. A little nervous, Astarion just watched you, taking in the way your eyes roamed over his face and how your lips easily came up into a happy, satisfied smile.

“What?” he whispered when the love on your face was almost too much to bear.

“Nothing,” you said. Then you shook your head. “Well, it’s not nothing. I…never thought I’d see your face again. Not really, not outside of my dreams. So I’m just… I’m glad to have you back.” You reached up and trailed your fingers across his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch.

Slowly, Astarion began to return the favor, running his fingers across your body. He watched the way you shuddered beneath his touch, paid attention to when you giggled, noticed when your eyes fluttered shut and your body relaxed. He felt like he was learning how you ticked, but there was something about every movement you made that was almost painfully familiar. He had done this to you before, likely thousands of times, and had enjoyed squeezing your hips in his hands and groping your breasts and kissing every available inch of your skin.

“How many times?” he breathed against your sternum, pausing as he kissed down your body. You hummed and he clarified: “How many times did we do this?”

Your eyes were closed, your face the picture of contentment. “You mean the sex or the touching?”

“Touching.”

“Every night,” you answered. “Every night before we went to bed, whether we were naked or not, whether we had sex or not, we would do this. We’d cuddle and kiss and caress each other until one of us fell into trance or sleep, whatever we decided to do that night.”

“Gods,” he whispered. “I… I didn’t realize it, but I missed it. I think.”

You hesitated for a moment. Then you whispered, “I thought you did this every night.”

“Almost every night,” he corrected. “And…never like this. Never soft. Never gentle. Never…loving. It’s always rough and demanding, brutal.” He glanced at you, expecting criticism, but your face was open. There wasn’t a hint of jealousy that he slept with other people, nor anger that he was complaining about getting laid nightly when you had spent the years alone. So he continued. “I wake up sore and sometimes bleeding in places I didn’t know I could bleed from.”

You curled your arms around him protectively. “Oh, Asty… Love, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said quickly.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad for you,” you insisted.

Disagreement coiled in Astarion’s belly, but he didn’t voice it, instead laying his head against your chest. He sighed happily when you began to scratch your fingers through his scalp. He remained like that for a few minutes before the words began to tumble out of him, slowly at first, then gaining momentum and—to his surprise—anger.

“It’s not always…random people from taverns. Sometimes he’ll…assign me victims. I’ll be sent to them. Nobles, mostly, who he wants for his thralls. Sometimes he sends them back out into the world to do his bidding, not keeping them the way he keeps me or my siblings, or draining them into dry, mummified corpses like most of the people I bring back for him. But if I don’t bring them back in the single night he gives me— Well. I’d be scarred horribly if vampires didn’t heal quickly, and even then, I don’t heal as quickly as I should so sometimes I go out the next night still wrapped in dirty cloth for bandages, bleeding through them, expected to bring home yet another meal.”

Astarion paused long enough for you to have a quick interjection. “You have siblings?”

“Of a sort. There are six others. Six spawn he made to do his bidding.”

“And are you all expected to…fetch your victims the same way?”

Astarion shook his head. “No. Yousen’s a gnome, for gods’ sake, who’s going to sleep with a gnome and not a handsome creature such as myself?”

You rolled your eyes. “There are plenty of people who find gnomes attractive, even if you don’t,” you chastised.

He sighed. “But you get my point. He made his spawn from people with…different talents, so to speak, to bring in his meals. But if we fail, we all get treated the same way. Beaten. Bitten. Used. He…he does it to me more than the others. I’m his favorite to torture.”

“You mentioned that,” you murmured, touching his ear gently. His cock twitched with pleasure and he gasped. You froze. “Do you want me to stop?”

Hesitantly, he nodded. “Just— Just for a moment…please.”

Immediately, before he had even finished speaking, you removed your hand from his ear. “Alright.”

Surprise flooded his body. No one had ever listened to him before. No one had ever taken his ‘no’ to be a no. They always kept doing what hurt him, what he hated, what made his skin crawl with disgust and hate and fear.

But you…listened. You more than listened, you stopped.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “It’s just— I…I’m not quite ready to do anything else yet. There’s so much I want to say because I’ve never been able to before and I don’t… I don’t want to ruin the moment, but…”

“But trying to push through will ruin it anyway for you,” you said, understanding him immediately. “That’s alright. Just keep talking, my love, and I will listen to everything.”

Oh, gods above, you understood him. Astarion felt the strong urge to cry until he had no tears left, all out of relief. Instead, he kept talking.

