#cazador fic

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝟙𝟛𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝔸𝕦𝕘𝕦𝕤𝕥 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr x f!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, POV second person, human/vampire relationship, vampire powers, vampire seduction, usage of a leash, begging, dub-con, degradation if you squint really hard, smut, vaginal fingering, teasing, PiV, creampie, vampire bites, vampire turning.

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Norona, your childhood friend and now a priestess, gets a letter from you, inviting her to come visit and see your possible groom. Desiring to see you and no less curious about the man who you might marry, the woman returns to Baldur's Gate, only to become a witness to strange events surrounding you.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 12,220 | On AO3

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: See notes at the end of the story~

She saw you laying there, calm and peaceful, not stirring even in the slightest. Just your chest rose and fell with each of your breaths under the blankets. That’s what Norona saw before she stood from her own bed and walked towards the window. It is a hot evening and she wants to open a window, for your sake and her own, hoping that a possible breeze from outside would stir the stuffy air inside.

She came to the Baldur’s Gate to visit you, her dear childhood friend. When she got your letter some weeks ago, you spoke in it of a suitor. Tall and charming, from a good family. Yet your words omitted his name and Norona was dying to hear who he is. She scarcely remembered the noble families in the city, being away for far too long because she pledged her faith to Eilistraee, which led Norona down the paths rarely taken, all across Faerun. A messenger raven found her, not without help of some wizard or two, but it did find her and informed that her dearest friend was not only missing her, but also wanted her opinion about her suitor.

Yet when Norona arrived earlier today, you were reluctant to talk about the man at all, rather focusing on reminiscing over your time together, the childish games you two played, your father, who was now gone, and how he used to show tricks with a piece of paper. All the fun things that made you both laugh.

After the supper, Norona was shown a guest room, but you, still cheerful and excitable as if no years have passed at all, insisted that you two share a room, share a bed. Just like the old times, you persisted playfully, when you two would stay awake late in the night, telling stories of faeries and scary drow, of paladins in shining armors and maidens with rosy cheeks.

So Norona stayed in your bedroom. It has changed since she last saw it. Now it is draped in rich greens and mossy tones of it, reminding the half-elf of forests and marshes that she herself loves so much. The bed, which she shared with you just moments ago before stepping to the window to open it, is royally huge and soft. Silken sheets, many pillows, lightest of blankets stuffed with best feathers. Norona is sure that the quality would befit a Duke. Or maybe even a god or a goddess, if they fancy something like a four-post bed.

Yet it is hot. Too hot to sleep, at least for Norona. So she flings the window open, noting clear skies and a moon that shines brightly on the serpentine streets of Baldur’s Gate. She briefly notices some figures, late night stragglers hurrying about, either with crime on their minds or safety of home. There are some lights in the windows, but what draws Norona’s attention is a great bat, flitting in the moonlight. It keeps coming and going in whirling circles and looks like it has been doing just that for a while now. How the half-elf didn’t hear the flap of its wings she does not pause to think, but as if her presence scared the animal, it makes one more startled whirl near the window and flies off, towards the city center, disappearing from sight.

Quite surprised, Norona wonders what a bat of this size is doing in a big city like Gate. Usually, on her travels, she had seen such bats only in most remote areas. The sheer growth of them preventing the species from safely breeding anywhere close bigger clusters of population. Fear, mainly, is what drives them away when people of all races try to get rid of beasts that truly look quite terrifying up close. And here there was at least one, if not with entire family somewhere nearby.

But Norona doesn’t get to dwell on the bat for longer, because when she turns she sees you, sitting up in bed, eyes closed. Still asleep, she deducts and comes closer, gently calling your name. When no reply comes, the half-elf carefully presses back of her fingers to your forehead, but she finds the skin cool if not slightly sweaty. From the heat, most likely.

“Are you awake?” Norona whispers quietly but when no reply comes, she notices that despite your clearly unconscious state, you are facing the open window. With a smile she wonders if you too, despite your deep sleep, wanted to feel the cool breeze of the night that softly rolls into the room as if commanded by Norona.

Before she can do anything else, lay you down or try to rouse you with her words, you seem to relax and lie back into the soft sheets, turning on your side. Still smiling, Norona feels warmth when she watches you, so calm and peaceful. Then at last she climbs in too, forgoing pulling on the blanket, and closes her eyes.

Maybe tomorrow you will tell her about that suitor.

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Norona did meet the mysterious man you spoke about. Long black hair, tall in stature. He seemed like a nice enough man if a little pale. Leon, you introduced him, and Norona saw a flush on your cheeks, yet the guest himself didn’t seem to be excited to be in your presence. If anything, he stood still, unsmiling, yet perfectly polite. Maybe it is his upbringing, Norona thought to herself, and didn’t dwell on it longer. Leon spoke little and kissed your hand as he left, after spending merely half an hour, and departing right before supper.

“He’s always this quiet?” Norona wonders when you both sit down by the dining table and you laugh, waving your hand.

“Not really no, but maybe you startled him. He seems to be so unsure of himself, usually. Maybe he doesn’t like me?” You joke and let the servants pour cold, summer soup into the plates before you both.

“I’m sure he does.” Norona responds with an encouraging smile and you chuckle.

“I hope so, at the very least. It’s hard to pick a groom when I’m all alone.” You begin to eat and Norona watches you just for a moment longer before she starts on her supper as well.

She knows you don’t like to speak of your parents, both of whom passed five years ago or so. They have been influential in Baldur’s Gate enough that the Duke himself showed up at the funeral. But left alone with your family’s riches, you knew that in time you will have to find a man to marry. Leon, it seems, is only one of the candidates.

“So what is so special about this Leon that I needed to come back to see him?” Swallowing a mouthful of cold, rich soup, Norona looks over her plate onto you, and you pause before answering. It’s impolite to speak with your own mouth full, after all.

“Oh well.” You give your friend a sheepish smile. “Honestly, I just really wanted to see you again. Leon is not that special, but he’s the most handsome one at least. He says his family is adjacent to the Szarrs.” Last sentence you whisper like a conspirator and Norona’s eyebrows rise.

“Szarrs? Same ones that we heard about as children? Reclusive and strange? Weren’t there tales going around about maids never returning from the palace?” Lowering her eyes to the plate, Norona frowns. Even as kids you both heard the whispers and the gossip.

“Well yes, but you know how the tales get weaved about the nobles. I’m sure even I have some stories being told about being a loner or that I’m unmarried yet.” Rolling your eyes you scoop up more of the soup and Norona shrugs, remaining quiet for a moment while she eats too.

“You know.” She finally says. “If this Leon is a good match, then why not. Do you think he would be a suitable husband?”

“Maybe. He’s just one of the few so I’m not rushing to make a decision.” Now it’s your turn to shrug and Norona looks at you for a moment, wondering what is going on in your head. Leading on several men is not out of character to you, but how unserious you appear to be about marriage strikes your old friend as strange.

“Well, if you say so.” She offers a smile which you don’t even see because you are focused on your meal.

Rest of the supper continues in silence while Norona wonders if there’s another purpose of her being here, one that you are not sharing.

If there’s something more, you’re not telling her.

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“Look, look!” With an excited shout you point at the storefront of Facemaker's Boutique that Norona remembers being in the same spot since forever. You’re pointing at a dress, crimson red in color, truly beautiful.

When you grab Norona’s wrist and pull her with you towards the window, the half-elf observes finer details: the corset that is cut with a tasteful wedge to show off cleavage, how it emphasizes a slim waist of the showing doll it’s put upon, laces and beads – or are they gems? – in intricate patterns, contrasting with dark, rich red against the crimson of the fabric beneath, but most breathtaking is the volume of skirt that makes entire design appear as if the dress is bleeding a pool of blood around it.

It’s truly a wonderful garment, but Norona does not remember you picking such bold fashion statements before. Usually you went for pink or sky blue, most often white. When she turns away from the dress, she sees you completely enamored by the dress, your fingers gripping her wrist not painfully, but almost, because of how excited you are. “Should I get it?”

“Are you sure?” Norona asks and eyes your chosen attire for today - a moss-green dress with a tree-bark brown corset. Then she looks back at the scarlet vision that is a statement and an assertion both. She knows you as gentle, maybe whimsical, slightly naïve, but not the enchantress that would wear something like this.

“It’s so beautiful!” You sigh and finally release Norona’s wrist, stepping even closer to the glass. “Although I don’t know where I would wear it.” After a moment you admit with defeat and your face loses the joy that was there just moments ago. “You’re right, it would be silly of me to get this one. It’s truly breathtaking, but maybe meant for a woman other than me.”

“Don’t be sad. There’s other beautiful dresses that fit you more and are not as…” Norona struggles to find a different word than cutting and smiles, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Your closet is full already, I’m sure of it.”

You chuckle and turn to her, giving her an innocent shrug. “Of that you are correct.” One more glance to the stunning gown that your heart aches to have and you turn away, pointing at the store nearby. “Oh let’s go there!” You beam a smile and Norona relaxes, smiling back to you and following in your steps when you depart from the Facemaker’s storefront at last.

When you whirl to Norona again, wanting to tell her about a ring that one of the suitors have gifted you just three days ago, you notice a man in the crowd. It’s an overcast day and the sky is brewing with rain, therefore a lot of people are wearing warmer clothes and coats. The man easily blends in with them, if not for his tall stature that draws your attention to him. That’s what you think, at first.

Halting in your footsteps, you look at him, eyes meeting and the color of his irises is the same deep, rich ruby as is the dress you nearly purchased. Pointy ears adorned with small studs for earrings and black hair, surrounding the collar of elf’s black coat. He’s not smiling, not scowling. No expression at all is turning his sharp facial features in a show of emotion, but an intense gaze that locks with yours tells more than words or demeanor ever could.

You

are

seen.

Couple figures pass, huddled in their hooded cloaks but you notice nothing except the sea of red that opens up before your own very eyes. You hear your name being called, but it does not register, not right away. Only when Norona tugs at your puffy dress sleeve is when the man turns his gaze away and you snap out of your stupor. Casting a quick glance to your friend, you turn back to where the man stood, but he’s gone. “What is it- Oh.”

Looking around you feel a strange pull to find him, although you wouldn’t know the first thing to say to the elf even if you did find him in the crowd of strangers.

“What happened?” Norona’s brows knit because she doesn’t understand. She didn’t see what you saw, the elf that managed to become a calling beacon, a lighthouse, in a sea of cloaks and the grim haze of the overcast.

“I saw a man. An elf. Do you see him? He was tall.” You rush to explain, stepping towards where he stood but stopping before merging into the crowd.

“What? What man?” Norona now looks around as well, but she sees no one who stands out, no tall elves, that’s for sure.

“I well…” You sigh and give up, realizing that he’s gone without a trace for you to follow, but a strange longing remains in your chest, like a leash pulling you towards this unknown man like a lead upon a pet dog. “Nevermind, I thought… Ah, well. Doesn’t matter.” With a smile you turn to Norona and beam an even wider one. “The shop!”

Walking away towards an open door of the store, you leave Norona behind for a moment longer, who lingers in the spot and glances around once more. Something doesn’t feel right about this, yet she cannot say exactly what. To the priestess it feels like a dark cloud has passed over the street and yet it sounds silly even in her own thoughts.

“Norona?” She hears your voice and forces herself to look away from the passing people and towards you, where you wave at her to hurry with a slender, delicate hand.

“Coming!”

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“No! Let go of me! Let go!”

A voice, high pitched and full of panicked anger rings through the hallway that Norona just stepped into. She pauses, surprised to hear sounds of a scuffle and rushes to the open door from with the voice is heard again. “No! No I won’t go! Please!”

Inside a scene unfolds before Norona: a dozen or so broken dishes, upturned pots and ruined food everywhere on the floor, utensils scattered and knives tossed about, way too unsafe to be left like this. And then a boy, a tiefling, no older than fifteen, being held by a Cook and his helper, a woman of many years. The boy is thrashing and the Cook has to be careful lest the horns pierce him, but tiefling’s tail keeps swinging about wildly and hits the woman on the back repeatedly, which she takes with a flinch each time.

“What is going on?” Norona asks loudly and the boy’s eyes, color of amber set in the dark sclera, turn to her, full of panic.

“Let me go! I have to go! I have to follow!”

“Follow who? Your lady?”

“No! I have to!” Suddenly the tiefling falls quiet and turns his eyes to the kitchen window. When Norona follows his gaze, together with the kitchen servants, at first she sees nothing but darkness, but then…

A large bat is fleeting behind the window, only showing itself when it drifts into the moonlight. It rained earlier and after that the sky cleared, revealing beautiful visage of a moon in all her glory. Now that beauty is briefly obscured by the animal repeatedly, hiding the light with its massive body every time it comes closer to the glass.

“What an ugly thing.” The Cook grumbles and Norona has to agree. Is it the same bat she saw couple nights ago? One that fled when she appeared in the window? She can’t be too sure, they all look the same from this distance.

“Please!” The boy suddenly cries and the bat lingers by the window a second longer, then flies off, quickly hidden by the shadows of massive trees right outside.

When Norona looks at the tiefling, he’s already hanging limp in the hands of his captors, head dangling like some child’s toy, appearing nearly boneless. “I won’t resist, I will be good.” He mutters and Norona first makes eye contact with the Cook then with the woman but there are no answers any of them can provide.

The Cook, a burly dwarf with a mustache that would shame any noble, pulls the boy up onto his feet and spits on the floor. “Clean up the mess you’ve made, idiot.” Then he waves his hand in a dismissal way and walks down the stairs to where Norona knows pantry to be.

The woman releases the boy as well and he stands there, defeated and looking embarrassed, but Norona still does not understand what has transpired before she entered the scene. “But what happened?”

“The lad’s gon’ crazy, m’lady, that’s what ‘appened.” The woman glares at the tiefling for a moment longer, but when he doesn’t move she steps to the side and gets a mop, then a bucket and thrusts both into his hands. “’ere, take these and get workin’ before Loreidas kick yer arse until yer tail comes up ye gullet.” She scoffs and gives Norona a look, then shakes her head in disapproval and walks outside, most likely to breathe in some fresh air.

Not feeling like she understands anything, Norona remains in her spot, surprised and not sure what to make of this even when the boy wets the mop and begins sweeping it over the dirty floor. He doesn’t look at the half-elf, nor does he say anything else. It’s as if she’s not even here. She wonders if he will speak to her if she tries to ask again, but decides against it and with one more cautious glance to the boy, she leaves the kitchen.

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For seven days you’ve been going to sleep feeling well and waking exhausted, weak and confused. You don’t know what is causing this, but when you wake up tonight, just a mere sight of Norona sleeping next you puts you at ease.

You haven’t admitted to her, the real reason why she’s here, but you’re scared of sleeping alone. The weakness, that the local healer couldn’t find the cause of, began wearing you down to dangerous levels just before Norona arrived. Her presence is making you feel better, relaxed and even though you still wake up tired, it’s not as bad is it has been for days. Unlike the last morning you woke alone, without your friend guarding you.

But tonight it’s almost too hot to sleep. The windows are open and a gentle breeze is moving through the sheer curtains, making them dance like ghosts your nanny used to tell about during late winter nights. When you were still a little girl and imagined yourself a princess. You remember those tales well, of lost lovers and angered parents, of spirits returned to haunt those they missed or hated. But you haven’t seen such things yourself nor you believe them.

Norona stirs and you glance at her, then smile softly. Placing your hand upon hers you resist giving it a comforting squeeze, too afraid to wake your friend. Her presence is making your heart lighter. And despite what you told her, you don’t look forward to the prospect of marrying. If only you had your mother to guide you through the courting, but you don’t and that makes you feel as if you’re stumbling about blindly. What does make one man a suitable candidate and not the other? You don’t know, you haven’t been prepared for this. Heaving a sigh, you know you should sleep and you toss the thin cover aside, not wanting anything else to cover you except for your linen nightgown.

Yet as you fluff your pillow and turn to lie back down, a sound catches your attention. A quiet flap of wings, right outside the window ahead of the bed. At first you ignore it, thinking of pigeons or some messenger creatures sent by local wizards, but your mind corrects you about the birds and so, with curiosity, you glance towards the window only to let out a loud gasp. Immediately you clamp a palm over your mouth and glance at Norona who is still fast asleep. But when you look back towards the window, the giant bat, black as ink, keeps hovering with the help of its huge, leathery wings.

You’ve never seen a bat like this before. It’s almost obscene in how big it is, unnerving you to the last fiber in your body. Despite the heat you shudder and notice beast’s red, beady eyes. You are not sure if it’s looking at you, but you feel watched, observed, studied.

“Shoo.” You hiss at the bat before returning the palm to your mouth, but it doesn’t move, just keeps flapping, hovering in the same spot, unnaturally still for a creature needing to stay in the air.

What you know of bats is that they flit around, side to side, swift and hunting, but this one appears like it’s here for a purpose, although you can’t understand what kind. There’s nothing inside the room that would attract a bat of any size, let alone this kind. No fruits or sweets, no honey or open bottles of mead. Yet the bat remains and it does not fly into the room no matter how much you expect it to. Any moment now, you keep thinking, but nothing happens and at last the animal flaps its wings harder, retreating from the open window. Another second, and it flies off, disappearing out of sight when it takes a turn.

With relief you exhale and slump where you sit, rubbing your sweaty forehead with trembling fingers. You don’t know what you would’ve done if it flew inside, if it started thrashing all around and causing chaos. You are just happy that it didn’t happen. Glancing at still asleep Norona, you wonder if you should wake her, tell her about the bat, but after a moment’s hesitation you decide against it. It was just a bat, no matter how big or terrifying.

Again you look towards the window, now debating yourself if you should close it, but decide not to. The night is way too hot and the animal seemed hesitant to get inside so maybe it won’t return. Clearly there’s nothing here that could entice it to come back. No, it will be looking somewhere else to sate its hunger.

That’s what you tell yourself repeatedly while you take one last cautious glance towards the window and lie down, quickly closing your eyes. You wish to sleep, to rest, and hopefully wake up less tired. You wish for pleasant dreams and hope they will come swiftly to you.

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Sitting on a chaise lounge, you find yourself in a room you don’t recognize. It has heavy dark drapes over the windows and candles everywhere. When you look down, you realize that you’re wearing a dress, similar to the one you saw at Facemaker’s storefront. Except for crimson it’s black, with shimmering gems that reflect the candles in a joyfully bright manner.

Your attention gets caught by the movement behind you and you turn over the shoulder to see who it is, expecting Norona or one of your maids. But you don’t get a glimpse of who is here with you. You just feel two large hands cup your face from behind, cold fingers chilling your skin beneath them, slipping around your chin. Whoever is holding you turns your face upright until you finally see a man leaning over you.