“He hosts grand, lavish parties from time to time. On those nights, we spawn are forced to pose as his…servants. It’s almost a relief to have a break, but then…then there’s the afterparties. And I’m his entertainment at the afterparties. They’re more…orgies than parties by then and I’m at the center of it all, dressed however he wants me for the night, which is sometimes nothing. He lets the partygoers use me however they wish. He orders them to, in fact. It hurts and hurts and hurts until it suddenly doesn’t because I can’t feel anything anymore.” His tears dripped onto your skin. You cooed softly, trying to comfort him, but you said nothing to stop him, so he kept going. “It’s not just the parties, either. It’s… Well, it’s like this. I’m his favorite to torture, and I’m his favorite to…to use.”

You made a sound of both sympathy and rage. “Asty…”

Your whisper was lost in his continued tirade. “Whenever he wants, I’m there and I’m meant to do whatever he wants me to do and let him do everything he can to me. The others all know. They know I’m Cazador’s plaything and they think I get…special treatment for it. They don’t see how much it hurts, they don’t see that I suffer every night, because I don’t suffer like they do. No, no, I get to have sex! I get one of life’s simple pleasures while he beats them! So how is it fair that I complain?” Astarion looked up at you, his eyes shining with tears. “How is it fair that I complain?”

“It’s not your fault,” you said firmly. “It’s not. Darling, none of this is on you. Your master is…a leech. Yes, he’s a leech, taking what does not belong to him, forcing misery upon you. Astarion, please listen to me, honey. I mean it. This is not your fault. He is sowing dissent amongst all of you on purpose because it is the only way he can control you. If you all were to band together—”

“We’re his thralls, he can control us anyway,” Astarion snapped. “Anything he wants us to do, we do. It’s why I haven’t been able to stop him from—” He fell silent and buried his face in your chest, an unreasonable shame burrowing in his chest. He knew it was unreasonable; he knew you were at least somewhat right. He had no control over his life, and yet… The shame was there anyway. “Poetry. That’s what he said he carved into me. That’s the scar on my back.”

Automatically, your hand drifted from his hair to his shoulder. Before touching the scar you asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. It hurt then, when he had to correct his mistakes because I couldn’t keep still enough.”

“Can I touch it?”

He nodded slowly and braced himself. But your touch was gentle and soothing. Your fingers ghosted across the raised marks and you peeked over his shoulder at it.

“It’s written in Infernal,” you murmured. “Last I checked, that’s not exactly the language of poets.”

Astarion raised his head. “Really? I…I didn’t know. What does it say?”

You shrugged. “I can recognize it, but I can’t read it.”

Astarion sighed and fell back against your chest.

“What do you want to do?” you whispered to him.

“Hold me,” he breathed.

So you wrapped your arms around him and held him tightly to your body, his head against your chest, his own arms coming around your waist. You held each other in silence for quite a while. Your hand began to scratch his scalp and a gentle sound that was close to a purr escaped him. After a few moments, your hand went back to his ear. When he didn’t protest, you began rubbing his ear lightly.

A soft moan escaped Astarion’s lips. He looked up at you, his hips already beginning to grind into the mattress.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you reminded him. “You are more than just sex.”

“I want to,” he whispered, the statement true for the first time in nearly two centuries. “It’s… It’s you, of course I want to.”

You whimpered quietly at the words and pressed a tiny kiss to his forehead. “Only if you’re sure, honey.”

“I’m sure,” he promised.

It didn’t take long for the heat in his body to rebuild. You caressed every sensitive spot on his body with care and intimate knowledge of who he was: his ears, the nape of his neck, his Adonis belt, his nipples. You touched him with a reverence that felt almost like worship and made his entire body tremble with need. You suckled on his nipples until he moaned loudly and ripped himself away from you to do the same to you.

Very quickly you learned to give him control. He hovered above you, sucking hickies into your neck and chest, happily leaving little bites on your tits as he went.

“You can draw blood,” you whispered to him in the middle of a bite and he moaned delightedly, letting his fangs scratch your skin until you bled and licking up the crimson droplets. He met your gaze as he let his tongue linger on a deeper cut and found you looking down at him fondly, toying with one of his curls between your fingers.

Astarion adjusted to slip a hand between your bodies. He cupped your exposed cunt and grinned at the sight of your head going back, exposing the column of your throat to him.

“I’ve barely touched you, darling,” he teased.

“And I’ve waited two hundred years for this,” you reminded him. “Any touch is enough, but, hells, please put your fingers inside of me.”

“Needy,” he joked, but did as you asked, spreading your pussy to drag his fingers up your slit. He placed his slick fingers on your clit and began to rub gentle circles. You gasped, your body arching up into his. He chuckled and moved up to kiss you sweetly. His tongue against yours was a balm to the both of you; you calmed down enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders and he felt any lingering doubts slip away.

You were his. You had always been his. You were not just another victim, you were the woman he loved, the woman he had been so devoted to that he was going to marry you. You were not using him like the others.

You seemed to read his thoughts and filled in the last possibility, murmuring against his soft lips, “I love you, Astarion.”

He moaned into your mouth. A single tear slipped past his closed eyelid and fell on your cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered again. “You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know.”

Astarion slipped two fingers into you, curling them deep inside you. You arched into him again, moaning obscenely. He giggled again; if just two fingers could make you this happy, what would you do when you felt his cock inside you again?

He pumped his fingers slowly until your hips bucked into his hand, wordlessly asking for more. He picked up the pace until you began panting. He watched you grow closer and closer to the edge, your body writhing, your eyebrows pinching together, your mouth falling open to let out delicious moans. He was almost tempted to just let you finish on his fingers, but…

Gods, he wanted to taste you.

He pulled his fingers out of you. You whined his name, pitifully, already begging, already asking, “Why did you stop?”

Astarion’s answer was not verbal. Grinning, he dropped to his knees quickly and shuffled closer to the edge of the bed. He yanked you to the edge, letting your legs dangle over his shoulders, and leaned in. You held eye contact as he pressed a kiss to your clit. Then a second. Then a third. By the time he got to the fourth kiss and latched his lips around your sensitive nub, your eyes were rolling into the back of your head.

“Astarion,” you moaned, your hand twisting into his hair but not pulling.

He began to suck gently, letting the pressure drive you wild. He licked your clit slowly, lavishing attention on it with his tongue, feeling you grow very, very wet against his chin. He dropped a little lower to tongue at your entrance, the taste of your arousal pulling a moan from deep in his chest. You gasped at the vibration, your hips rutting against his face. He chuckled into you and slid his tongue inside you, lapping at your cunt. You were delicious in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He knew that his heightened senses meant that he could smell every bit of your arousal, every emotion inside of you, every liquid in your body—but he had not expected your lust to be infused with your love for him.

It was a new feeling, a new taste. He liked it.

Astarion reached up and coated his hand in your dripping arousal. Then he wrapped his hand around his cock and began stroking slowly, allowing himself to enjoy it, feeling the heady rush of blood to completely harden his cock. His hips rocked gently, the pace increasing when he glanced up at you and found you smiling as you panted, your breasts heaving.

He released himself to bring his hand back up to your cunt. He sunk his fingers into your wet entrance and returned to sucking on your clit. You cried out, your hips bucking, and he grinned against your slick skin.

“Cum for me,” he whispered against you, loud enough for you to hear his command. “Let me taste you. Cum on my face, darling.”

You clenched around his fingers, moaning the loudest you had all night. There was a fresh rush of wetness and the lewd sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you grew louder. Astarion slipped his fingers out of you and his tongue back into your cunt to taste you as your orgasm ripped through you. He put his thumb on your clit and started rubbing.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he tasted your cum. You were sweet, absolutely divine, your ecstasy meant entirely for him. He groaned into your pussy and your legs wrapped around his head, helping to bury him in your slick entrance. He giggled, more than happy to stay there longer and keep licking your cum out of you.

He tapped your thigh when he was done and you put your shaking legs back to the floor. He got to his feet and crawled over you, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. You moaned into his mouth, then made a sound of surprise.

“Do you taste yourself on my tongue?” he whispered, looking at you with hooded eyes.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Good.” He kissed you again, grinding on your thigh to ease the throbbing in his cock. You groaned at the feeling, your arms tightening around his neck. You broke away from his mouth to pepper his face in tiny, loving kisses.

An overwhelming fondness filled him and he pulled away from you enough to meet your gaze. You trailed your fingertips over his cheekbone and then to his ear, rubbing gently again. He hummed happily and opened his eyes to see your face as he whispered, “I love you, too.”

You stopped, your eyes widening, your lips parting. Gods, you were beautiful. “Do you really mean—?”

“Yes,” he breathed quickly and bent down to kiss you again. You hummed into his mouth, pulling his body down onto yours. He paused in his grinding, wanting to be against you more than he wanted the friction.