You know you're dreaming because he does not speak. It's the man from the streets of Gate, the one you met before. Even though you're seeing him upside-down, you recognize him with partial clarity, the memory of your encounter surfacing partially muddled, as it often is when you're caught between wakefulness and a dream.

Remaining silent, he leans in closer and strands of his black hair fall like curtains around the face. You don’t sense danger nor alarm of any kind. Instead, you feel like you can sense his intentions and they are not to harm you. When he leans ever closer you smile, delighted to see him again even though you don’t know the reason why you’re feeling such way. He does not smile in return, but instead leans ever closer and you close your eyes in anticipation.

Yet it’s not the kiss you receive, but a sensation of his tongue against yours. It doesn’t startle you for whatever reason. Instead you part your lips even further, letting him press the wet muscle upon yours in a demanding way, as if he’s yearning to taste you in a way only a few have done before. You hear your own moan, quiet and almost shy, and the grip on your chin tightens, his lips envelop your mouth and you melt under the kiss with fingers gripping the skirts of your gown.

When the elven man pulls back, his crimson eyes meet yours and you find yourself out of breath, sensing your face flush with heat that feels almost ethereal. When he releases your face, you try to follow his journey from behind you, yet unsuccessfully. Then, there’s a hand extended to you. When you look from it to the tall man, he’s looming over you but you don’t feel threatened or scared. In fact, you take his hand and despite the chill in his fingers, you hold on tighter, letting him pull you to his chest and begin leading you in a dance to a music tune that only he hears.

He’s smiling now, as he spins you around, one hand on the small of your back, other gently holding your hand up despite your, in comparison, firmer grip. He’s smiling, but there’s something else than mirth in his eyes, a wanton kind of need that you’ve seen in men before. Yet instead of repulsing you, it draws you in. You try to stop the dance, to slow your feet, wanting your lips against his again despite being taught better than to kiss strange men during dances. But he does not let you to lead, so you become increasingly restless, not being able to do anything about it.

“Stop, please.” You finally give in and plead, but your voice sounds distant, like it barely belongs to you.

The man smiles a little wider, revealing his teeth and it makes his features appear sharper, more refined. “My lady, before long you will be pleading me to keep going.” He says in a way that makes your back tense and your eyes widen. You don’t know what that means, you can’t even begin to guess, and yet there’s a dark promise in those words, so thinly veiled.

“If you only told me your name.” You try saying, but it’s like your tongue refuses to obey you, language turning into a forgotten skill. Despite that it looks like he understands and keeps smiling, keeps turning with you in arms to the music you still haven’t heard a single note of.

“All in due time.” The words echo more in your mind rather than being spoken out loud and the elven man gives your fingers a short squeeze that is clearly meant to be comforting.

You want to tell him that you don’t understand, that you want to but can’t, but the dream begins to fade and you wake slowly, feeling exhausted once again.

“How are you?” Norona asks by your side and with your bleary eyes you find her sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed. Morning light is coming through the windows and blue sky promises no rain to ruin the beauty of another summer day.

“Sleepy.” You murmur and turn to the side, burying your face into the pillow. Norona chuckles and gently rubs your shoulder.

“I heard there’s a delivery for you downstairs. One of your maids came earlier because she thought you’d be awake.”

The dream still lingers in your mind, yet when you hear of some sort of package, you look at Norona immediately, sleep forgotten and tiredness ignored for the time being. “Did she say from whom?”

To that Norona only shrugs and with curiosity beginning to gnaw at you like an impatient animal wanting to be released from its pen, you sit up and stretch, chasing last dregs of the dream away. “Oh I wonder what it is.” With a smile you try to sound cheerful despite feeling tired and the half-elf smiles in turn.

“You’ll have to go and check it out to know.”

Trying to keep up your usual cheery appearances, you get out of bed and prepare for the day in a delicate rush that makes Norona smile and cheer you on. Yet despite all that, she sees that something is amiss about you. She can’t quite put a finger on what does not seem right, but the half-elf notices the darkened skin under your eyes and a smile that appears slightly too unnatural, like you’re straining against the exhaustion.

All of that gets forgotten, and Norona dismisses signs of your fatigue as a bad night’s rest, when you’re flowing the stairs in a hurry. With a giggle and light voice you discuss with her what could be waiting for you so early in the morning and the maids smile when you pass them, presenting your usual cheerful self.

In the living room, on a massive oak table meant to seat a group of at least twelve, among the candelabras and the vases full of blooming flowers, there rests a box. Black as night and tied with a red ribbon that comes up in a big, double bow on top of it. Stopping by the box that is square and quite sizeable, you wait for Norona to join your side and then look at her excitedly. “Do you know what it is?”

“No more than you do, and I wouldn’t guess.” She smiles but curiosity has taken over her as well and she gently touches the satin ribbon. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know!” You chuckle and touch the box too, then the ribbon as well, but impatience gets the better of you and after exchanging one more glance with Norona, you can’t contain your excitement any longer. And so you pull on the satin, letting the ribbon become undone.

It slips out of its knots easily, elegantly and you push it off the top of the box, gently taking the sides and without any more delay lifting it. Immediately you peer inside and gasp, shocked. You recognize the crimson fabric and the gems sown so delicately into the laces. “It cannot be, surely?” You gasp and put the lid of the box to the side, tracing your fingertips over the intricate craftmanship that went into this dress.

And you know it’s a dress. Even more so, it’s the same one that you have been looking at in the store’s window just few days ago, enchanted by the beauty of it.

“Is it the same one-?” Norona asks, but does not even get to finish her question to know that it is the exact same dress. “It must’ve cost a fortune!” She exclaims almost reverently and touches the gems as well, before you two exchange a look. “Who could it be? Leon?”

“No I don’t think…” You murmur but then shrug and smile. “No, I don’t think it’s him. Only you know that I wanted this one. Maybe there’s a note, help me look.”

For the next minute, together you carefully lift the dress out of the box and first you press it to your chest, spinning around with it and feeling the skirts sweep over the floor. You imagine wearing it in a grand ball, dancing in it, just like you did in a dream. Then you pause, remembering the stranger in your night’s vision, but Norona does not let you think about him for long.

“There’s nothing here, no note.” She says and when you turn back to face the woman, you watch her lift the box and turn it around. First she shakes it over the table, after turning it upside down, and then inspects every inch of it, but even you can see that there’s truly not even a scrap of note.

“Maybe I’m ought to announce a ball!” You smile and with the wonderful dress still in your arms, you approach Norona’s side, catching her eye. “Maybe whoever sent this gift to me will show themselves then. What do you think? Isn’t it exciting?!” Barely able to contain yourself, you chuckle and hug the dress to your chest.

Yet Norona only rises an eyebrow at you, concerned to a degree. “Are you sure?”

“Who else it could be from if not a secret admirer?” You giggle and stroke the corset of the dress, clearly already imagining yourself wearing it, but Norona remembers the stranger and a feeling of unease fills her chest.

“Well, maybe, but-“ She begins, yet you interrupt her with a laugh.

“Oh come on, Norona, don’t be so grumpy. The day is beautiful, I got a dress I dreamed of and I have a ball to arrange.” With that you hug the gown tighter and rush off, most likely to find your maids.

Norona remains by the table, not sure how to feel about all this. She glances at the empty box, still in her hands, and wonders who could’ve been watching that day to see that you wished for this garment. You did mention several suitors before, so most likely one of them, who else? But the thought of that stranger still lingers in half-elf’s mind like a dark cloud threatening to pour rain upon a celebration.

“Come here!” She suddenly hears your voice and hesitates, but lowers the black box onto the table and sighs. Maybe she’s overthinking. Most likely she is.

With a turn of her heel, Norona heads towards your voice.

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He knew she was away, the half-elf priestess that haunted the side of his chosen one for days now. And nights too, which he found most insufferable. But not tonight, no. Tonight he will make you his. It won’t be hard either, he is sure of it. He visited you before, tasted your blood, lurked in your dreams. So he knows that with only one last push and you will succumb, submit, obey.

Tonight, when he finds himself in your room, the Vampire Lord is greeted by a calm breathing of one, not two. Leon has been useless in luring you away from your maids and your friend. He has been punished for it, appropriately to the size of the sin he committed. But now he has to do this himself. Come here, skulking in the shadows, avoiding the eyes that should not turn in his direction but have before. That doesn’t matter. The chase and the planning have finally come to a culmination.

Approaching your bed, where Cazador sees your form laying there in deep slumber, he thinks of why he’s here, why you, why all of this. If you were any other lowly soul unworthy of his attentions beyond just the purpose of sustenance, you’d be dragged through the hallways of his palace, kicking and screaming, most likely crying. Until you were dropped by his spawn at the foot of his throne and made worthy of the only purpose a mortal can serve to a being so much higher on the food chain than themselves. But not you.

No, your influence as a noble, the riches you possess, the noticeability of your life has made Cazador come up with a plan, which is now almost fulfilled. He can’t just whisk you away to his lair and to the dungeons, chain you and keep you there, not without someone to come knocking, looking for you. And that would be too simple, too unsophisticated. That would be a plan of those lesser than him. And lesser than you. You, Cazador has to acknowledge, deserve more than that.

He leans over the bed like a dreadful shadow and watches you slumber, the cover abandoned and just a linen white gown covering your form that appears so small among the pillows and the size of the bed. At first, he didn’t find you intriguing beyond what he can gain by possessing you. Always looking to advance his position in Baldur’s Gate and, in time, the entirety of the Sword Coast, Cazador only focused on what you can give to him. Yet in weeks that he spent watching you, tracking where you went and who you talked to, hearing about you from Leon, all of that intrigued him. Among the nobles so saturated in debauchery, he began seeing you as a flower, stainless and without sin except that of naivety.

And then Cazador’s desires changed. Instead of wanting to make you just another spawn of his, lacking free will and doing whatever deeds he needs done for him, the vampire found himself desiring a trophy. A pretty pet to sit by his side, completely obedient not because of his powers cast upon you, but out of your own choice. That untainted flower that he could paint in crimson, like blank canvas that only Cazador would be allowed to draw upon.

He has to have you.

And now he’s here, hand hovering over your form, listening to your breathing that is deep and even. Cazador is almost reluctant to touch you and sully what he perceives as a first pure desire that he had in decades. That’s not true, and deep down he’s aware of it, but in this moment the vampire feels almost reverent. Cold fingers touch your warm shoulder and yet you do not stir. They trace down your naked arm and you remain as beautiful as the last sunrise Cazador has ever saw but kept fondly in his memory.

Something stirs within him, like a glimmer of doubt, a drop of humanity that hasn’t been poisoned by his monstrous nature and for a moment, just for a fraction of a second, he wants to leave and let you remain untouched. But then, like a candlelight in a cruel hand, this little ray of light in the darkness gets snuffed out without a trace.

Cazador’s features slowly change as his face splits with a wide grin. So close to his goal, he can finally enthrall the one that he has been pursuing so meticulously. And thus his fingers wrap around your waist, lift your hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss that he knows is a last gesture of true kindness that you will ever receive from him.

“Wake now, my little lamb.” He whispers and your eyes open on command. He knows you won’t scream, won’t struggle and won’t try to run away. Just one more spell cast upon your mortal mind to make his task easier.

When your dazed eyes find him, you gasp but don’t scream, just sit up in urgency and draw your fingers from his, clutching them to your chest.

“What… are you doing here?” You whisper while your heart flutters in your chest like a caged bird. The man who you recognize well now straightens his back, the grin remaining on his face.

“Stand, my dear. I won’t harm you.” He says in a way that you find it impossible to disobey.

And so you stand, letting your gown cover you except for one strap slipping off your shoulder. The man, the one you dreamed about before, is not looking at you as he undoes the clasps of his long coat, making you wonder how he is not hot in such summer heat. When he takes it off and drapes it carefully over the backrest of the chair nearby, then the elf turns back to you. And while unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, while rolling the sleeves up and slowly approaching you once again, he lets his eyes roam over you.

“My name is Lord Cazador Szarr, dear. Do you know who I am?” He asks in a quiet voice and you swallow dryly, noticing the same hunger that you saw in his eyes when you dreamt.

“Yes.” The weakness in your voice sounds like gentleness instead and Cazador looks satisfied by your answer.

“I am here…” He pauses until he’s right in front of you, nearly intimidating you by the sheer tallness of his stature, but you don’t feel afraid, just upturn your face so that your eyes don’t lose the sight of his. “…to make you mine.”

You gasp when his left hand grips the underside of your jaw. You didn’t even see the movement, but that matters little. Now you begin to feel scared and stepping back you try to escape his harsh grip. It doesn’t pain you yet, but you know it will if Cazador wills it to.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear.” He whispers and the grin that appeared confident now gains an edge that makes you gasp for air again. You’re not quite terrified yet, but something feels utterly wrong. Why is he here, in your room? You don’t understand. There’s like an invisible hand stopping your mind from deeper comprehension. A veil cast upon your very soul that allows you to feel startled at most, when you have a feeling that you should be running.

“To make me… yours?” You whisper and step back, allowed to do so but the grip doesn’t loosen. Cazador just follows your tentative journey, step by small step, until your back bumps into the wall.

“Does that not please you?” He hums with predatory satisfaction and something that until now escaped your awareness downs upon you. How his eyes glow in the darkness of the room, how sharp his grin appears and not because of an intention, but because of…

“What are you?” Whispering faster than you could think of not doing so, you grope to your right, knowing that a nightstand is there, searching for something, anything, just in case you need to protect yourself.

“What am I? I’m your present and your future.” Cazador releases your chin and you flatten yourself against the wall even more. Your fingers only brush over a softcover book that you read in absence of Norona and nothing else. You’re completely defenseless.

But that sensation of growing urgency begins to dull when Cazador presses a hand to the wall by the side of your head. His other finds your hip and the chilly touch feels pleasantly cooling through the thin linen you’re wearing. Your eyelids droop and you feel like you’re submerged in water. Weightless but comfortable. When Szarr leans closer to your face, you keep looking at him, trying to remember what was it that you wanted to say, but thoughts escape you like broken threads and you rise your hand. It ghosts over Cazador’s shoulder, to the side of his neck and you press your fingertips there.

Suddenly, you inhale sharply when understanding strikes you and yet even that is dulled by whatever blanket of charm has been cast upon you. No pulse thrums beneath your touch, not even a weak one, and while given a chance that may begin to scare you, no time is given for you to process the increasing evidence of a monster that cloaked himself in a skin of a Lord. Instead, the dream becomes reality when his tongue presses against the roof of your mouth, making you gasp and allow him even more access. He took advantage of your distraction and parted lips, of whatever mild emotion of intrigue and shock you had been allowed to feel.

Your eyes are still locked on Cazador’s and he grins again, leaning more into you, over you. His fingers grip the flesh of your hip with more need. A type of urgency you recognize as passion in the making and that ignites a fire within you in response. It’s sweltering, in comparison to your muted emotions, and it overtakes your mind in mere seconds. You want this, you want his touch, crave this intrusion that becomes a kiss with Cazador’s tongue now pressing against yours and with his lips sealed tightly over yours, muffling any sweet mewls that he causes you to make.

Yet you don’t feel his breath tickling your skin even when the kiss becomes deep, needy, and your fingers grip onto his neck as if begging Cazador not to pull back, not to break the magic of the moment. He moves slightly, releasing your hip and you chase after his touch, pushing off the wall and closing whatever that was left of the gap between you, pressing yourself against his imposing form. Grasping at the sides of him, your fingers tugging at Cazador’s waist, you beg, if not with words then with touch, for him to embrace you and hold you. Instead, however, the elf breaks away from your lips and smiles a smile that can be mistaken for gentles.

“I think you wish to be mine, don’t you?” He whispers with satisfied amusement and you try to understand if he’s right in this assessment. Do you wish whatever it is that this man offers? What is it exactly that being his mean, what it entails? Yet it’s so difficult to think, to concentrate, to understand…

“What?” Your eyes widen when Cazador puts something around your neck. You haven’t even noticed his hands moving or the object that now encircles your throat. Letting your fingers explore the leather before you even get an answer, you step backwards from him and bump into the wall again.

“This is to ensure that you know your place, little lamb.” Cazador smiles a vicious kind of smile but that too does not really reach you through the fog of your mind. Instead, you focus on a leash that is trailing from the collar around your neck.

“But why?” You ask, not quite comprehending why would he need to leash you.

But Cazador is not in a mood to give you an answer and he steps away from you, letting the lead become taunt when you don’t follow his brief departure. Yet the moment you feel the pull of a leash, you make one unsure step forward. In fraction of a second your hesitation makes Cazador sneer and he pulls on the lead so hard you come forwards, stumbling over your own feet and dropping to your knees before him.

Wide-eyed and confused if you have upset him and why, you look up, sensing rather than seeing Cazador pull up on the leash, making the collar dig into the side of your neck and front of your throat. It begins to choke you and you grip at the collar but to get a hold on it seems impossible, your fingers slipping over rounded edges of smooth, oiled leather. “Please?” You choke out and the elf awards you another satisfied grin.

“What was that, hm?” He taunts, watching you from above like a god that has a choice to rain wrath upon you or favors. Which you might receive will depend on how well you worship him.

“Please, stop.” Spluttering and choking, you beg again, feeling the burning in your lungs that is making you even dizzier than before.

“What was that?” He asks again, keeping the leash so taunt you wonder if it would snap soon. The tension and the discomfort make you want to rise from your knees and yet you have a feeling that Cazador would not approve of it. So you beg again. Beg and mean it.

“Please, Lord Cazador, stop. It hurts.” You rasp with your voice barely audible and he tugs on a leash towards himself. You stumble after it, reaching out and briefly flailing until you grip onto his legs, preventing yourself from crashing into his knees.

Gasping for air, you remain still for just a second, your heart hammering within your chest like its steel being shaped on a dwarven anvil, then the leash is pulled again, your head gets lifted upwards and a side of your face presses against Cazador. Confused and still trying to recover from the scare that you lived through just moments ago, you don’t quite understand what’s going on just yet, but vampire’s hand on the top of your head clears it up swiftly.

You look up, beginning to feel a sheen of sweat around your neck and on your palms. It gets absorbed by the expensive fabric of his pants that feels so soft against your cheek if not for the hardness underneath. Eyes widening, you try to find words, form a question to ask, but his smirk and the glow of Cazador’s eyes are answers enough. He pushes your face against his crotch harder, the erection so solid that it hurts the skin over your cheekbone. “You will serve me tonight and afterwards you will belong to me. So show me how much you crave to be mine.”