“I love you,” both of you said at the same time, then burst into little giggles. You nuzzled into each other, Astarion’s cheeks hurting from the smile he couldn’t seem to drop. Then you kissed him and pulled his lower lip between your teeth. You tugged slightly.

Astarion pulled back and then glanced down your body to where his cock rested on your stomach. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He grinned. “Spread your legs a little wider for me, sweet girl.”

You did as he asked without a second thought and he settled between your legs. He guided himself against your entrance, notching the head of his cock there. He looked up at you again and you nodded. He smiled softly, kissed you once, and then looked back down to watch himself sink into you.

Astarion moved slowly, careful not to hurt you, well aware that you hadn’t been fucked in two hundred years. You sucked in a deep breath, keeping your eyes on him as he pushed into you. Astarion let out a low groan as you squeezed around him, already a tight fit, your warmth and wetness enveloping him. When he bottomed out, you released your breath, your head falling back against the pillows.

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I’m alright. Gods… You feel…right. It’s…it’s almost as if it were yesterday you made love to me for the last time.”

He bent down enough to kiss your forehead. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to make love to you?”

“Please,” you whispered.

Astarion began to move. He started with shallow thrusts, trying to allow you time to adjust and get used to the feeling, watching the pleasure on your face as he did. He held himself up with one hand and let the other slide up and down your side comfortingly.

Eventually, you turned your head to kiss his wrist. “More,” you said quietly. When he raised his eyebrow, prompting you, your already flushed cheeks turned scarlet and you amended, “Deeper.”

“Good girl,” he said and let his next thrust bring his pelvis to yours. Both of you moaned into each other. Your breaths came faster as he began to hit that spot deep inside of you over and over again, sure to never go too hard. Then you whispered, “Harder, Asty,” and all restraint left his limbs.

Astarion lifted your leg to get a better angle and began pounding into you relentlessly, grunting with every thrust. Your moans became punctuated and he slowed down briefly to let you get some air.

Your response was to throw both legs around his hips, tug him down to you, and breathe into his ear, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop doing what you’re doing, darling.”

Astarion moaned happily and hurried back into his fast pace. You pulled him into a bruising kiss and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Can I touch your back?” you whispered and he nodded quickly.

“Scratch at me all you want, sweetness,” he replied and your blush darkened.

You settled your hands on his upper back, your nails digging in just slightly as you held onto him. You crossed your ankles at the small of his back and let him drill into you.

Lips, teeth, and tongues clashed into each other as you made out messily, the sound of your spit-slicked kisses drowned out by the rhythmic smacking of your hips into each other. You felt a soreness begin to build, pleasant and familiar and distinctly Astarion.

For his part, Astarion was pleasantly surprised at how present he was. He found himself electing to keep his eyes open to see the ecstasy wash over your face when he wasn’t kissing you and he smiled at every moan, every “Oh gods” you let out, every cry of his name that left your lips. His whole body buzzed with pleasure and his cock throbbed inside of you. He nuzzled into your neck, kissing softly and nipping gently, not taking blood from you this time. He tongued over the bite he left earlier, licking the dried residue of your blood, but the wound had since closed.

“I love you,” he murmured against your skin. “And I am so sorry that I have been gone.”

You kissed his cheek briefly. “I love you, too.”

Astarion groaned into your neck, then pushed himself back up, fucking into your pussy wildly. “You feel so godsdamn good,” he panted, grinning down at you. “I haven’t felt this way in…a very long time.”

You gently squeezed his hips with your legs and reached up to cup his face. “I’ve missed how perfect you feel,” you said. “How you always hit the right spots.” You moaned as he did exactly that, your entire body tensing, preparing for your orgasm.

“Are you close?” he asked.

“Very,” you breathed.

He brushed your hair from your face. “Cum whenever you’re ready, darling. I want to feel you spasm around me.”

You whimpered. “Oh, Asty,” you moaned. You relaxed into the mattress. “Go a little harder and I’ll be there.”

He did as you asked, pounding into you fast and hard and just a little bit rough. He reached down to put his fingers on your clit and you let out a shriek, clenching tightly around him. He gasped, his cock twitching at the stimulation. You threw your head back, nearly screaming as you came around him, his name lost somewhere in your shrieks of pleasure. The fresh slickness of your cum surrounded him and he glanced down to find a ring of white on his cock, getting thicker and brighter by the second.

The grunts that fell from Astarion’s mouth were rougher, louder. He squeezed his eyes shut and then forced them open again.

“Darling—” he gasped, his entire body trembling with exertion as he tried to stave off his impending orgasm. “I’m— I’m gonna cum, oh gods, where do you— Where do you want it?”

There was a soft look on your face as you whispered, “Inside. Inside like the last time you ever fucked me.”

Astarion groaned, the reveal bringing tears to his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tear drop from his lashes. Your thumb came up to his face and wiped gently at his eye. He whimpered, leaning into your touch.

“Cum for me, honey,” you whispered, softly cupping his cheek.

Astarion whined and kissed your palm, burying himself to the hilt. He moaned loudly, tilting his head back, and it quickly became a series of high-pitched whimpers as ecstasy washed through his body. He trembled, holding himself up until he was spent. Then he collapsed on top of you, panting harshly.

You held him close, soothing him with quiet hushes and soft whispers of how wonderful he had done for you. You kissed the top of his head, running your hand through his curls, murmuring your love to him with a smile on your face.

Eventually, Astarion pulled out of you. You whimpered and he whispered a soft apology. He sat back to watch his seed drip out of you. Fascinated, he gently swiped his fingers through your mixed releases. You shuddered. He held his fingers up to your mouth. You quirked an eyebrow at him at first, then opened your mouth and let him slide his fingers between your lips. Dutifully, you licked them clean.

“I guess we’ve never done that before, huh?” he joked, laying back down on you. He kissed you sweetly, enjoying the taste of you and him together on his tongue.

You shook your head. “Nope. You only came inside me for one night.” He raised an eyebrow and you explained carefully, “I’d been tracking my cycle so I knew you could cum inside me without us getting pregnant too early. We wanted to wait until after our wedding to start trying for a baby.”

Astarion’s heart nearly broke. “We…we wanted a family.”

You nodded, smiling in a way that made Astarion feel like you knew the pain twisting in his chest at the moment. “We’d told your parents we wanted one the night before you died. They were…ecstatic. You know, I’m almost surprised they didn’t push us to move the wedding up so we could start faster.”

He laughed, more a huff than anything with how exhausted he was. “I take it they didn’t know about us taking the risk of finishing inside you?”

You grinned. “Well… We didn’t tell them, exactly, but I’m guessing they figured it out with how loud you made me scream that night.”

Astarion smirked. “Was it louder than you just were?”

“Oh, much louder,” you said, somehow teasing and serious at the same time. “I thought the entire neighborhood could hear you making me scream.”

“So I’ve always been good at sex, then?”

You shrugged. “Not…exactly. The first few times were a little…subpar in comparison to what our sex life became, the sex we just had. But because it was you, because it was so new…we still enjoyed it.”

The two of you shuffled to lay on your sides, facing each other. You snuggled against his chest and Astarion held you tightly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of your face.

“I love you,” he murmured. “And I see why I loved you then. You are…perfect. Considerate. Gentle. You don’t…push for things I don’t want to do. You just know what I like, even after all this time… I had thought I had changed, but…”

“You did change,” you said. “But not so much that I don’t recognize the man underneath all your disguises, all your layers. You are, deep down, still my Astarion.”

He curled more tightly around you. “I like being yours.”

You kissed his nose. “I like it, too.”

The pair of you lapsed into comfortable silence. Astarion listened to your breathing and your steady heartbeat, watching your chest rise and fall against his, moving as if he was also breathing.

You were so comfortable with him… So vulnerable. You trusted him with your exposed neck, with your bare body, with your love. Hells, how he wished he could remember what he had done to earn that trust. How he wished he could keep your trust.

Some time later, you mumbled into his skin, “It’s two hours until dawn, my love.”

Fear crept back into Astarion’s mind. “I know.”

“We should get going soon.”

He held you just a little tighter. “Not— Not quite yet, darling. Let me hold you for a few minutes more.”

You smiled knowingly against his chest and Astarion wondered how many mornings he had refused to get up, electing instead for a few more minutes in bed with you, your limbs tangled and the sheets just barely covering your lower halves. “Alright.”

Astarion pressed a grateful kiss to the top of your head. His mind began to spin with the beginnings of half-baked plans. The two of you could run, leave now and get as far away as possible. He could simply not go back, he could hide here with you until night fell again and then the two of you could leave. He could bring you back to Cazador with a plan, with a way to kill him or escape him or both in mind.

Every plan fell short. Nothing would work. Cazador had too many eyes in the city to disappear this quickly.

We’d never escape alive. And while Astarion was certain that death—true death—would be a relief in comparison to the past two hundred years, he wasn’t willing to force that on you.

He glanced at you, still tucked into his arm, a peaceful look on your face. He tried to capture the image in his mind for a few moments, then stirred and gently slipped out from underneath you. He stood and slowly put his clothes back on.