As Cazador demands your fealty, his fingers and nails begin to dig into your scalp and you whine with pain, flushing fiercely at the realization what he has in mind to you. He waits for something before you’re released and without knowing what else to do, you stick out your tongue and move your head just enough to leave a wet streak over the laces of his crotch. “Again.” Cazador says and from his eyes you can tell that you’re satisfying him and his wishes. So you repeat the action, ignoring how dry your tongue feels with the fabric absorbing your saliva, trying to let your tongue run along the entirety of his length even if it’s clad in cloth.

“You learn fast, dear. You may yet earn better treatment than those who fail me so often.” He hums the praise and on his lips it sounds sickly sweetly, like poisoned honey dripping from viper’s fangs.

Fangs, not unlike his own. Sharp and dangerous. And at this point you don’t need to ask Cazador what he is. You know. Maybe you always knew, ever since that first meeting in a busy street. You don’t get to linger over this thought for long because the leash is used again and vampire drags you to your feet, making you gasp and choke from the collar not relenting its grip over your throat.

“To the bed, little lamb. Let me taste the warmth before it is extinguished forever.” Not quite understanding what he means, you do as instructed and walk towards the bed.

After you climb into it, Cazador stops you by the leash and you look at him over your shoulder, only to be toppled to your side by his free hand. The smile that he had the entire time is gone now and his burning sanguine gaze eyes your form. Keeping the leash taunt but without making it choke you, he traces his palm over your ankle, your calf, over your knee, gripping the flesh of your thigh. The white nightgown rises with his touch and while it’s hot in this room, you still shiver. You enjoy his icy touch, you realize, and exhale when Cazador’s touch seeks further heights. Of your naked hip, the curve of your waist, but stops just below your breast.

Instead of progressing in revealing your bare body underneath the white linen, Cazador grips your leg just beneath the knee and lifts it, making you quietly yelp in surprise. Exposed so intimately you feel your face begin to burn and look away, gripping the sheets under your fingers in shame. His gaze feels almost physical in how it notices every little detail of your most intimate part. The plump swell of your folds, indicating the rush of blood from arousal, and of course the moistness that’s already smearing inner sides of both your thighs. A glistening, pale strand connects your left thigh to your core and the vampire smiles again.

Draping that same leg over his shoulder and preventing you from possibly hiding the sight from Cazador’s hungry gaze, he steps to the edge of the bed, not tearing his eyes away from your slit. The hand that holds the leash strokes your thigh that’s still on the bed while he holds the other firmly pressed against himself, and you feel his chilling touch slip over your folds, sending a shiver through your body that makes the man exhale with anticipation.

The fingers keep exploring. Tracing your delicate flesh, Cazador pokes at your clit and makes you jump, which in turn makes him chuckle. “So sensitive, hm? So needy. I knew you will enjoy this kind of attention.” There’s no mockery in his tone, but a degree of arrogancy can be heard and you squirm slightly, wanting to slip away from his grasp but knowing that you can’t even if you try.

Another whiny gasp escapes your lips when he nudges the sensitive nub again and you focus on the bedsheets, trying not to think of how exposed you are, prodded and poked at like a specimen on some shop’s counter. Yet Cazador continues, dipping a fingertip into your core, making it slick and bringing it back to your clit so that he can begin rubbing it in slow, tantalizing circles. You struggle to remain still and every time you fail, the collar reminds you of guidance that Cazador can apply to your foggy mind. If not by word, then by action he will make you obey and do exactly what he wants.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?” The question catches you completely off-guard and you look at the vampire immediately, eyes wide in both shock and embarrassment.

“N-no, but-“

Cazador scoffs, but doesn’t appear to be too displeased. He just smirks again and looks down at his finger working your clit to swelling with perfect precision. You whimper and look down, feeling your face burning with shame. Yes, you are no virgin, but the encounters that you did have have been youthful explorations beneath the sheets, not… this wanton display of everything that you are.

“Please, stop.” You whimper again with your thighs trembling from strain.

It’s pleasure more than shame, but you refuse to succumb to it. It clouds your mind even more, yet you want to preserve the last fraction of decency that you have left. Cazador, however, cares nothing for your feelings. Instead, his index and middle finger move and spread your folds so wide you choke back a desperate wail and chew on your bottom lip, looking away once again.

“Don’t be embarrassed, dear.” Cazador chuckles but it sounds darkly joyful. “This is a luxury that you cannot afford. This you shall learn soon enough.” As he speaks, the vampire rubs your spread flesh then removes his fingers on to trace the drenched entrance until he plunges his digits into you, up to the knuckles, making you cry out and lower your head to the bed, whimpering and moaning.

“Please…” You beg and you don’t know how many times you used this little, fragile word already, but even you understand that it is pointless. But you can’t stop clinging to the hope that Cazador might change his mind, leave this room and never return. This hope is almost childish in its naivety but you are incapable of letting it go.

“Shhh.” Shushing you softly, Cazador begins moving his fingers within you. It hurts at first and you strain against the intrusion, but when he curls them, exploring the slick and hot passage of your body, it begins to relax as if on command, clenching and releasing around his fingers, like it’s begging for more friction.

You hear the vampire chuckle again and he pulls them out. Next moment an obscene sound is heard when, so loud in the otherwise perfect stillness of the room, Cazador sucks the evidence of your arousal from his fingers. “Unsullied. Not too much.” He says more to himself than to you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trembling and hating yourself for wanting more, for that fire that has spread like wildfire through your body, burning hottest where he touched you.

Another plea forms on the tip of your tongue. One that would beg for more and harder. But Cazador is ahead of you and your puny wishes. Counting midnight hours until the dawn breaks, he does not intend to waste more time he can’t afford. So he moves to unlace his pants and you catch a glimpse of that when you muster up the courage, urged by your own licentious needs that push everything else out of your mind, and glance up at him. A strand of hair falls over the right side of the vampire’s face, obscuring one scarlet eye that is focused on what his fingers are doing. You don’t even have half a mind to move. Despite the leash and your leg still on his shoulder, you remain as you are and wait.

A gasp escapes you when he releases his cock. Long, hard and ready to impale you upon it, it swings slightly when Cazador moves to lower his pants just enough for comfort of movement. He notices your wide eyes and amusedly lets you stare for a moment or two longer. “I advise you relax.” The vampire informs but you’re unable to peel away your eyes from the sight.

Watching him grip the base of his length, somehow imposing and intimidating and yet at the same time making you swallow with hunger, you chew on your bottom lip in anticipation. As if in a mood to tease you, Cazador rubs his swollen tip against the dripping folds and parts them with it, briefly nudging at your clit and eliciting a mewl out of you. He sees how you can’t tear your gaze away, how voracious your eyes betray you feeling. Still, it’s a game to him, one that he will have an eternity to play with you if he wishes so and right now – he does wish for it.

He teases you again, one more slow stroke over your cunt that Cazador knows is ready to swallow his cock whole. He dips only the head into you, making you release your bottom lip and gasp as if urging him now, but he pulls it out, swinging it lightly between his fingers, showing you how wet your body left him from this little contact. “You are ready, are you not?” He taunts and you look up at him, swallow again and nod. “Beg for it then.”

Beg? He wants you to beg? Something deep in your soul tries to remind you that this is not who you are, but lust drowns the small voice out, erasing it without a trace, and so you lick your lips before you beg, just as he wants you to. “Please, Lord Cazador. I… I need you. Please… You can’t- I mean, I beg you, please take me.”

Cazador’s laughter startles you and you smile sheepishly, feeling silly, but he does not let this feeling fester in your head. Instead, he tugs at your leash and smirks, completely satisfied with your amateur attempt at pleading for what you crave. “You’ll learn to do better. In time. Now, for your reward.” He looks down and points his cock at you again, aiming it right where you need him most and this time you don’t shy away, watching how he pushes his length into you, slowly, inch by inch.

Your body strains with even bigger intrusion than what his fingers have been and you moan, but persist in observing until he’s fully inside of you, leaving you panting with both exertion to accommodate his size and with impatience. Cazador doesn’t remain sheathed for long. He pulls the leash taunt and makes you look at his face while he begins to thrust. It’s not slow or gentle and you clench your teeth through which the moans still escape despite it all. “Keep looking at me, little lamb. This is a lesson I won’t teach twice.” The vampire says with a sharp smile and you quickly nod, too afraid to do anything else than obey.

But as you keep your eyes locked onto his burning vermillion ones, feeling yourself as if you’re sinking into a sea of boiling blood, Cazador’s thrusts gain even more power behind them, making the bed creak even though you’re the only one upon it. He rocks against you again and again, his cock reaching deep, especially because of the angle he has you at and you moan with his every push that feels both uncomfortable and so welcome at the same time.

“Louder! I want to hear you!” Cazador demands and unwilling to trust your competence even in this, he slams into you with such force that you cry out with a whimper. The collar and the leash keep you in place, leaning on your elbow and gripping the sheets while the vampire seems to fuck entirety of his rage into you. “Again!” Another command and another deep slam that brings tears to your eyes.

You’re not sure how deep he is inside of you, but every time he does this, for a single moment the pain is so intense that it makes your head swim. Yet the pleasure that comes afterwards is so much sweeter and so you gasp for air, watching Cazador’s face, his eyes, and feel yourself sweat in the muggy heat of this summer night. Your nightgown clings to your skin, becoming a crumpled, damp mess over your body, but that’s the least thing you’re paying attention to right now.

Another harsh thrust, almost every one of them being of force and precision, making your eyes water until tears mar your cheeks in salty streaks. This satisfies Cazador, because he smirks and tugs on your leash harder, leaning into you all while his hips piston into you without a pause. Your toes curl, your legs tremble, your spine tenses underneath the muscles and you gasp for air right against his lips when he descends upon you. “You belong to me.” He whispers, but before he’s able to lean back, you grip the back of his neck and pull yourself upwards just enough to crash your lips against Cazador’s.

The vampire does not push you away. He kisses you back deeply and roughly. His fangs do not feel strange anymore when your tongue runs over them and he groans into your mouth before breaking away and ramming into you even harder, which you didn’t think was even possible. He’s chasing the climax but you might be ahead of him, because you’re still tasting his tongue on yours and that sends a shudder that sinks deep into the core of you.

“Wait, I’m-“ You try to make him slow down, you don’t want to come just yet, finding yourself insatiable to the rough fucking you’re getting administered, but Cazador does not listen and even if he does, he clearly does not care.

Pounding into you with almost everything he has, the vampire pulls your leash roughly and watches his cock drive into you repeatedly. You’re so wet that your thighs are smeared in it, together with his loins, and the sounds of skin against skin are the only music that accompanies your cries of pleasure and his groans of effort.

Sneering as he feels his bliss quickly approaching, Cazador doesn’t even bother to check how you are fairing the sweet assault that will leave you utterly ravished once he’s done with you. Nails dig into your leg when the vampire feels tension in his loins that he can’t and won’t postpone anymore. With a strained grunt Cazador delivers one more hard thrust, letting the few that follow lose their rhythmic pace as he spills himself deep within you. Gasping for air, he focuses on his own pleasure alone, not seeing just how close you are.

When Cazador’s thrusts become erratic, you are almost there and you feel him filling you with his seed that is cold but not uncomfortably so. Not that you’re paying any real attention that, enveloped in the orgasm that begins to overtake you. When the vampire’s thrusts become to lose their pace and start to slow, as an act of last attempt not to be cheated out of satisfaction, you reach down and rub your clit fast and precise, knowing exactly what you like and how. You gasp and Cazador groans when your body clenches around him at the renewed intensity of pleasure.

“What are you-“ He groans, but then sees what you’re doing and scoffs with a smirk when your eyes meet again. He sees the desperation in your expression and stops completely, letting you come onto his cock while he does nothing to help you with your climax.

But it comes and it comes fast. Your visions swims just for a second and despite the leash you throw your head back with a cry. You tense and shiver, tremble and moan again, circling your clit until it’s throbbing and too painful for touch. Only then you move your hand away, after the last few shakes that run through your body, and try to lie into the bed. To your surprise, the leash relaxes and you’re able to do just that.

Panting and gasping for air, you look at Cazador who stands still for a moment, then lowers your leg. When he pulls out there’s a quiet squelching sound that would embarrass you if you weren’t so utterly spent. You watch the vampire climb into the bed, crawl over you and you look at him, dazed and exhausted, not even able to speak.

“Lord Cazador.” Is all you manage and Cazador smiles the kind of smile that is full of promise.

Without saying a word, he lays upon you, pressing you deep into the mattress at which you huff, still unable to breathe properly, and your hands grip at his sides in a weak attempt to push him off. When Cazador’s lips find your neck, you think he wants more, to continue fucking you until you forget your own name and you’re about to protest, beg for more time to recover and catch your breath, but then pain startles you.

Your eyes widen, air gets stuck in your throat and you understand what he is doing. You can feel him draining your blood, can hear him swallowing mouthfuls of it and you try to push him away again, but strength is leaving you faster than you could recover.

“Please…” One last desperate plea as you stare into the dark ceiling of your room and feel your hands being grabbed at and pinned overhead by the wrists, taunt, not unlike the leash that’s been around your neck this entire time.

When inky blackness begins to surround edges of your vision, Cazador pulls back and glowing embers of his eyes meet yours. He sees your blood trickling down your neck and seep onto the neck of your white nightgown. The sight pleases him. Licking the blood from his lips, he smiles, hauntingly gently.

“You are mine, forever.”

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𝔼𝕡𝕚𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖

Norona’s trip took longer than expected. About a week, six days to be exact. By the time she returned to Baldur’s Gate, wondering what her friend has been up to, she discovered the entire city buzzing about a ball happening that very night in your mansion.

She asked people around, wanting to hear the gossip but not much has been heard besides some obscure rumors and that you might announce an engagement during the ball. Wondering who you chose and why so soon, when last time she spoke to you about betrothal you didn’t seem too eager to settle just yet, Norona decided to figure out what is happening right away. Yet to her surprise, she wasn’t let in. Hired guards protected the front gate and told her that Lady of the House has not permitted entrance to anyone until the evening.

Walking around the mansion, Norona managed to get glimpses of servants scuttling around and the open window of your bedroom, but the curtains behind were drawn and so she decided not to call upon you. Instead, the priestess decided to wait until evening and lingered in a nearby tavern until the time came of which people spoke as a start of your celebration.

Norona does not own many fancy dresses and when she dresses in a purple, simple summer dress, the woman wonders if she will even be let in, considering how grim the guards looked earlier today. But her fears don’t come to pass when she approaches the widely open door and not the guards, but two servants in elegant clothing greet her and invite her with wide smiles.

Torches and candles are everywhere and Norona has never seen your home so full of light before. Last rays of dusk look bleak in comparison to the beauty of the arranged illumination that she sees around her. Taking tentative steps she navigates the crowd that seems to be filling every room and every corridor of the mansion. Everyone is chatting, drinking, sharing jokes. Expensive ensembles adorn the men and women look like decorated statues in their gowns of every color on the spectrum. Gems and beads glitter all around and Norona finds herself out of place, just as she always felt when in your company when growing up.

Yet she struggles to find you in the crowd and when a passing maid informs her that the Lady of the House can be found in the ballroom, that’s exactly where Norona heads. It takes her longer than she hoped, her anxiety making her impatient. She just wants to make sure that you’re okay, that you’re happy, but that strange feeling she felt in her gut before she left returns tenfold.

The door to the ballroom is open and she hears music emanating from within. It’s a piece she has never heard before, strong and imposing in how the melody is carried by stringed instruments. It makes Norona feel a strange chill in the choking heat that the mansion is packed with.

Apologizing to the guests through which she squeezes on her path deeper into the room, she finally stumbles out into the dance floor. First, Norona notices the dancing couples. They spin and smile and laugh, relishing the festivities without restraints. There are sounds of crystal being brought together and people cheer with their glasses, but when the couples part, Norona finally sees you and she inhales in shock.

Norona did expect you to wear the dress that you have been gifted. The beauty of crimson now makes you look like a dark goddess who stepped among the mortals. You’re not smiling, that much is clear even from where the half-elf is standing, but then she notices a hand on your shoulder and finally she realizes that her friend is not observing the ballroom alone.

Behind you, Norona sees a tall man. His black hair is combed back and he wears a black suit with red embellishments that look bloody in the light of candles. He stands straight, attentive to seemingly everything that is happening in the room, until his gaze lands on the priestess and feels like a punch. She staggers slightly, feeling her heart beginning to beat faster with fear that runs icy fingers over her insides.

At first the man doesn’t move at all, but after a moment, when Norona begins to gasp for air, he leans to your ear and whispers something that is impossible to hear from this distance and the music that drowns out almost everything. When the man whispers, Norona looks at you, to your focused face and then the lace neckband that you wear. It glimmers with jewels when you turn ever so slightly to hear him better.

Norona wants to say something, shout something. There’s fear she cannot explain beyond utter and complete understanding that the man shouldn’t touch you, shouldn’t be near you. Yet her feet do not move, her lungs can’t draw enough breath for her to scream. She stands, helpless, and watches something red and uncomfortably looking like blood drip in two swollen drops from beneath the choker and slip down to your collarbone.

She looks at the man again and he meets Norona’s eyes with his intense gaze, but what’s more disturbing is a smile that now appears on your face – predatory and almost vicious. She doesn’t recognize you for a second, thinking it’s some sort of foul illusion. But no, there you are, her friend, so familiar and yet so unrecognizable at the same time. The elven man’s hand slips from your shoulder while Norona watches with growing despair and wraps around your neck in a gesture that can only be read as possessive.

When the priestess looks at him again, the man’s face slowly blooms with a haunting, merciless smile.

(𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝) 𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: So, where to begin? I'll start by saying that to some this one shot might ring strangely familiar and if so - you will be correct. I always wanted to write a love letter type of fic to one and only Bram Stoker. And so, I have taken a chance to do exactly that here. Granted, this is a combination of both "Dracula" and "Bram Stoker's Dracula", the 1992 movie that is among my favorite. Naturally, I didn't do the copy-paste of scenes, but almost every one of them is loosely based either on the book or the movie, whichever gripped my fancy.

The title itself, 13th of August, comes from the book. It's the date in Mina's diary that first mentions Dracula in his bat form and so, this significant entry has become the title of the fic. I was always the one to say that Cazador is Dracula (and Starhd) coded and I guess this is my essay on that, a creative one. I hope you enjoyed the story, I have enjoyed writing it and sharing it with all of you <333

[cowboybeepboop]

Perfection

 "I'll have to try even harder next time then. Can't have you downgrading me to just 'good' after all.”

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader 

Genre: smut

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: You’re Sergei’s closest (and only) friend, one night things become more than just friendly.

a/n: as always send any request you have my way! I’ll get to them asap 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the foliage above, you felt an eerie presence nearby. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught a flicker of movement among the trees. It was Sergei, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. 

You'd found him in this very forest when he had first left home, and now, years later, he remained a silent guardian. 

Sergei stood amidst the shadows of the forest, his form blending seamlessly with the surrounding foliage. His gaze lingered on you, studying your every detail. The familiar scent of the forest and your presence filled his senses, stirring a mix of nostalgia and concern within him.

"You've been here a while," he observed, his voice a low rumble. "Looking for something?"

"Just watching," you murmur, standing as he approaches your side. you brush your hands over your jeans, grinning as you look up at him. 

Sergei, towering above you, stands close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes study your every movement, taking in the way your hands brush over your jeans. A faint smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Watching, eh?" he remarks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate through the forest around you. "Find anything interesting?"

"Not particularly, well at least not before you showed up," you observe his strong features in the sunlight, hands aching to touch him.

Sergei's smirk widens as he notices the way your eyes roam over his features, taking in the play of sunlight on his chiseled face. He can feel the subtle tension rising between you, a familiar pull that has always been there.

"Is that right?" he responds in a low, amused tone. "So, I'm more interesting than the scenery then?"

"But of course," you glance around, "the forest doesn't exactly talk back, does it?" 

Sergei's lips quirk into a crooked smile as he considers your retort. His eyes follow the movement of your gaze, taking in the peaceful surroundings.

"True, the forest is a silent spectator." he muses, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "But I happen to be a little more engaging than a few trees and squirrels."

Then, his tone shifts slightly, a touch more commanding yet laced with an underlying softness. "You should join me for dinner. It's late, and I doubt you've eaten anything substantial."

"What's on the menu?" you grin, linking your arm with his as he begins to guide you to his home.

As you link your arm with his, Sergei lets out a chuckle at your question. It was never a struggle to get you to come along when food was involved.

"Nothing fancy, just a simple meal," he replies, his hand instinctively resting on top of yours as he guides you through the trail he and his family had made years before. "Some stew from a rabbit I caught earlier, fresh bread, and maybe a few berries if I can find any."

"Sounds perfect, Sergei." you lean your head against his shoulder, enjoying the heat that's radiating off of him. 

As your head rests on his shoulder, Sergei glances down at you, a warm smile playing on his lips. The familiarity of your touch and the way you lean into him stirs emotions within him. He'd always been protective of you, seeing you as someone he needed to keep safe.

He continues to guide you along the path, the sound of nocturnal creatures filling the night air. "You're quiet tonight," he notes, his voice gentle. "Everything alright?"

Your eyes widen as he catches on to your distracted mind, thoughts filled with the idea of being in his home and surrounded by his scent rather than making conversations. "Of course..." you murmur, "Just a little.. preoccupied." you grin up at him 

Sergei narrows his eyes slightly, a mix of concern and curiosity in his gaze. Your vague answer and the hint of a grin on your face pique his interest, making him even more curious.

"Preoccupied, hm?" he muses, a hint of humor in his voice. "With what exactly?" His arm tightens its hold on you, pulling you closer as if to physically keep you from drifting away in thought.

"That's a secret," you retort, eyes glued on the building ahead of the both of you, Sergei finally guiding you inside his home. 

Sergei's smirk only widens at your response, your words fueling the curiosity further. He watches the way your eyes dart towards his home, knowing exactly what you're thinking. With a slight chuckle, he leads you inside.

The interior is cozy and warm, lit by a few oil lamps that cast a soft, flickering glow over the room. The scent of woodsmoke and herbs fills the air. Sergei closes the door behind you, locking it securely.

"A secret, huh?" he muses, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now you've got me genuinely intrigued."

You take a seat on the couch, relaxing into the plush fabric. "I'll tell you after dinner, I'm too hungry to wait." you pull a blanket over your body, instantly making yourself at home in the familiar environment. 

Sergei watches as you settle into the couch, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Your ability to make yourself at home in his space doesn't go unnoticed, and he finds it almost endearing.

"Fair enough," he smirks, moving towards the small kitchenette area. "Dinner won't take too long. I promise I'll have you spilling your secrets soon enough." He grabs a few items from his cupboards and sets to work on preparing the meal.

"Take your time pretty boy," you murmur, eyes glued to his back as he moves around the kitchen.

Sergei's shoulders visibly tense for a moment as your voice drifts over to him, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. Your playful nickname causes a familiar heat to rise up within him, and he can feel your gaze on his back.

Without turning around, he responds in a low, teasing tone, "Careful, I might get used to the praise."

"Youre right, I cant inflate your ego too much." you giggle softly. He finally finishes the meal, bringing you a bowl of the stew.

Sergei carries the bowl of warm stew back to the living area, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he sets it down in front of you. He doesn't miss the way your eyes light up at the sight and smell of the food, and it only adds to his amusement.

"Here," he says, placing the bowl gently in your hands. "Be careful, it's still hot."

Once you have the bowl securely in your grasp, Sergei takes a step back, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. He watches you closely, his gaze taking in every movement, as you bring the spoon to your lips and take a tentative taste of the stew.

"It's perfect Sergei, amazing." you hum in satisfaction, your eyes meeting his while you enjoy the meal he prepared.

Sergei's smirk blossoms into a satisfied smile as he watches you relish the meal. Hearing your genuine praise and seeing the contentment on your face brings a sense of satisfaction to him. 

"Glad you like it," he replies, leaning back a bit as he observes you. His smirk morphs into a wry grin, and he adds, "I promise I didn't poison it."

"Well of course not, you can't go poisoning your only friend." the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you finish your meals. Once you place the empty bowl on the coffee table you feel the intense stare boring into the side of your head, Sergei watching your every move.

As you set your empty bowl aside, you can feel Sergei's intense gaze on you. His eyes meticulously watch you, cataloging every movement, every flicker of emotion that passes across your face. Being the center of his unblinking attention is a sensation that never fails to awaken the butterflies in your stomach.

After a moment, he breaks the silence. His voice is low, with a hint of huskiness in his tone. "So... about that little secret you've been holding onto..."

"Well, I was thinking.. about asking you if I could stay here for the night." you turn to him, expression pleading. "Look I know it's a little inconvenient-" he interrupts you.

Before you can finish your statement, Sergei cuts you off. You sense a hint of surprise mixed with something else in his expression, but it's quickly concealed behind his usual smirk.

He crosses his arms over his chest, a slightly challenging look in his eyes. "Let me get this straight," he says, his voice taking on a dry edge. "You want to... crash here for the night, no explanation?"

"Well I was going to explain but you interrupted.." you murmur, voice soft as your gaze falls to your hands. "It's just I really like spending time with you.." 

Sergei's expression softens as he hears the note of disappointment in your voice. The hint of challenge in his eyes fades, replaced by a touch of guilt. He doesn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on your lowered hands.

After a moment, he sighs heavily, his voice holding a hint of resignation. "So, that's your big secret then? You just want more time with me?"

"Yes.." you whisper, silently cursing yourself for ever bringing it up. You always knew that your affections were one sided yet the confirmation of it hurts more than you were anticipating. 

Sergei's eyes are unreadable as he absorbs your words, his expression neutral. A moment of silence follows, the only sound in the room the soft crackle of the fireplace. His gaze is fixed on you, studying your expression and the subtle change in your demeanor.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than usual, a hint of sympathy lacing his words. "Is that the only reason? You just... want to be around me more?"

"I like your company, you're comfortable, *familiar*." you carefully gaze up at him with puppy dog eyes. 

A muscle in Sergei's jaw clenches as he looks down at you, your big, pleading eyes meeting his. The sight stirs something within him, but he's not entirely sure what it is. 

After a moment, he lets out a heavy sigh, his expression a mix of resignation and something else. "Fine," he mutters, looking away. "You can stay here whenever. But only on one condition."

"Anything you want." you smile, moving closer to him, your eyes filled with excitement. 

Sergei notices the way you shift closer to him, the gleam of excitement in your eyes making it obvious how much you want to be close to him. He lets out a huff, pretending to be nonchalant.

"Anything, huh?" he muses, his voice a low rumble. "Careful, you're giving me free reign to make all sorts of demands now."

"You're free to make any demands, it is your house after all." you bring your hands to his knees, fingers gently digging into his clothed skin. "But what is your condition?"

As you place your hands on his knees and dig your fingers into his skin, Sergei can feel a slight shiver run down his spine. The mixture of surprise and a sudden flare of heat takes him momentarily off guard, and he has to force himself to focus on the conversation. 

He takes a moment to reply, eyes flickering down to your fingers before fixing on your face again. "My condition..."

He pauses, swallowing back a sharp reply and instead opting for a straightforward request. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Then where will I sleep?" your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you move closer.

Your closeness causes Sergei's breath to hitch ever so slightly, his eyes roaming over your face as you approach. He takes a deep breath, attempting to steady himself. 

"You can take my bed," he says bluntly, his gaze not wavering from yours. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"No," you begin to protest, "can we share the bed? I don't want to steal it from you..."

Sergei blinks, clearly not expecting your response. The idea of sharing his bed with you had never occurred to him before, but now that you've suggested it, he can't deny the spark of heat it ignites within him.

He clears his throat, trying to maintain his cool composure. "You... want to share the bed?" he repeats, his voice a touch huskier than usual.

"Yes.." you grin sweetly, "I'd love to." Sergei can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as you grin sweetly up at him, your eagerness obvious. The thought of sharing his bed with you - of having you that close to him for an entire night - is suddenly far more appealing than he wants to admit. 

He swallows, trying to regain some sense of control. "Very well," he manages, his voice rough. "You can share the bed with me, then."

"Shall we head to bed then? It is getting a bit late.." you yawn quietly. 

With your yawn catching his attention, Sergei glances at the nearby clock. It was indeed getting late. The thought of sharing a bed with you is still on his mind, but he has to admit, he's also feeling rather tired.

"Right." he agrees huskily. He stands from the couch, offering you a hand to help you up. "Let's get some sleep then."

"Lead the way, handsome." you follow close behind as he guides you into his bedroom.

As you follow behind him, your light footsteps echoing quietly against the wooden floorboards, Sergei leads you into his simple yet cozy bedroom. The space is just big enough for a queen-size bed and a small dresser, but it's kept tidy and neat.

He steps aside to allow you to enter first, gesturing towards the bed. "Make yourself comfortable," he murmurs, his eyes on you the entire time.

"Thank you, Sergei." you silently creep into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed before sliding out of your pants, folding and placing them on the nightstand. You're blissfully unaware of his tense gaze, watching as you pull your bra off from under your shirt, placing it off to the side. 

Sergei stands in the doorway, watching every one of your movements with unblinking intensity. His eyes seem to follow your every gesture like a hawk tracking its prey. Your casual actions - stripping off your pants and then your bra - are like a slow, torturous reveal to him. 

His jaw clenches, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggles to maintain his composure. He cannot deny the effect your presence in his space - in his *bed* \- is having on him.

With a final small stretch you slip beneath the covers, eyes wandering to look at him in the doorway. "Are you coming in?" you murmur, not wanting to steal his space from him.

Sergei's eyes remain glued to you as you slip beneath the covers, a mixture of desire and restraint clearly visible in his gaze. At your question, he snaps out of his trance, realizing he's just been standing there staring. 

He clears his throat slightly, steeling himself before slowly approaching the bed and pulling back the covers on the other side. "Yeah. I'm coming in." 

He slides into the bed beside you, trying to maintain a distance but finding himself drawn to your warmth.

"Good night Sergei.." you whisper in the silent and dark room, eyes fluttering shut as you cuddle into the sheets. The sound of your soft voice whispering goodnight only serves to heighten his senses, the intimacy of the situation making it difficult for him to even breathe. 

"Good night," he mutters in response, his eyes lingering on your form for a moment longer before he turns his gaze to the ceiling. It's going to be a long night.

As the minutes tick by, Sergei finds himself unable to sleep. Your body is a mere arm's length away from him, causing the most primal part of his brain to struggle against the temptation to pull you flush against him. 

He tries to think of anything else - anything that could distract him from the overwhelming desire surging through him. Yet, no matter what he tries, his mind drifts back to you, lying so close but still just out of reach...

You shift in your sleep, soft incoherent murmurs slipping from your parted lips as you move closer to him, craving the heat of his body, the feel of his skin against yours. 

As you shift closer to him, unconsciously seeking his warmth in your sleep, it takes every ounce of Sergei's willpower not to react. He feels the heat of your body as you press up against him, your murmurs sounding like a soft siren's song to his lust-fogged brain. 

He grits his teeth, his muscles coiled tight as he struggles to resist the urge to pull you even closer. "Fuck..." he mutters under his breath, his heartbeat increasing with every inch that separates your bodies.

Your bare leg wraps around his thigh as you pull yourself flush against him, your cheek pressing into his chest. You stir slightly, eyes fluttering open and blinking slowly. 

You place your hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his abs as you turn your head to look at him. Your lips curve into a gentle smile as you make eye contact with him, "Is everything alright?" 

As you stir and awaken, the innocent brush of your fingers against his chest sets his nerve endings ablaze. His skin tingles wherever you touch, the feel of your bare leg wrapped around his sending a jolt of heat through him. 

He meets your gaze, his own eyes dark with poorly concealed desire. "It's... fine," he manages to rasp out, trying to ignore the way his body is reacting to your touch. "Just... can't sleep, that's all."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" your eyes lock with his, full of sleepy affection.

Your sleepy gaze, full of warmth and affection, only makes Sergei's self-control slip further. He swallows roughly, his hand itching to reach out and touch you, to pull you even closer to him. 

"I... I don't... know..." he whispers hoarsely. His gaze drifts down to your parted lips, the temptation to lean in and claim them nearly overpowering. "You're making this very... *difficult* for me, you know." Your eyes widen as you realize his implication, your body tensing slightly. 

Sergei can feel the tension in your body as you realize the meaning behind his words. He curses himself silently, hating the way your slight recoil makes him feel. 

He loosens his grip on your hip, shifting to create a small gap between your bodies, his voice dropping to a more soothing tone. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just... your presence here, in my bed... it's stirring up some unexpected... *desires*."

"Do you.. desire me?" your voice is a breathless whisper as you scan his features, your heart pounding rapidly inside you.

Your quiet question hangs in the air, and Sergei finds himself hesitating for a moment, the weight of his answer almost too much to bear. His gaze fixates on you, unflinching, as his fingers tighten ever so slightly on your hip. 

"Yes," he finally responds, his voice a rough, low rumble. "I do. More than you could possibly understand."

You take a shakey deep breath, gathering the confidence to make a move on this gentle giant. You slide the blankets off of your bodies, moving to straddle his hips, your eyes full of desire as you gaze down at him. 

Sergei's eyes widen slightly as you remove the blankets and boldly straddle his hips, your unexpected move taking him off guard. The sight of you looming over him, your eyes full of desire, sends a sharp thrill of heat through his body and straight to his core. 

His hands fly to your hips, gripping them with a possessive force. "What are you doing...?" he whispers hoarsely, his voice thick with restrained desire.

"Sergei.. I want you." you press your palms to his chest, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his. 

As you begin to rock your hips against his, Sergei feels a growl rumble in his chest, his fingers digging further into the flesh of your hips. The pressure builds between your bodies, the friction of your movements driving him wild. 

He grabs your wrists, pinning them down on his chest as he looks up at you, his eyes full of a primal need. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," he hisses, his voice barely recognizable.

You continue to grind against him, soft unintelligible noises falling from your lips as you get lost in the feeling of his hardness pressed into your cunt.

With each movement of your hips, Sergei's control unravels further. The feel of your body, grinding against his hardness, sends a surge of raw need through him. He groans loudly, his grasp on your wrists tightening as he fights to maintain some semblance of restraint. 

"Fuck... You... You're going to drive me insane," he mutters, his voice rough and hoarse. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me right now?"

Sergei's eyes flare with a wild, almost desperate hunger as he watches you, his restrained power a stark contrast to your unbridled passion. He releases your wrists, allowing his hands to glide up your arms, feeling the softness of your skin against his calloused fingers. "If we do this..." he warns, his voice strained with need. "There's no going back." His words hang in the air, a silent question and a promise wrapped in one.

"I know..  know but I need you, Sergei please." you whine, lost in the intoxication of his body against yours. 

Sergei's eyes darken further, the raw desire in them unmistakable. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and for a moment, it seems like he's fighting an internal battle. Then, with a low growl, he surrenders to the need, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. 

He leans in, capturing your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss that steals your breath away, his tongue demanding entry as your bodies become one in a tangle of heat and passion. The bed beneath you creaks as he rolls you over, his strong arms holding you firmly in place as his hips surge up to meet yours. 

Breaking the kiss, Sergei's eyes never leaving yours, he reaches down to tug at the hem of his shirt. With a swift motion, he pulls it over his head, revealing the defined planes of his chest and abs, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. 

His gaze is intense as he watches you, his movements deliberate as he undoes the button of his pants and slides them down, his erection springing free. Without breaking eye contact, his hands move to your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt and lifting it up over your head. 

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down just enough to expose your bare skin to the cool night air. The anticipation is palpable, his eyes never leaving yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down further, exposing your wet, eager cunt. 

He groans low in his throat, the sight of your nakedness driving him closer to the edge. With one swift move, he rids himself of his own underwear, his cock bobbing heavily with desire. His hand moves between your legs, his fingers sliding through your slickness before he lines himself up, his tip brushing against your entrance. 

"Ready?" he asks, his voice a harsh whisper, his eyes burning with need. At your nod, he pushes into you with a slow, agonizingly sweet motion, filling you completely as he buries himself to the hilt.

You nod, unable to find words as his cock slides into you with an agonizing slowness that makes you quiver with anticipation. Your eyes never leave his as he continues to fill you completely, stretching and claiming every inch of your body with a passionate dominance that sends shivers down your spine. 

His grip on your hips tightens as he starts to move, his powerful strokes setting a rhythm that echoes through the quiet night. Each thrust is punctuated by a guttural groan, his eyes never leaving yours as you both get lost in the moment. 

The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, mingling with the faint aroma of the stew from dinner. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the coolness of the sheets, creating a delicious friction that sends sparks of pleasure dancing across your skin. 

As he moves within you, Sergei's eyes burn with an intensity that you've never seen before, and you can't help but feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that you are exactly where you're meant to be. His every touch, every kiss feels like coming home, and for the first time in a long time, you feel truly alive and desired.

With each powerful thrust, Sergei's control frays further, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. His hands grip your hips, guiding your body to meet his with a perfect rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. 