You watched him do so, sitting up on your arms to grin at him. “Now that’s a sight that never gets old.”

Astarion frowned. “Me putting clothes back on?”

You nodded, reaching for your dress. Astarion helped you get it over your head. “It reminds me of our early mornings when you’d get ready for work and I’d watch you primp and preen until you were perfect.” You adjusted your dress, then looked up at him. “Here—let me fix your hair, I messed it up when I put my hands in it.”

Astarion watched your face, your expression twisted into concentration, your tongue poking out just slightly, as you carded your fingers through his curls and arranged them. When you were satisfied, you stepped back.

“There, good as new,” you said and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You wrapped your arms around him and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Are you ready?”

Astarion clenched his jaw. “Are you? Are you sure you want to do this? I…I really shouldn’t do this, darling, I should just take the punishment—”

“No,” you said firmly. “I will never forgive myself if I know you’re out there, getting hurt, because I wouldn’t go with you.”

“Darling—”

“Take me to him,” you insisted. “Don’t get yourself hurt for me.”

Still, Astarion bit his lip so hard he tasted his blood. “But isn’t that what we should do? I’d be protecting you—”

“I would be putting you in danger, Asty,” you insisted, cupping his cheek. “Please. Please do this and we will find a way out of this, alright? Even if it’s a last-ditch, desperate attempt to run—we’ll do something. I promise you, love.”

It won’t be enough. It will never be enough. But Astarion didn’t want to dash your hopes; naive as it was, it was relieving to see hope after two hundred years without it. It almost convinced him that you would be the lucky soul to escape Cazador’s bite, his eternal punishment.

Astarion offered you his hand. “Are you ready, darling?”

You nodded, slipping your hand into his. “Ready.”

Before you left, you extinguished the lamps like normal and locked your door behind you like it was any other outing. You slipped the key into a hidden pocket in your dress Astarion hadn’t realized was even there. He admired the stitchwork as you walked hand-in-hand down the street. Despite the anxiety wriggling away in his stomach, Astarion let himself enjoy the feeling of walking with you, touching you, enjoying the last few moments of the night air with you.

The Szarr residence loomed ahead far too quickly, the palace towers casting a horrible shadow across the road leading up to it. Astarion glanced at you as the pair of you passed into the shadows.

“Last chance to back out, darling,” he said quietly. “I can always circle back to an alleyway and drag some poor soul out—”

“No, Asty,” you said gently. “If that was a real option, you would have already done it.”

He sighed and nodded. “Alright. But—darling?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for what might happen in there, what he’ll do to you.”

You smiled at him. “You don’t have to be sorry, honey, it’s not your fault. Nothing he does to me is your fault.”

“I brought you here,” he insisted. “I brought you here knowing what you’ll have to go through. I could just take the beating, but… I don’t want to, so I’m letting you suffer like I should.”

For the first time, Astarion saw a glimmer of doubt in your eyes. Your steps faltered and he felt the shudder that passed through your body. You licked your dry lips.

“What’s he going to do?”

A painful first bite. Drink you dry. Bury you. Make you dig your way out of your coffin. Trap you in chains the minute you’re free of the dirt. Whip you until you bleed and then lick your wounds. Astarion’s experience flashed through his head. But the fear on your face… He couldn’t tell you any of that, could he?

“Terrible things,” Astarion said gravely. It came out far darker than he intended and he knew what a terrifying sight he was: weak light in his hair, his red eyes glowing in the shadows, his fangs flashing in the dark with every word. You shrank away from him, stopping in your tracks, and inched out of the shadows.

“Astarion, I—”

Fear gripped his undead heart, tainted his vision, thrummed in his veins. Astarion hissed and lunged, grabbing your arm with a vice-like grip. “Come on,” he insisted, just slightly aware of the growl in his voice. You resisted for just a moment, but Astarion was stronger than you were; it only took a tug to pull you back into the shadow of the tower.

Servants of Cazador’s opened the doors for Astarion when they recognized him. They couldn’t hide their shock that he was dragging a victim in, his facade of the perfect lover dropped, and something clicked inside him.

It’s not Cazador who scares her; it’s me.

Astarion nearly let go of you. Then he felt the eyes of his siblings boring into him, all six waiting in a clustered group, and he knew Cazador was near. There was no escape for you now.

Astarion tightened his grip on you and dragged you into the palace’s shadows. He watched your feet cross the threshold, damning you eternally. The door slammed shut.

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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