You moan his name, your nails digging into his back as your body arches off the bed, begging for more. The room is a symphony of your muffled cries and his feral grunts, the sound of flesh slapping together in an intimate dance. Your eyes are locked in a silent conversation of passion, the fire in his gaze igniting a fierce need within you. 

You can feel yourself inching closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him as the pressure builds. "Sergei, I'm... I'm going to cum," you gasp out, your body trembling. 

He responds with a low growl, his strokes becoming faster, deeper, pushing you over the precipice until you shatter in his arms, your climax ripping through you like lightning in a summer storm. He follows close behind, his own release a powerful wave that crashes over both of you, leaving you breathless and spent, your bodies tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets.

He falls to the bed next to you, satisfaction filling his body as you cuddle into his warmth. As you both lay there, the night's passion still lingering in the air, Sergei's thoughts whirl with conflicting emotions. 

He can feel your gentle breath against his chest, the weight of your body against his own, and a sudden realization hits him like a punch in the gut. He can no longer deny the depth of what he feels for you. 

The way he had just made love to you - as passionately, hungrily, almost desperately as he had - betrayed his true feelings. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as he tries to make sense of his thoughts.

"Sergei," you breathe out his name, your eyes fluttering shut as you cuddle into him. 

As you breathe out his name, Sergei's arms tighten around you instinctively. He feels a sudden wave of protectiveness wash over him, a fierce need to keep you safe and loved. 

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Yes, my darling?" he mutters into the darkness, his voice thick with an emotion he doesn't dare name.

"That.. that was good," you murmur sleepily, body slowly relaxing.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Sergei's lips as he listens to your sleepy murmur. He can hear the contented exhaustion in your voice, the way your body is melting into his embrace. "Good, huh?" he replies, his tone soft and faintly teasing. "Just good?"

"Perfect." you correct yourself, causing a satisfied and cocky smirk to rest on his lips. 

A cocky smirk forms on Sergei's lips as you correct yourself, his ego swelling at your praise. "Perfect, hm?" he repeats, his voice laced with self-satisfaction. 

He leans down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your forehead. "I'll have to try even harder next time then. Can't have you downgrading me to just 'good' after all.”

[kawareo]

You ever noticed that Cazador apparently visits Flymm's Cobblers?

Little promo for new chapter for my prequel fic Unsaved :)

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

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?

[vampiresfromxenon]

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 😭

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

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.”

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

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.

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[hexed-padlock]

Hi. As requested by a few people, here’s a fic of my AU/Headcanon where Tav killed Strahd but keeps it a secret from the party. I’m planning a few different scenarios of the reveal, but here’s the first (and most serious). Next ones are gonna embody the original premise more. Couldn’t get this scene out of my head though. Also a bit of Astarion x Tav here.

Takes place as you meet Cazador, where he starts mocking Astarion.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Do the cattle not know you?”

They were below the Palace, facing Cazador as he readies the ritual for his Ascension. 200 years of torment and this is where it all ends. Here and now.

Astarion tenses, seconds from lunging. This was his tormentor, the bastard who robbed him of his freedom, the monster who destroyed thousands of lives. A vampire hundreds have tried and failed to kill.

The room grows colder as Cazador continues to humiliate, to mock, to belittle.

Astarion’s jaw clenches and-

Tav laughs, loud and mocking. They’ve barely reacted thus far, and the sudden noise catches everyone off guard. Their eyes glint, one natural and the other burning with fiery, infernal magic.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take you seriously anymore. You truly are pathetic.” Tav taunts, head tilting as a lazy smirk crawls onto their face.

Cazador’s own mocking grin turns down into a sharp frown as he finally turns his attention to Tav. “Just what makes you think you can speak to me that way? You’re nothing more than a lamb led to slaughter. Cattle to be consumed. An animal at best.”

“Are all vampires this delusional?” Tav voices the question to no one in particular. Cazador seethes, and the party tenses.

What was Tav doing? Were they insane?!

Astarion moves to grab Tav as they take a couple steps forward, but misses as they smoothly sidestep away from his grasp.

Tav pulls out a sword hilt from the pouch on their hip, testing it’s weight in their hand absentmindedly. The party never understood the significance of this old sword hilt. Sure, it was beautiful, made of an elegant platinum, but it has long since lost it’s blade. Dammon once offered to forge it a new blade but Tav politely declined.

“I’ve met another vampire before you. He was always prattling on and on about being all powerful, lord of the night… something something.” Tav pauses to shift the sword hilt to their left hand. Slowly, deliberately, Tav locks eyes with Cazador (pointedly ignoring their party). “He’s dead now, of course.”

For a moment, Cazador pauses, before the same mocking grin returns. “A spawn is hardly considered a vampire. Though perhaps to you, worm, you see no difference.” Cazador then begins speaking slowly, as if communicating with a child or an animal. The mocking grin grows. “Allow me to enlighten you-���

“I never said ‘spawn’,” Tav cuts off Cazador. “Maybe your old age is finally getting to you, leech.”

Tav shifts the sword hilt back to their dominant hand, subtly maneuvering the hilt into a proper grip. “Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name eludes me. Forgive me, but it’s been a few years. I think it starts with an S.”

All the while, the party is flabbergasted. Sure, they’ve seen Tav do some questionable things over the past few months such as walk straight into a goblin camp, lick some spider meat, and even taunt Mizora—but this is a new level of insane.

Astarion tries to get their partner to stop, because for the love of everything, shut up. He’s never seen Cazador this mad before. Sure, they’ve survived some pretty dangerous situations before, but taunting a vampire lord is madness. However, each time he tries to move or speak, his voice dies in his throat. He’s terrified, he’s rooted on the spot. He’s afraid of Cazador yes, but he’s even more afraid for Tav. The brilliant, shining light of his life. The one person who showed him kindness, love. He’s afraid of Cazador, but he’s more scared of losing them.

Before Astarion could try to intervene again, he feels Tav send a wave of reassurance through the tadpole. They glance back at him for a moment, narrowed eyes softening, before turning once more to face Cazador.

Tav hums for a couple seconds as they pause to think. “Samael? No. Maybe it was Seraph?” They huff for a bit as they make a show of wracking their mind for the name. “Aha! I remember now.”

They brace for combat and the Sunsword answers its wielders call.

Tav’s smirk turns into a cold sneer. Their eyes glow as the hilt in their hand erupts in a fiery plume, a blade of radiant light now burning in the darkness. “It was Strahd.”

————————

Idk… if anyone wants to be notified of a new fic in this AU/series you can let me know?

Anyway, next these will all be independent of each other. Each will be an alternate take on the reveal.

I haven’t written anything besides D&D backstories in literal years so please forgive me if this is rather rough. Always open to constructive criticism.

[noisycroissant]

"It's you..."

Astarion x Reader

She was one of those marks that broke his chipped heart. The trusting ones, the doe-eyed ones who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. It hurt every minute he spent with her knowing that he was simply leading her to a fate worse than death.

He remembered the look in her eyes when they took her away with the others at the party where they lured all their marks to once a month. He dreamed of that look for years only to wake up to find himself shaking, face wet with tears. He didn't want to keep doing this, but another year of being confined and tortured and starved with no hopes of escape, freedom or otherwise...no, he couldn't survive that. Not again.

But then, he saw her again. He was sure it was his fragile mind playing tricks on him. Constant torture can do that you, y'know. But then he saw her again. The same hair. Skin paler though. And then he heard her voice.

"Astarion?"

When he heard his name in that voice again, his heart dropped to the pits of his stomach. He'd do anything, beg at her feet, grovel for forgiveness, anything to not hear that tone in her voice.

"I am angry for what you did to me. To my life. But I also understand why... I've had to do it myself."

I've had to do it myself.

If he ever had thoughts of murdering Cazador in the darkest ways possible, those thoughts just became a million times darker.

"Where you here all these years? I never saw you. I thought I knew every turned spawn in the palace."

"I was locked up for "lack of respect" and "till I learnt what was good for me "."

He knew what that meant. Lashes, pliers, blood, pain, hunger, tears.

Desperate prayers falling on deaf ears.

"I'm.. I don't deserve to say sorry. You'd have been... anywhere but here..if it weren't for me."

"I know. But you did what you did to survive. I don't begrudge you for that. I had enough time in that cell to know that choice does not live in these walls."

*******

And that's how it began. That was how hope came back into two people's lives. How it grew and bloomed with each passing look, each time fingers brushed while walking across hallways, each time a secret letter was found under a pillow.

After 150 years, Astarion dared to dream.

He would always curse himself when he remembered that night. It had taken them almost a year to plan, another year to talk courage into themselves to go through with it.

He remembered how soft her hands were when he held them as they ran through shadows.

Freedom. It was so close. Just a breath away.

And in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

Of course. What had he been thinking? They'd never be free. Not as long as that monster had a leash on them.

"Don't let them see each other, Godey. But make sure they hear."

Astarion remembers the day his heart finally crumbled to ash.

*******

Decades later, when he was finally let out again, the very first night he goes to the highest roof he could find in Baldur's Gate. And he sat there. Waiting for the sun. The only way he could be free of this hellish life. The only way he could forget the sins.

His skin prickled and he cried as the sky turned pink.

The next thing he remembers is waking up on a beach with a unholy squirming in his eye. A crashed ship, fire and smoke bellowing. Intellect devourers running amok. But he was out in the sun and it didn't burn. It didn't hurt.

The confusion was enough to drive him mad. 200 years of rage and pain, and he finally had a chance to end it. But even that was taken from him.

He heard footsteps and chatter. Hand goes to his dagger naturally. But then he hears a voice.

Her voice.

This must be the tenth circle of hell, he tells himself. This is where depraved sinners like him go to. Where they're tortured for eternity with the things they'll never see again.

Like the sun.

Or her.

But hope survives in the darkest of hells.

And it had found him again.

"Astarion?"

[lucozadehulahoop]

A Question of Time (Astarion x f!reader/tav) part 2/?

Chapter Summary: Astarion gets caught by Cazador in his daughter's room. Tav attempts to get him out of the situation.

Read part 1 here! part 3 part 4

tags and TW: pre-bg3! Astarion, slave!Astarion, mentions of torture and abuse, demi-goddess!tav, Cazador being all sorts of creepy, eventual NSFW (minors stay away kindly, thank you darlings)

tag list for those who asked for part 2 (if you want to be added to the tag list, just let me know!): @d0nutkaky0in @i-just-want-to-sleep-97 @omggiannarosa @dead-giirl-walking @warbwarts @mrsfullbuster500 @uwomina @iyaesakura @cheeslyy @dragon-kazansky @bambamwolf87 @chibi-chi @orsomethingelseentirely @davenswitcher @adequate-superstar

Astarion dropped to his knees and bowed his head the second Cazador stepped into the room. He couldn't even look at his Master, choosing to stare at the ground, fixating on the space between the Vampire Lord's heavy boots to anticipate the blows that were no doubt coming to him.

It was over. Whatever hell awaited Astarion next, it was going to make the past two centuries seem like a dream in comparison. That much he was certain of.

He could feel Cazador's ice-cold stare on him, yet it was his daughter he spoke to. "Step aside, my dear. I have made the terrible mistake of being too gracious with this... servant. I will personally make sure he never strays again..."

Astarion began to shake violently. For all he knew, Cazador was already making a promise to break his legs.

What he did not expect was what happened next. The young woman stepped in front of him, putting herself between him and Cazador. "Father, there has been a misunderstanding... I sneaked out and met... Astarion in a local tavern." She faked an attempt at trying to remember his name correctly. "I believe he was deeply charmed by me and offered we spend the evening together. When he brought me back here, I had to confess who I truly was and immediately realized his mistake. He acted like a true gentleman and returned me to my chambers."

Astarion didn't move a muscle. He could not have come up with a better lie himself, considering that little story painted him as a dutiful spawn who'd merely been out seeking prey for his Master. But he doubted Cazador cared. A line had been crossed, and Cazador rarely needed an excuse to torture anyone, least of all Astarion.

"Is that so, dearest?" Cazador's tone turned sickly sweet, yet he was not fooled by the shared. He'd taken a good look at the dagger on the floor and the open window. He'd already come to his own conclusions. "In that case, such a valiant display of chivalry deserves a reward, wouldn't you say? Come along, Astarion, I wish to give you the recognition you deserve..."

Astarion had lost all feeling in his limbs, but he knew it wouldn't matter because Cazador's words would have been enough to make him stand and walk like his own personal puppet. Except... they weren't.

Cazador had given him a direct order yet he hadn't budged.

The Vampire Lord seemed to notice this too, his eyes widening at the realization his influence seemed to have no hold on Astarion's mind at that moment. Astarion looked back at his Master and it was all Cazador needed to make a stride toward them, no doubt intent on dragging his slave out of the room by force when his luck struck out for a second time.

"No!" His valiant protector protested in the face of Cazador's increasingly obvious rage. Her little outburst was followed by a loud crash as a heavy bookcase fell in the middle of the room, nearly missing Cazador by an inch.

And that was when Astarion realized why Cazador kept this girl pampered and at a considerable distance from him. He was afraid of her. Of his own daughter. Terror was all that was left on his Master's face now, and Astarion had never witnessed something so satisfying ever since he'd crawled out of his own grave on that faithful night.

"I mean..." She backtracked, looking quite abashed at the mess she'd just made, more so than the thought of having nearly buried her father underneath a small library. "I would like to request Astarion stay in this wing of the castle from now on. I... have no servants, and I never see anyone all day. I believe Astarion has proven himself to be an honorable man, and I trust him. That way... I won't be tempted to run away again, and you can trust him to keep an eye on me and...report back to you in case I get into trouble again." She reasoned in a sweet voice, almost as if she were asking Cazador for a new pony.

"The reasonings you make are quite sound, my dear. But-"

"Oh, wonderful!" She cheered and looked back at Astarion. "Only if that would be an agreeable arrangement for you, Astarion. It's your choice, of course..."

Astarion stared up at her blankly. His... choice?

The spawn hadn't made a decision for himself in two hundred years. Obviously going back to Cazador meant there was a world of pain to pay for the innumerable transgressions that he'd perpetrated that night. But what about this girl? She was clearly a force to be reckoned with, and he was more than familiar with the old saying: better the devil you know...

"Tav, dearest." Cazador attempted to interject. "It is unbecoming for a noble lady such as yourself to have such a bleeding heart for the lower class. Astarion knows his place, he does not need to be asked for permission..."

Tav. Astarion knew that word well from the scriptures he'd studied for so many nights on his path to becoming a magistrate all those centuries ago. The name meant 'sign' or 'omen', the symbol of truth, perfection, and completion.

Maybe he could let himself hope one last time.

"My lady, I accept your gracious request..." And put myself in your debt.

Cazador gave him an amused look, almost as if he knew whatever freedom Astarion thought he'd just obtained was going to be extremely short-lived. After all, Tav, as far as either of them was concerned, did not know about the true nature of any of the inhabitants of the castle. Her father had more means than necessary to hide his appetites and odd schedules, but Astarion? He'd soon have to make the choice between staying up in the tower and starving or crawling back to Cazador to beg for a measly rat to feed on.

Tav smiled at Astarion's decision and helped him up to his feet.

"Well, my dear. It seems as if I can't do anything but warn you... this one barely does anything during the day and I personally wouldn't let him near any one of your dear pets... When you tire of his incompetence, be sure to return him back to me."

...💫...

Astarion was shown to a private guest room and he had an inkling of what was to come next, now that Tav had finally got him alone. If there was one thing he'd learned in all of those years was that the only thing about him that was worth anything was his body.

Now that he could think things through with a clear head, there was no doubt in his mind that Tav had 'saved' him solely because she, like many others, had come to be infatuated with him. And as much as it pained him to acknowledge he'd merely swapped an old owner for a new one, he wasn't going to look this gift horse in the mouth. He needed her protection and the fact she was already harboring affection for him would only work in his favor in the future. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to let him escape someday, once he was sure the bond between him and Cazador had truly been severed. he had no way of knowing if it had been Tav's presence in the room that had counteracted Cazador's powers, nor could he be sure how long that blessing was going to last.

The first step for now would be seducing her, and at least that part he was an expert in. Another blessing he could count on was that she was gorgeous, and if he truly had met her in some tavern, she'd been right in thinking she would have been one of his marks.

"I'll be leaving you now..." Tav announced, snapping Astarion out of his reverie. He looked back at her as she returned his dagger and his climbing tools to him. The weight of the gear seemed heavier than, before and he heard the distinct sound of a heavy pouch of coins in the mix. "There is a small boat that leaves the harbor in a few hours. By dawn, you should be well away from the Sword Coast... although where you'll end up I don't know."

Being out at sea at the break of day was not a realistic option for Astarion unless he wanted to burn alive with nowhere to hide. But that certainly wasn't what he took away from her words. Tav was giving him a way out, just like that. Her plan could not work for him, but she couldn't have known.

"What is your angle?" Astarion snapped, baffled beyond reason. He could not wrap his head around what she was or what she wanted with him and it was driving him insane.

"My.. my angle? Forgive me, I don't-" Tav wrought her hands together nervously, fearing she'd somehow misunderstood. All this time, she'd been certain Astarion had been crying out for help, for someone to rescue him.

"You can cut the crap now, sweetheart. I'm not as easily spooked by a falling armoire as your dear old dad is..." Astarion grinned, a slight glint in his eyes as he spoke. "That little naive act of yours though... that's the real thing about you that's terrifying. And let me the first to say, it was quite something watching you put on that show. I'm not that easily impressed."

Tav looked completely lost at his words, and Astarion admired how good she was at keeping up the act. But he was tired of it now.

"So, what does it feel like to have me all to yourself now, hmm?" Astarion inquired, his voice turning sultry as he carelessly chucked the objects she'd handed him on the bed and took a step towards her. "Is it everything you dreamed of, precious? All couped up in here by yourself, day after day..." He stroked Tav's cheek with the back of his hand gently, and Astarion would have been lying to himself if he didn't recognize the warmth ghosting over his fingers from that brief touch.

"You-you misunderstand, I don't have you. I... I heard you calling-" Tav tried to explain, but it was difficult. Would Astarion have believed her if she told him who she truly was? All that mattered now was that he could leave, so why didn't he? She must have done something wrong. It was hard putting the right words together when Astarion was so close. Her mind was completely scrambled and her face felt like it was burning up.

Astarion smirked. Finally, he was getting somewhere with trying to understand what Tav wanted with him, and he'd been right. Watching her blood rise to her cheeks, however, almost made his mind go blank for a few seconds.

What on earth was he doing? Standing there trying to figure out the impossible woman in front of him, when he should have been getting out of dodge and putting as much ground between himself and Cazador as possible?

A faint voice inside him wondered what the consequences on Tav would be if he ended up going missing, and he hated himself right after for even having such a thought.

The way out was right in front of him, and he could still count on a few more hours of darkness to make his way underground.

All he had to do was turn and run.

---

AN: aaah thank you so much for the love! Comments are appreciated and keep me writing. I'm planning on adding more chapters soon!

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕣𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr x f!tiefling reader the Dark Urge

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, canon-typical violence (when it comes to Cazador that is), graphic depictions of violence, sadism, smut, inappropriate use of Mage Hand spell, non-con, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, asphyxiation, grinding on a boot (sort of), dubcon, painful injury, tongue wound, bleeding, hair pulling, humiliation, degradation kink, PiV, rough sex, vampire bites, blood drinking, creampie.

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: A former Bhaalspawn, now aimless, you wander Faerun until you get a letter from no other than Cazador Szarr, beckoning for you to visit him. You're not sure why, he's not the man to show gratitude even if you did give him Astarion and helped him Ascend, nor he is the one to suddenly feel grateful years later after the fact, but you feel a pull to learn why the Vampire Ascendant wants you back in Baldur's Gate. So you return, too arrogant to realize that you're walking into a dragon's den.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 11,225

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: This was written for the wonderful, supportive and always amazing @velvolktra. Thank you for being just an incredible human being, and for matching my freak lol♡~

Baldur’s Gate.

Disgusting little city that you poured energy in saving. And what for? For these peasants to stroll the streets, smile and laugh with no gratitude? Hero of the City, ptui, maybe they would get some actual semblance of real gratitude if they built a temple for you instead of this meager statue.

You look at it with your face upturned, eyes squinting in the sun and the gentle late spring breeze in your hair. You see the visage of you, actually quite closely resembling your image, carved out of stone with precision. Your unblinking eyes gazing over the city and onto the sea, your hand victoriously raised in a fist, your expression made to be determined but still gentle, your other hand holds a banner of Baldur’s Gate. You nearly spit at the feet of the statue from annoyance, the pigeons lingering on your stone horns only irritate you further.

For a moment you wonder how often the city servants have to scrub the statue to make it look so clean even years after the big battle, but you don’t linger on this as you gaze down the statue’s form, despising even the armor they carved upon your body. You don’t remember much of your past, but you do remember everything since you woke up in that damn squid ship, and you know for a fact you never wore armor.

Maybe you should go and talk to the current Duke, demand that they change the statue if they want to have one displayed for you in the first place. Maybe, but not now. You’re here for a reason and that reason is not to bicker with people who are below you, who should be groveling at your feet, but instead barely recognize you as they pass you while you’re standing right in front of the idol erected in your honor.

When you finally peel your scrutinizing gaze away from the monument, you look around, doing your best to ignore the people that seem to be crawling the park like pests. You’re close now, to the Palace Szarr, but you’re in no rush. It’s enough already that you came at all after receiving the letter.

You have it with you, in your small travel bag hanging off your shoulder, and you pause digging through it. The paper stained and bent after being shoved among other items for weeks, but when you open the envelope and pull out the letter itself, the elegant yet sharp lettering is still as black as the day it was penned down, telling you to come for a visit. Telling you to witness the fruits of your subordinance.

At first you didn’t even consider coming back. You have no reason to visit Baldur’s Gate again, not after you saved the damned city only to save yourself, and especially not after you rejected your murderous daddy before he stripped you of your powers in retaliation. Withers, that dusty corpse, revived you when Bhaal took your life along with your abilities, spouting something about destinies and doing good.

Doing good. You smirk at the thought of the memory, because you don’t think you have done a single relatively good thing since you left the Sword Coast.

Still, the letter found you and so did your memories of Cazador Szarr, the man who seemed to be a better ally than most. At least he kept his end of the deal after you brought his sweet wayward son back and watched him explode into a cloud of blood mist and gore the moment Vampire Lord closed his fingers around his prize – the Ascension. You were only mildly angry with him for not showing up at the final battle, but the minions he sent to aid you were enough, obviously, otherwise you would not be standing here today, basking in the sun in the middle of a freshly rebuilt Gate.

You stuff the letter into the envelope and that you shove back into your bag, rising your eyes to the greenery around you and pushing a lose strand of hair out of your eyes that the soft wind blew there. You’re not quite sure why you decided to heed letter’s invitation and return, you left because there was nothing for you here, because you wanted to see what’s out there. Between the lost memories of being stuck in the Temple of Bhaal and present memories of fighting your way through enemies to get rid of the damn worm that was lodged in your brain – you realized you didn’t actually see anything in your life before, for however long you lived it. So you picked up what was left of your belongings after Orin’s reign in the Temple, and left.

For years you traveled all around Faerûn, trying to find something, that purpose that you can’t quite grasp even now. Some strange yearning is gripping your heart and you try to find something to alleviate the discomfort that’s firmly lodged in the middle of your chest, but so far you haven’t found what it is. The cure evades you, whatever it is.

With a deep sigh you begin walking, knowing full well where the palace is so you head there, navigating among people, making sure no idiot manages to snatch or step on your tail. You haven’t seen another tiefling since your arrival and while nobody is exactly staring at you, even despite your fame and legacy, you still doubt that these people are accustomed to avoiding sensitive limbs that they themselves never had to experience.

One thing you notice as you make your way towards the main entrance of Cazador’s home, is that the city seems to be full of life. Not only with spring bringing nature back to full bloom, but with people. You see races of all kinds, children running around and goods being sold by traveling vendors. There are bard songs in the air and laughter. There’s music and countless smiles. It looks like since the partial destruction of the city and your departure the population grew. You smile to yourself, imagining how the vampire coven must be thriving with so many veins to bleed.

You pass a stall and grab an apple from it with your tail when the man selling them doesn’t pay attention, then grip it with your fingers firmly and bite into it, chewing as you look around, noticing all the changes that have been made since you set your foot in these streets years ago. You have to admit, Baldur’s Gate is growing and becoming… well, maybe not nicer, it’s still a slum in your opinion, but cleaner. You can give the city at least this kind of compliment.

By the time you arrive at the main Szarr gate you get rid of the apple and now look upon the palace that you entered only couple of times before. First to negotiate with Cazador, then to bring wonderfully clueless Astarion back to his master and then once more, after the final battle was done, to finalize the deal you two have made. You parted ways quite cordially and the Vampire Lord did tell you that you can come visit, saying how he would not turn away one woman who actually knows how to get a job done. But disgruntled that he still saw you no more than his servant you never came back, instead leaving Baldur’s Gate entirely.

But now you are back.

Standing in front of the gate of Cazador’s home.

If not for your curiosity to know why he wants you here, and you doubt that he went through the trouble of finding you just to tell you to come by and witness his glory, you would not have bothered. Well, that’s at least what you tell yourself. Despite your pride and your ego, your heart did leap in your chest when you saw who exactly signed off the letter.

But he still better have a very good reason to make you drag yourself back. That’s what you tell yourself when you push open the gate and approach the door, knocking on it. It only takes a moment before it is opened and you see a spawn, her red glowing eyes studying your face for a moment before she lets you in, staying in the shadows as the sun threatens to touch her.

When you walk inside you look around. Before there were heavy curtains everywhere, covering the windows and preventing any chance of sunlight possibly sneaking inside like a silent assassin, but now the place is bright and full of light. Everything looks spotless and golden décor glints softly in the sun’s rays. For the first time you realize – it’s beautiful here.

“Please follow me.” The female spawn shuts the door behind you and scurries in front of you, avoiding to look at your face. It puzzles you, but only for a moment, because you have to start walking and keep up with the woman who seems to be in utter hurry to deliver you to her master.

You don’t mind, in fact you’re growing more impatient with every step, and while you do appreciate the paintings that adorn the walls depicting scenes of nightmares as you pass, enjoying the tasteful horror of them, it’s still no use in lying to yourself – you are dying to know why you’re here. And you can’t guess the answer even with the help of changes that you see. Just like Baldur’s Gate, the palace also changed. Maybe not in how it’s furbished, but in the number of servants you see. Some of them even wear same clothes, showing their status as official part of the Szarr family, however lowly that status may be.

When you’re led to the massive door that opens up to the ballroom, you are not surprised to see it filled with sunshine either. Neither you are surprised to see Cazador himself in his throne-like chair, listening to a man tell him something in hushed whispers. After you enter the room, the man stops and the woman that led you here bows deeply to her master and without another word walks off.

Briefly you glance in her direction, perplexed by such behavior, but you turn back to Cazador and see him wave the man away. When he passes you after bowing as well, you notice his glowing eyes. Another spawn. Looks like the Vampire Lord quickly grew his coven since sacrificing thousands of them for more power.

“So you have come.” He says, not exactly a greeting but you don’t mind.

“You wanted me to come. Care to explain why I’m here?” you ask with irritation clear in your voice as you approach the few stairs that elevate his seat above the ballroom floor. When you’re closer you see Cazador’s relaxed body language, his arrogant smirk and eyes, narrowed, as his gaze inspects you from head to toe.

“You haven’t changed much.” Every word coming out of his mouth sounds like mockery and your frown deepens at that.

“I’m not exactly out there looking to get my eyes plucked out.” You snap back, making vampire rise his eyebrows in feigned surprise.

“Really? And here I thought that without protection of your father you’d soon end up in a ditch somewhere.” He taunts and you ball your fingers into fists, trying to keep your temper in check, but your tail betrays you as it swishes behind you in couple clearly annoyed movements. “Now, now, no need for your attitude, Bhaalspawn.”

“I’m not a Bhaalspawn anymore.” You immediately shoot back and Cazador chuckles, rising from his chair and for a moment you are taken aback by his height and the imposing stature that could cast a shadow over you like your worst nightmare if he chose to become one.

“No? What are we if not children of our fathers?” Szarr asks and takes one step, then another, heading towards you. “You may be free of his urges, but you will never be free of his legacy.” He grins as he speaks and you’re not sure if he is trying to anger you on purpose or is this what he truly thinks. But you do remember his speeches about family, you remember how he insisted that those he had doomed from the moment of creation are his children.

Maybe he’s not wrong.

“I didn’t come all the way here to talk about Bhaal.” You cross arms on your chest and tap your foot impatiently. His eyes give you a dangerous look for a split second before he stops in front of you with an eyebrow raised and arrogance etched in every pore of his face.

“Then maybe we should talk about how deliciously treacherous you are even to those who consider you a friend?”

For a moment - memories of countless betrayals flood your mind as if you’re flipping through a book written in sin, but then it quickly dawns on you.

“Astarion?” you rise your eyebrows, forgetting your annoyance for the time being and Cazador’s head bobs in a taunting gesture.

“Have you forgotten about the boy so quickly?” he asks and you roll your eyes now.

“Why would I remember him?”

Cazador only laughs in response and begins walking again.

“Come.” Is the only thing he says and confused you follow him with your eyes only before your legs start moving.

“What about him?” you can help but wonder while you trail Cazador, but the vampire seems not to care to answer your questions, only irritating you more. “Did you want me here just to talk about Astarion?” you try again, growing impatient with each step, not really caring to notice where he is leading you – to his study, the door that Astarion himself told you no spawn were ever allowed to pass, except this time the door is ajar with cold invitation.

“Shut up for a moment, you idiot girl!” Cazador snaps back at you and you grit your teeth.

“I just want an answer.” You reply and that makes Szarr stop and spin to you, his eyes narrow this time not from amusement but from anger.

“Stop your yapping before you regret it.” He threatens like you’re one of his servants and stares straight into your eyes that are defiant and furious, but for reason unknown even to yourself – you remain silent. “Better.” Cazador doesn’t seem to be actually pleased, his temper was always easy to provoke, and it’s clear you nearly did just that so maybe that’s why you instinctively obeyed. After all, Cazador is the Vampire Ascendant, who knows what he can do besides walking in the sun’s rays, which you confirmed for yourself when you watched him pass the windows just moments ago.

Couple seconds tick by as he looks you in the eyes, waiting for you to defy him again, but when that doesn’t come - his lips twitch in an emerging snarl that he manages to control in time, then turns from you again and passes the doorway. Wordlessly he gestures for you to get onto the dais and you pause, your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“What’s down there?” you ask, not putting even a single toe on the platform just yet, and you hear Cazador push air through his nose, then he turns to you with a dangerous smile on his lips.

“You’ve been there before, you know what’s down there.”

“What I’m going to see there?” you ask again and Cazador waves his hand at you dismissively.

“I don’t remember you being so scared before.” He mocks with that same grin and you frown.

“I’m not scared, I’m being cautious. I haven’t forgotten what you are.”

“No, of course not. Now stop acting like a child and come.” He instructs with his voice clearly strained in attempt to be patient and you hesitate for a moment longer, then step onto the platform, keeping your distance from Cazador.

The moment you’re on it, the dais begins to move, lowering you and Cazador down. You look at him in a moment of silence, eyeing his expensive looking clothes, the doublet he’s wearing, the embroidery on it. Rats, like the ones on the massive steel door in front of the ballroom.

With a couple of lurches the dais finally comes to a stop and you look down the corridor that hasn’t changed even a bit since the day you brought Astarion back to Cazador. Betrayal, he says, but you don’t see it that way, you never did. You just did what you needed to do to gain a powerful ally so that you could get rid of the damned tadpole. Sure, you gambled, maybe Cazador could’ve changed his mind and killed you with Astarion, but no, he kept his end of the bargain and not only let you go, but also helped you out. Maybe he was wary of Bhaal still in your veins, maybe letting you go after the battle was over and you no longer carried the corrupted divine within you, was done not out of mercy or good will, but because he simply didn’t want to bother. You wonder if the vampire would answer if you asked him. You doubt it.

With the dais nestled in its landing spot, Cazador begins walking, his hands clasp behind his back as he strolls with pride towards the stairs that you know lead to the ritual chamber. Your head swivels as you inspect the dungeon, but you don’t see any change whatsoever and the door that you know once led to Cazador’s private room, the one with Vellioth’s skull with which you had a pleasant chat, is closed with magic once again.

“Are you preparing for another ritual?” you can’t help but ask, feeling slightly awkward in silence that is only filled with yours and his footsteps, but as you now pass the empty cages scrubbed clean from blood, you realize that even if he is, it’s not the same one as the Rite of Profane Ascension.

Of course, why would it be.

“In a way.” Cazador’s reply is cryptic and his tone of voice drips with sarcasm. It puzzles you and you look at him for a moment before you have to watch your feet as you both begin to descend the steps.

The vampire doesn’t pause, just keeps leading you downwards. At one moment you have to duck as a swarm of bats fly right over your head but avoid the master himself, and when you are finally at the bottom of the stairs you see a familiar view – the ritual platform with his coffin still there. But Cazador doesn’t stop, he leads you forwards and you follow him, noticing the blood flowing beneath the golden grates, flowing towards direction of his coffin and giving it an eerie sanguine glow from below.

Your mouth opens, you want to ask another question, but finally the Vampire Lord stops right in the middle of the ritual circle. When you stop as well, you still see the infernal runes etched into the stone, now cold and still, unlike how they glowed when Cazador let you witness the birth of the Vampire Ascendant. It was a sight to behold, you have to give him that, the one you quite enjoyed as well. You always liked the smell of blood and that day the air was thick with it, as seven thousand and seven souls got sent straight to the hells.

All to make him a vampire unlike history has ever seen.

“Do you remember, Bhaalspawn, the moment of my Ascension?” Cazador asks and your eyes snap from the floor to his back. You see that his face is upturned and you glace upwards too, seeing the ceiling of the cavern. When your eyes land on the back his head, he spreads his arms as if reliving the greatest moment of his life. “Do you remember how he screamed before he died? How all of them screamed?”

You smile, of course you remember. You step closer to Cazador, sensing that he’s about to tell you the reason why you’re here.

“I do. It was beautiful. Magnificent.” You exhale at the memory, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment, your smile becoming wider. You remember clearly because you looked Astarion straight in the eyes as he screamed, as his body began to deform and as he eventually exploded, becoming nothing but a pile of guts on the ground by the end of it.

“You did me a favor then.” Cazador’s voice snaps you out of your memory and you open your eyes to find him now facing you, his look is curious because he most likely saw the ecstatic expression on your face and he most likely suspects what kind of memory brought that kind of expression about.

“It was beneficial for both of us. I got a powerful ally for the battle, you got to Ascend.” You give him a small shrug, trying to sound like it’s no big deal for you. And in truth – it wasn’t. You don’t have a single regret about giving Astarion away, because by the time you arrived to the city, the pale elf was beginning to get on your nerves, begging to be gutted somewhere on the side of the road.

“Maybe so, but not many would betray their allies, their friends.” Cazador tilts his head slightly to the side, a satisfied smirk on his lips and his hands by his sides – a perfect image of a non-threatening man, but you know better. Despite Astarion’s shortcomings you believe his stories about his master’s cruelty and short temper.

“He wasn’t a friend.” You correct Cazador and he raises an eyebrow at your words. “He was an ally of convenience. When that convenience came to an end – I made a new ally.” You now gesture to Cazador and he chuckles, a low, menacing sound that makes a shiver run down your spine and you’re not sure if out of caution or… something else.

“Delightful.” Szarr comments, his fangs looking as sharp as ever when he smiles or speaks, and you wonder how it would feel to be a vampire. You’ve been a Bhaalspawn already, surely being a vampire can’t be worse, but maybe under Cazador’s heavy boot – it can be. “Still, it’s rare to find… allies worth having, especially nowadays. And to find such ally in no other than a hero of Baldur’s Gate was a twist not even I have expected.”

“I’m a hero to peasants and idiots. I only did it to save myself.” You respond and surprisingly this makes Cazador laugh. It’s a slow, arrogant laugh, coming deep from his chest, and you find yourself blushing slightly because you don’t think you said anything funny.

“Isn’t that right.” He says and offers you his hand. You look at it, hesitating, not taking it. “Do you know how hard it is to find useful allies?” Cazador asks and the way he keeps using the word ‘allies’ makes you feel like he’s taunting you again for saying it earlier, but you ignore it. “And how much harder it is to find spawn who are worthy of serving?”

What?

Your eyes snap to Cazador’s face and the grin now looks less arrogant and more dangerous. Your mind begins to reel, putting the puzzle pieces together as he keeps talking, now making one careful step towards you, then another, a predator in action.

“One thing I overlooked the last time I saw you, was the influence you could have if I only had you at my disposal. Your word could sway even the Duke, I’m sure of it.”

Unknowingly you begin stepping backwards, your heart racing in your chest and your eyes widening the longer Cazador speaks.

“You want me to speak to the Duke?” you ask because you hope that it’s all he wants, but the unwavering grin on vampire’s face immediately tells you that’s not the whole truth.

“Yes. As my spawn.”

Immediately your eyes narrow. Fight or flight - you choose the former. You always do.

Your knees bend in preparation for a leap, your claws ready to slash and rip, and you jump towards Cazador, seeing his face, aiming for his throat. You denied Bhaal, you won’t be enslaved by another demi-god wannabe.

But the moment your feet leave the stone underneath as you vault yourself at your sudden enemy, he makes just one step forward and with a single strike with the side of his clenched fist he brings you down, your back slamming onto the ground with a thud that pushes air out of your lungs.

You attempt to scramble to your feet before you feel a kick to the side and you cry out from pain.

“I knew you would fight, that’s why I didn’t proceed to turn you up there. You can make such a mess from what I have heard.” Cazador ridicules you and with a huff you try to get up again but another kick to the same side takes your breath away once more, especially so because this time the kick is strong enough to make your body rise in the air and turn, landing you on your stomach.

You hear his laughter, cruel and cold, while you get to your hands and knees, trying to crawl away now. Fear, something you have long forgotten, begins to grip at your chest. Fear that you’re not leaving this dungeon alive.

But before you can get any further, your chest slams into the hard stone again as Cazador pushes you down with his boot on your back, sharp heel of it digging painfully into your spine and you wince.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice disappearing into the air without even an echo, and the vampire just chuckles, the weight of his boot increasing as he leans down. You gasp when you feel him grab one horn and yank your head back so that he can look you in the face.

“Oh Bhaalspawn, you have no power to fight me.” Cazador jeers with sly boasting in his every word. “Although I don’t think you would be able to fight me even if you were still your father’s rabid lapdog.” He chuckles and pulls harder on your horn, making your spine bend in an arch that makes your muscles tremble from pain.

“Stop!” you cry out now, desperate to be released and your tail moves as if on its own, wrapping around his wrist that holds your horn, but with other hand he quickly grabs it and yanks on it so hard you hear an unpleasant crunch.

You yell at the sensation, tears gathering in your eyes and you wait for worse to come, maybe Cazador really breaking your tail, but he suddenly releases both and you collapse onto the floor panting and sweating, your body screaming at you with pain that radiates through every tendon.

“Stop.” You beg this time, your eyes heavy lidded as you try to recover and a trail of saliva leaks out of the corner of your mouth because you can’t seem to close it, still gasping for air.

“No, not yet. I need you to realize something.” Cazador’s boot lifts from your back but you can’t move, not yet, you need couple seconds more, maybe then you have another fighting chance against the monster that so easily lured you down here.

“What?” you ask, hoping that if you have him talking - he won’t be as vigilant about your possible attempt at escape.

“That I prefer my spawn obedient.”

Before you can truly realize what’s going on, you hear fabric rip and only a moment later you comprehend that it’s your dress that is being ripped. You rise your head, quickly lifting yourself on your hands and look back in horrified awe as you watch three mage hands tear your clothes away. Even your bag gets tossed aside and skids nearly off the edge of the platform.

“You bastard!” You shout and get to your knees, trying to stand up but one of the mage hands moves quickly and pushes your chest down to the floor just like Cazador’s boot did before.

Instead of words, an arrogant chuckle first reaches your ears as you make a sound of angry frustration, your claws scraping at the stone as you try to lift yourself and simply can’t. Your hips in the air provide an easy angle for the magical limbs to remove last of your clothing. Before Cazador speaks you feel even your shoes being dragged off your feet, leaving you completely and utterly naked in front of him.

“You will learn to address me appropriately, but I’ll ignore it this once.” He says like it’s a mercy he’s granting you and you clench your teeth for a moment. Your face is burning with shame at being exposed like this and your tail tries to swat the other two mage hands that are holding your hips in place and in the air.

Suddenly your tail gets caught and by the cold touch you can tell it’s Cazador himself that has snatched it again. Then he yanks it upwards, making the base of it bend painfully once more. You cry out from the sensation, trying to scramble away or at least alleviate the suffering in your vertebrae, but you can’t, the spectral hands are holding you better than chains would.

“Wet already? I suspected someone like you might enjoy pain.” Cazador mocks and you freeze, your eyes widening with horror. He can’t be right, can he?

And yet when you feel his finger a sharp point of his nail trace along your slit you know he didn’t lie, you feel your arousal being smeared on your skin and you blush heavily. Partially from anger and partially because you feel the unwelcome sensation of desire beginning to burn below your stomach.

“It means nothing!” You shoot back with your teeth clenching immediately after you finish your sentence, because Vampire Lord starts inserting one digit into your cunt. You whine because slow penetration of his sharp nail feels dangerous, too close to real damage for it to be comfortable and sensual, he would just need to curl his finger and you would bleed.

“Nothing? I think it means everything. Lost without your father, an aimless daughter, wandering the land with no purpose. I’ll give you that purpose.” Cazador’s tone loses the mocking undertones because they get replaced with strange possessiveness.

His finger proceeds to embed itself in your body to the knuckle and you grind your jaw with both fury and fear. Fury because he has you at his mercy, fear because you know he’s a master at inflicting pain, more pain than you know you could handle. “But first you need to be shown that you ought to serve.”

The finger moves in your cunt slowly, one thrust, two, three, then Cazador pulls it out and your body relaxes. You didn’t even notice until now how firmly you were clenching around his digit, as if in hopes to prevent him from harming you. But your tail gets released too and you move it down, to try and cover yourself at least in this small, insignificant way, wrapping the end of it around your own leg in a way to comfort yourself.

But then you hear footsteps as Cazador walks around you in just three of them. At first you only see his shoes and pants, then your horn gets gripped again, your head yanked backwards and your nails try to cling to slippery, polished stone to no avail. And then your eyes meet the crimson gaze of his, you see the ever-present smirk on his face and you grimace from pain when the vampire makes your neck arch uncomfortably.

“Open your mouth.” He commands and you pause for a second, your eyes widening again for a brief moment before you frown even more. You press your lips together and now see Cazador’s own frown spelling danger as he glares at you. “I said open. Don’t make this difficult.”

You don’t listen, you don’t want to listen, you don’t have to listen. Even if you are aroused that doesn’t mean you will obey his every command, that’s not who you are and he should know better. As you glare back at him, still with one magical hand pressing your chest painfully to the ground, you barely pay attention to other two such hands. One keeps your hips up, but second one moves without you noticing, and then it makes you cry out. You feel ghostly fingers, two of them, thrust themselves into your cunt and then another one – right into your other hole.

You cry out and thus you open your mouth. With a sly grin Cazador shoves a finger into your maw, rubbing it against your tongue and you immediately taste yourself. His eyes gleam with conceit the moment realization comes to you and you flush harder, you simply can’t help it. The spectral hand begins to thrust its fingers into your holes and you mewl because the vampire makes you suck on his own digit. Maybe instinctively, maybe because you really want this, you do as he wishes, wrapping your lips around his finger and swirling your forked tongue, cleaning his skin from remnants of yourself.

“Perhaps you will be a fast learner.” Cazador muses as if to himself, watching you suck on his finger like it’s your newfound religion. “We shall see.”

You turn your gaze away from him and try not to moan, your throat swallowing the saliva that’s quickly pooling in your mouth around his finger. It’s hard keep quiet and your tail wraps around your leg tighter in a reminder to not give in, but you can barely hold on as is. Something about how Cazador is treating you is making every muscle in your body uncoil and every nerve in your brain dull from desire. The ghostly fingers work your holes and you shiver, feeling moisture dripping down your inner thigh from your body submitting itself to the pleasure despite your mind commanding it not to.

Suddenly Cazador pulls his finger from between your lips and you gasp, instinctively following it with your mouth but how he’s gripping your horn prevents you from moving more than an inch. He scoffs, as if judging you for your eagerness, and releases your horn, letting your chin drop to the cold floor, then straightens his back. Vampire’s eyes flick to the side of you and you moan when the spectral fingers retreat, leaving your body with a sensation of emptiness. Realization of just how much you enjoyed this torment crashes on you like a wave and you blush like you haven’t in your life before.

“So this is your plan? To fuck me into submission?” you ask, still unable to look at him, and Cazador scoffs again, but this time louder and with surprise you feel the mage hands releasing you.

With shaky arms you begin to push yourself upwards, seeing Vampire Lord’s shoes still in front of you before you rise your eyes.

“That’s enough of a plan for a feral animal such as yourself.” His words cut you deeply and you grit your teeth, slowly getting on all fours because your strained muscles scream from tension even when you unwrap your tail from around your own thigh.

“How dare you-“ your words get stuck in your throat when a hand appears in front of you and grips your neck with such speed that you barely see it.

Your eyes widen and you gasp couple times for air, unable to inhale, feeling how the magical hand pulls you by your neck upwards, making you kneel. Your fingers shoot to your throat, trying to grasp at the ghostly hand that is utilized not unlike a collar in this moment, but then the other two grab your wrists and bend your arms with no regard for your pain. You grunt with frustration and effort to fight them, but to no avail, soon your hands are pinned to the small of your back and you snarl at Cazador, who’s smug expression is beginning to drive you crazy.

When you’re finally wrangled into position he obviously envisioned for you, the grip on your throat relents and you inhale deeply, nearly beginning to cough, greedily sucking air into your lungs because you don’t know if you will be forbidden it again.

“Down.” Cazador commands and you narrow your eyes at him, your lips parted and your teeth clenched so hard you can hear them near squeak from pressure.

“Caz-“

“DOWN, YOU DOG!” He suddenly bellows and you immediately sit, your naked rear pressing firmly to the stone, it sends a shiver through your body because of how cold it feels against your skin.

But the most terrifying thing is Cazador’s face. Full of fury, full of power. Your eyes widen because you sense something terrifying about him now, like a power that his body starts exuding because his emotions burst through. He waits for a moment longer, waiting for you to protest or talk back, but when you remain silent, with your heart beating fast in your chest and your entire body otherwise frozen in the moment, he lifts his arm and with a palm slicks back his hair. Couple of strands escaped his neat appearance when he shouted at you and he clearly will not allow this.

“If you act like a mongrel – I will treat you as such. Did Astarion tell you nothing?” he asks with irritation not disguised in his tone but he smirks again, composing himself once more and steps closer.

You keep watching his face with your breathing quick and shallow, your eyes trying to find any signs that might tell you if he’s about to show you rage again. You’re so focused on it that you don’t pay attention to how close Cazador is getting, his form towering over you and casting a shadow like an ominous sign. You want to tell him that you don’t understand why he’s doing it, but you do, you understand perfectly, because the chill that begins to seep into your bones from the stone floor make the realization abundantly clear to you.

Then the spectral hand around your throat tightens once again and you’re about to make a noise, to complain, maybe even bargain but before you can get one syllable out, you feel Cazador’s shoe between your legs, the nose of his boot pressing against your slit, smearing itself in your arousal and when you gasp in shock, the nose moves and rubs against your clit, pressing and rubbing against it too strong to be pure pleasure, but it’s pleasure nonetheless.

You press your lips into a thin line, embarrassed that this is enough to make you shiver with need and you look away from Cazador, turning your eyes to the side from his face and then flinch when he presses the boot against your sensitive nub harder, making you gasp.

“What do you want?” you ask, flicking you gaze back to your tormentor and Cazador grins widely, his eyes narrowing from genuineness of his expression.

“I want you to beg.”

The answer is simple but it takes a moment for you to process it. In your silence Cazador rubs his boot against your folds again and you cast your gaze down, shivering in response, watching black leather smear with your wetness. Cazador’s fingers grip your jaw, making you once again look up at him and he can see your heavy-lidded gaze. Despite your protests and defiance, your body and mind are succumbing to him, you know this too. With dread you realize that everything within screams to submit just as he wishes.

“You will beg, Bhaalspawn. And then I shall grant you one last mercy.” Vampire Lord speaks in half a whisper, his sharp nails digging into your skin.

“Mercy?” you ask because you can’t help yourself even though you suspect the answer already.

But Cazador doesn’t answer, he just grins at you.

“Open.” He commands like he did just earlier and you hesitate for a moment but slowly part your lips for him. Last time he shouted, this time he might not be as lenient in his displeasure. “Good, girl, good. You’re beginning to learn faster than I anticipated.” It’s not a compliment, not a praise, not really, more like small encouragement for you to keep obeying him or else.

While still holding your jaw, Cazador uses his other hand to raise it to your face, index finger extended, and then he puts it in your mouth. You wait, unsure what to expect when it presses your tongue down and you keep looking him in the eyes, seeing that sinister satisfaction spell danger. And then pain comes.

Vampire’s finger curls and you whine when his nail pierces your tongue, almost pinning it to the bottom of your mouth. You tremble but don’t move, frozen from sudden shock and agony that envelops your orifice in full. Blood quickly pools around your tongue and his finger, warm and coppery, and you feel it begin dripping down your chin, maybe it’s dripping down his hand too, you can’t see, your eyes now locked on the man in front of you.

Yet without a word he yanks his hand away like he’s suddenly disgusted by you, his grip leaving your jaw as well and you watch him straighten his back and look at his bloody hand just before you dip your head down and spit the blood on the floor with a painful shiver. Your tongue feels both throbbing from agony and numb at the same time, but when you glance at Cazador again, you watch him silently as he sticks out his own tongue and drags a bloody finger against it, satisfaction clouding his gaze for just a moment. Godsdamn vampire.

When his eyes flick to you they narrow, and you are not sure what to expect now, maybe more pain as you swallow the next mouthful of blood instead of spitting it out, but then his eyes sweep over your naked form and stop at the bottom. His shoe, still pressed between your legs, remain there for a second longer, then he pulls it back.

“Clean it.” He demands and with your head swimming from pain, you take another second to comprehend his words. In your confusion you don’t see his still bloody hand raise, you don’t register as he first swings it back, then towards you.

When his slick from crimson palm connects with your cheek you cry out, your head snapping to the side with force, your hair spilling over your face and more blood drip past your lips. Before you can gather your bearings, your hair is gripped, your head is pulled back, most of the hair falls away but some stick to bloody skin of your face and you gasp once, your swimming vision trying to anchor itself on something but before even that can happen, Cazador’s lips crash against yours.

You can barely understand what’s going on, but you feel him kiss you, the action more punishing than passionate, but you’re not sure of anything anymore. You whine at the back of your throat when his tongue enters through your parted lips and laps at the blood coating the inside of your mouth. The spectral hands tighten around you as if to make sure you don’t move even an inch without Cazador’s permission and you tremble, your body responding to the kiss on its own, your forked tongue caressing his and you hear him hum as if in approval or maybe it’s his own desire stirring at last.

Vampire Lord’s face then leans away from you, his eyes studying your face, the blood smeared on your cheek and chin and dripping down your neck. Your lips smeared in life’s ichor, just as his are, and he releases your jaw, his back straightening again.

“I said clean it.” Cazador repeats the command and your gaze follows his when it drops down, to the smeared leather of his shoe.

You glance up at him again, then down again, and feel the mage hand on your throat finally release you, bruised spots where the spectral fingers held throbbing with sore relief. You begin to bend down, the other two mage hands letting you do so even though they remain holding your wrists behind your back. You try to move your knees, position yourself so that you don’t drop face-first onto the marble the moment you get lower, and with the help of your tail you succeed.

The boot is right in front of your face now and you pause, swallowing heavily and still tasting blood when you do so, but you hang your wounded tongue out and begin using it, cleaning the shoe where you see moistness of your cunt dirtying his expensive footwear. Again you taste yourself, but this time leather too, and you make sure that everything is clean before you stop. When you do – you finally feel the remaining two mage hands disappear and you immediately move your hands, pressing your palms against the cold stone underneath you, as you feel your wrists throb in pain too.

“Good.” Cazador hums again, the boot disappears from your field of vision and you’re sure he’s inspecting your handiwork for a moment before he proceeds with a new way to make you submit. And while everything in you is telling you to do as he pleases, it will hurt less, it will be less degrading, but there’s still a part of you, the Bhaalspawn part that Cazador himself spoke to you about in a room just above, in the ballroom.

That part wants to put a fight, to try and escape, to run from him and to return later to kill him, if that’s even possible to someone like you, without dark powers of your father protecting you and making you a formidable enemy in battle. That matters none right now, details can be figured out later, first you just need to escape.

Slowly you rise yourself on your hands and look up at Cazador, watching him watch you, his gaze completely unreadable but the little smirk, as always tugging at his lips, tells you that he’s not done with you, not even close.

But then opportunity presents itself. The vampire turns his back to you, walking to his coffin for a brief moment and you quickly look around, seeing your discarded clothes tossed about the ritual platform, and you decide that you don’t care if you run naked. Silently and carefully you being to turn your body to the staircase that leads up to the dais, to your salvation. With a corner of your eye you keep watch on Cazador as he does something, you’re not sure what, his back covering whatever his hands are doing, but the moment comes when you have to focus on your plan and you look at the grand stair, wondering if you can be faster than a Vampire Ascendant or not.

You frown, ignoring the pain in your knees and wrists, ignoring the throbbing of your tongue and already swollen from the hit cheek, ignoring the humiliation that makes your insides clench from both anger and secret desire that you don’t want to acknowledge even to yourself, not yet at least, but you begin to rise from your hands and knees, preparing to sprint the moment your feet touch the ground, your tail taunt like an arrow.

The second you begin to rise, one knee still on the ground, you feel cold fingers wrap around your throat from behind, pulling your body backwards until your spine presses against Cazador’s chest. A small breath against your ear as your face becomes a mask of shock and fear, you didn’t even hear him get closer.

“Where do you think you’re going, disobedient pup?” he mocks and his nails dig into your skin, piercing it, making you wince.

Your hands fly to your throat, grasping at his fingers and wrist but failing to really get a grip, scratching his skin and leaving marks. You hear Cazador hiss with disapproval against your ear and then his fingers release you.

Immediately you scramble forwards but not for longer than a second before you feel your horns being gripped and pulled at. You have no choice but to clamber after the movement, trying to keep up, before you feel yourself being pulled off the ground. You yell in pain and terror, your fingers trying to make Cazador release his grasp on you, your tail swishing wildly, looking for something to hold onto when weight of your own body begins to pull you down, giving a feeling like your horns are being ripped out of your head. Tears gather in your eyes and spill down your face, leaving clean streaks on the blood-smeared skin. You see the promise of escape, the many steps that you took just to come here, for a moment longer, before your whole body is spun and flung.

You find yourself flying through the air for a split second before you crash to the ground with a painful thud and skid slightly, your talons wildly grasping at the floor until you come to a stop. Panting, you lift your head and see the looming shape of Cazador’s coffin facing you. You whine when you try to get up, your body now feeling bruised and sore all over, your skull throbbing around the horns, and you choke out a sob, finally and fully realizing that there’s no escape for you, not from him, not from Cazador Szarr.

This time you hear him walking closer, his boots sounding heavier than the weight of all the sins you have committed, and you look back at him, real terror reflected in your eyes as you see his smile that promises no salvation.

“Stop.” You beg this time, your lips tremble, your whole body is shaking and tears keep spilling down your face, running down your neck and to your chest. You’re unable to move even if you wish to, petrified when the weight of the situation finally catches up with you.

“You’ll have to do better than this.” Cazador taunts, he’s right behind you now and you expect more pain. A kick, a hit, maybe this time a broken bone, a ripped-out horn, mangled flesh.

But instead you see him kneel with one knee behind you, as if you’re a wounded dog he’s approaching with caution, but you remain frozen, still on all fours, not sure what he wants from you now.

“Come.” He offers you his hand and your eyes flick to it, then his eyes, trying to read vampire’s intentions, trying to understand what he wants to do to you now, but no answer comes. His expression looks almost kind, deceivingly so. “Come, I said.” Cazador’s tone grows harsher and you know by now that you have only a second to obey.

So you obey. You turn on all fours, not unlike the wounded dog he sees in you at this moment, and glance at his extended hand again, but before you can move closer and take it, Cazador moves and sits on the ground, splaying his legs, one hand behind him, palm pressed to the stone for support, and his other hand, now instead of being offered to you, waves at you, invitingly.

“Come.” A third command, empty of any tone indication and you get closer, crawling to him with fear in your heart and blood drumming in your ears. At least your tears stopped, for now.

You hesitate as you get close, but Cazador’s eyes remain unreadable while he pats his thigh as if you’re a pet. You obey again. By now you know that you have no choice.

“Turn around.” He mutters to you almost softly when you begin to search for a position to sit between his legs and you follow this command as well, turning around even though your sore body does not want to easily listen. Everything hurts but with resignation you sit.

The moment you do, you feel Cazador’s palms on your shoulders, pulling your back against his chest, then one arm wraps around your waist.

“Do you see it?” he asks and you look in front of you, seeing his stone coffin rise above you both, like a monument to vampire’s immortality.

“Yes.” You whisper after you swallow a lump in your throat. Talking hurts, your tongue is still radiating with pain, but you try your best as you sit on the ground, leaning against Cazador’s chest, your hands in your lap and your thighs pressed together for that last bit of dignity you pretend still having.

Sitting like this with him is not uncomfortable. You smell blood and a hint of decay, something you became familiar with when hanging around Astarion, but with Cazador this smell has become alluring. Despite your pain you grow aroused again, this time the fire in your abdomen is so hot it feels like it’s searing your skin from the inside. You press your thighs tighter but that doesn’t go unnoticed by the vampire. He doesn’t continue the thought he had, instead moving his head to look at your legs.

“Open them.” He says and you try not to obey, but your body listens even before your mind succumbs and you part your legs, smelling your arousal, seeing it glisten on your inner thighs and you hear Cazador scoff. “You’re easier than I thought, besides your rebellious streak that I will beat out of you sooner or later.”

He hums against your ear and his hand leaves your shoulder, his fingers now landing on your stomach, gently tracing down, and you almost squirm because you want him to touch you. Thoughts of danger swim in your head but you shove them away, not now, not again, and your own fingers grip the flesh of your thighs as Cazador’s hand slips lower, over your pubic bone and then-

The moment his fingers slip to your clit you exhale with pleasure, your eyelids drooping from the sensation that your body gets overwhelmed with.

“Do you like it?” the vampire suddenly asks against your ear the moment you lean your head back against his chest and you shiver.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

You don’t reply but his fingers compel you as they begin to massage and circle your clit. He plays with your folds for a moment, your wetness making his strokes easier, slicker. He traces your slit and then rubs your pleasantly throbbing nub again, making your legs quiver and your tail wrap around his shin. You don’t see how his eyebrows rise at this, but even if you did you wouldn’t care.

“Yes, master.” You finally succumb and you see the coffin in front of you, wondering for a briefest of moments if you will get one of your own.

“That’s a good girl. You learn fast. I knew you were a right choice, I just needed to break you.” Cazador chuckles against your cheek, the tone of his laugh menacing and arrogant, but even that you now find alluring, sensual in its own way.

Sweat begins to bead your skin, slipping down the ridges of your tiefling body and you tremble again. Cazador is better at this than you would’ve assumed, your pleasure is building fast, moving like a slippery snake inside of you as his fingers work you to your pleasure deliberately and precisely. Then you have an urge to see him, to see the man who so easily made you submit, and you move your head, your eyes finally finding vampire’s face and notice that his expression is calmer and less malicious, his eyelids heavy as he gives you a glance that washes over you like a sea of crimson.

No words get exchanged, no permission is given, but you move, twisting your body so that you can swiftly move one hand to the back of his neck and lean Cazador’s face to you only for you to capture his lips in a kiss. He doesn’t resist and doesn’t stop you, kissing you back in a slightly reserved manner at first, but then giving in. His tongue grazes over your sharp teeth the moment you part your lips, and you do the same, exploring his fangs, knowing that soon they will mark you as his forevermore.

Cazador’s fingers toy with your cunt, but then falter, you feel his own arousal, his hardness press between your back and him, and you can’t help but want it, need it even, to feel it, maybe you always wanted him, maybe you at last give in to the desire you carried within you from the moment you saw him. Maybe you hoped for this the moment you offered to give him his spawn back.

Maybe it’s finally coming true.

Unexpectedly now, Cazador moves his hand from your waist and pushes you forward, making you slip over the smooth stone from him. His fingers leave your drenched cunt and you whine with despair, trying to turn to him, to try to kiss him again, but when you glimpse at his hands, you see that the Vampire Lord is now fumbling with his clothes, his hard cock quickly emerging from the fabrics he’s wearing and you swallow at the sight like you’re an animal in heat. A promise of pleasure instead of pain, you want it, you need it.

Cazador’s hand tugs at your waist again, your back pressing to his chest once more, and you whine with no shame, expressing your temporary disappointment.

“Take it.” He commands, the words being the permission and a guarantee you are craving for.

It takes only a moment for you to plant your feet to the floor and your palms on Cazador’s thighs as you lift yourself. His arm around your waist helps you lift yourself even higher and when you look down you see his hard length ready to impale you. You bite your lower lip and watch vampire’s other hand grip the base of his cock, ready for you to take it in. So you do, lowering yourself upon it as if you were made for this moment and this moment alone.

When you feel his soft tip nudge at your entrance and then slip inside with ease - you moan, your body trembling in delightful response. You keep sinking upon his cock, letting it enter you, letting it stretch you, and you moan louder the deeper you insert him into yourself. Finally, when you take him in full, you sigh loudly.

“Such a needy whore.” Cazador taunts but you don’t care, you begin to move.

It’s difficult to ride him like this but you try your best, making sure that your feet won’t slip and even put one of them on his thigh for better support. You gasp every time you are impaled again, but seems Cazador is impatient with your clumsy attempt to find a good position, because you hear him grunt, something between annoyance and pleasure of his own, and then his arm wrap under your other thigh, the one still on the ground, while his free hand grips over the inner thigh of your propped up leg.

“Incompetent, even in this.” Vampire grunts and begins to move you, making your body rise and fall so much faster and so much harder. You hurry to find purchase with your hands but the only thing you can do is twist them just enough so that you can weakly grab onto his shoulders behind you.

Your moans become louder and at first you look at the imposing coffin in front of you, but then lower your gaze to watch yourself getting fucked, his cock glistening with your arousal, leaking down his balls that swing every time you are brought down upon his length. You moan and shudder, your eyes locked on the sight, and your tail is still squeezing his thigh as he uses you to pleasure himself. Cazador’s grunts are like a most wonderful song against the side of your face, and you let your eyes close as you begin to feel your climax approaching.

Just as you begin to grasp at the strands of your bliss, your body beginning to tighten in Cazador’s grip, he suddenly pushes you off, making you fall chest first onto the ground. You gasp, confused and shocked, and your mind is bleary from pleasure still radiating through your body that’s begging for it to be prolonged. You only glance behind your shoulder to watch Cazador get up, hold his pants with one hand and with other he grabs your hair, yanking you upwards until you somehow manage to find your feet planted onto the floor.

“Cazador-“ you start, forgetting that he wants you to call different now, and you pay the price for your transgression as you are marched some steps forward and the side of your face gets slammed against the rough stone of his coffin. It feels like your bone cracks from the impact and you cry out, but then moan when Cazador plunges his cock into your cunt again.

“You will address me appropriately, girl.” He grunts right against your ear, his height so imposing that he needs to crane his head down to do that.

“Yes, master!” You cry out enthusiastically, your body shivering when he begins to plow into you with no concern for your pain.

His thrusts are rough, demanding and relentless as he fucks you against his coffin, your chest pressed painfully against the stone, your skin scraping against the sharp edges of it, making you bleed, but you feel none of this. Consumed by your lust, you grip onto the side of the coffin and hold on as if for dear life as he pounds into you. Cazador holds you down by your hair but his other hand comes into your view when he presses it palm-first onto the surface next to your face, his nails scratching at the rough texture of it.

You hear him pant and grunt as if he’s performing a task and not chasing his pleasure, maybe in his mind it’s both, but you don’t stop to think about it, in fact you don’t think at all, letting your body succumb to the pleasure while your tail once more wraps around his leg.

“Say it again.” Cazador demands and you have to wet your lips with your sore tongue before you are able to answer him.

“Yes, master!” you cry out again, your mind begins to swim as your climax approaches you and you cry out loudly with his every thrust, feeling your spine arch and bend as your body prepares you for pleasure.

“Never forget this.” Vampire Lord hisses and his grip in your hair tightens before you suddenly shout the moment his fangs pierce your neck.

In a moment you hear him swallow a mouthful of your blood and then he moans against your skin, his thrusts becoming erratic, but the coldness of his cock doesn’t stop you from realizing that he began to spill himself deep inside of you. You wail from both pleasure and pain, then feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as your climax takes you, making you shudder and spasm as Cazador’s slowing thrusts help you ride out your pleasure to the fullest.

When he finally stops, you are left trembling, with your knees weak, your body sore and your head dizzy. And then the pain returns, the one in your neck, so sharp and so overwhelming, that it nearly erases any traces of pleasure you just felt. Tears gather in your eyes once more and you whine as if begging for him to be gentler, and it’s like Cazador understands.

He leans his head back, releasing your throat from his bite, and then leans to the side to look at your face. You see his smug expression and blood painting his lips. Without a warning he releases you, pulling you back and roughly turning you around, harshly gripping your throat so that you don’t crumple to the floor at his feet. Cazador smirks as he watches your sweaty, bruised and bloody face, and you can feel the coldness of his seed beginning to leak down your inner thigh, a mark you haven’t expected from him but do not find it unwelcome.

“Maybe I’ll keep you alive for a little while longer.” Vampire’s gaze sweeps over your form, some sort of idea obviously just occurred to him, and you wonder what he means before he presses a palm to your lower stomach. “Maybe you can serve in a different way first, before I turn you into a spawn.” He muses and it takes you a moment or two until you realize what he means.

You try to speak but he finally releases your throat and you fall to the ground with a gasp. When you lift your head to him, your hair spilling around your face and your eyes still betraying your dazed state, he suddenly leans over you and caresses your cheek with a grin, his thumb smearing your tears over your swollen skin.

“Even cattle have their uses.”

With that his touch leaves you and you watch him button up his pants, then straighten out his shirt, not giving even a glance in your direction.

“I advise you don’t try to run, girl. There’s no escape for you anymore.” He chuckles and turns on his heel, then stops for a moment. “Get back upstairs when you can walk, ask someone to show you where you will be staying from this point on. I’ll call for you when I want to see your face again.” Cazador’s words are curt, cutting and insulting at the same time, and you flush as you watch him slick back his hair with one palm. He’s waiting for something.

“Thank you, master.” You whisper with your throat dry and your tongue painfully swollen, but you hear him exhale, satisfied with your response, then he walks off, climbing the stairs and leaving you behind, his footsteps not leaving even an echo in the vast cave surrounding you.

Exhausted, in pain and yet trembling from pleasure at the same time, you remain sitting on the floor, trying to understand what happened, how it happened and why. But before long, the chill of the stone begins to seep into your bones and you get up, gathering your scattered clothes and putting them on slowly, carefully, being mindful of your aching body.

And you smile.

You can’t help smiling widely, like you never smiled before. You better hurry up and find where you will be staying from this point on. Excitement clutches at your chest as you begin to climb the same stairs Cazador used just earlier.

Maybe this is the purpose you were looking for all along. To belong to someone. Maybe you don’t know any other life, but it’s not that you mind this. What happened was everything you ever wanted and more. And so much more still awaits in the future.

You feel excited.

[cowboybeepboop]

Hunted

"What are you doing to me, little one? You're driving me insane.."

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 4.5k 

Summary: Sergei finds you lost in the woods, comes to your rescue, and seduces you all in one day. 

Warnings: Mentions of being chased/harassed by men, being hunted, uses of “little one”, a size kink, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving)

a/n: Guys I’m so obsessed with Kraven omg, since I’m on break right now I’m grinding the fuck out of writing. also, I didn't proofread (per usual) I hope you all enjoy and send any requests you might have my way

You’re a little lost, well more than a little. Somehow you ended up being taken by a few strange men, and managed to get free but what good does that do if you’re lost, cold, alone, and limping in the Siberian forests? 

You drop down to rest, wrapping your arms around your body as the cool air assaults you. Trying to think of what to do next, while keeping in mind that there are three crazed men on the hunt for you. 

Kravinoff observes silently as he watches you drop to the ground, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep warm. His expression remains stoic, his eyes taking in every little detail about you. As he watches you shivering, he can't help but feel a small pang of...sympathy? No, that can't be right.

After a few moments of silent observation, Sergei finally breaks the silence, his voice gruff and blunt. "Lost, little one?"

You flinch at the sound of his voice, immediately reaching for a branch to attempt to defend yourself. "G-go away.." you murmur weakly, teeth chattering as you speak, your eyes trained on the floor. 

Kravinoff raises an eyebrow at your display, his lips twitching into a slight smirk as he sees you reaching for a branch to use as a weapon. 

He slowly takes a step closer, his heavy boots crunching in the snow as he does so. "You're a feisty one, aren't you? But that weak voice and shivering body are hardly intimidating."

"Please.." you murmur, eyes watery as you gaze up at him with puppy dog eyes, reminiscent of something his younger brother would do. "Please don't hurt me.." 

Sergei's expression softens for a moment as he looks down at you, the puppy dog eyes tugging at a very small part of his heart that he's long since tried to bury. "Hurt you? You think I'm going to hurt you?"

He takes a few more steps towards you, his eyes roaming over your form, taking in the sight of your shivering and shivering body. "You're trembling, little one. And that limp, you're hurt."

"It's not that bad, I can walk," you whisper, watching as he approaches you slowly. 

"Not that bad, hm?" Sergei lets out a scoff, his dark eyes flickering over your body. "You're shivering from the cold, and you're clearly hurt. You can barely stand, let alone walk."

He crouches down in front of you, his large frame towering over you. "Tell me, what's your name, little one?"

"My name is Y/N.. there's these guys, they're hunting me. I don't, I don't know what to do." Your expression is pleading as you weakly stand up, shakey voice matching the trembles of your body. 

Sergei's expression darkens at the mention of other men hunting you. He glances around, his eyes scanning the area like a predator watching for prey.

"Hunters, huh? And they're after you. Interesting." Sergei's eyes return to you, his hand instinctively going to rest on the handle of one of the knives holstered on his belt.

"Why are they hunting you? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," you lean toward him, seeking the warmth that's radiating from his body. "At least I don't think I did? All I remember was waking up in a tent, they said that we were going to play a game.. I-" you trail off, a small tear falling down your cheek. 

Sergei watches as you lean towards him, a small pang of sympathy shooting through him again when he notices the tear rolling down your cheek. He's not used to comforting people, but something about you triggers a protective instinct within him.

"A game... What kind of game, little one?" He asks, his voice gruff but surprisingly gentle. He gently reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder to steady you.

"He said they would hunt me.." you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as a whistle sounds through the air. You press your body to his, eyes wide with fear, "i.. think they're getting close." 

Sergei's expression hardens as he hears the whistle through the air, his hand instinctively tightening on the handle of his knife. He glances around once more, his senses on high alert.

"Shhh," he murmurs, his other hand gently reaching out to hold you closer to him. "Stay quiet. They won't find you."

He pulls you to his chest, his large frame shielding you partially from view as he scans the woods once more.

You bury your reddened face into his chest, breathing in his musk and seeking safety in his grasp. Your arms move to cling to his waist, holding yourself closer to him. 

Sergei's nostrils flare as you bury your face into his chest, the scent of your skin, mixed with the musk of the forest, filling his senses. He can feel your arms clinging to his waist, the feel of your body pressed against his stirring something deep within him. He slowly reaches up and rests his hand on the back of your head, gently holding you against him.

"Don't worry, little one," he murmurs gruffly, his eyes still scanning the woods. "You're safe with me." You nod against his chest, too tired to speak. 

Sergei can feel the exhaustion radiating off you, your weary body leaning heavily against him. His fingers gently brush through your hair in a small, comforting gesture.

"You're exhausted," he murmurs, his voice still gruff but softer than before. "Let's find somewhere we can rest and get you warmed up."

Sergei shifts ever so slightly, his large frame adjusting so he's able to lift you gently into his arms, cradling you like a child.

You gasp as he effortlessly picks you up, arms instinctively going to his neck. "Where will we go?" you murmur.

Sergi glances down at you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, and a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He enjoys the feel of you in his arms, the way your body fits snugly against his.

"Somewhere safe," he replies, his voice gruff. "Somewhere these 'hunters' won't find us."

Carefully, Sergei begins moving through the forest, his powerful legs carrying both of you through the deep snow with ease. You nuzzle your face against his shoulder, finding him comforting in the vast forest. 

As you nuzzle your face against his shoulder, Sergei can't help but notice how much he's enjoying the feel of you in his arms. Your warmth against his chest, the soft sound of your breathing, and the gentle feel of you nuzzling against him.

He continues to move through the forest, weaving through trees and navigating the deep snow like a natural tracker. Every now and then, he glances down at you, his eyes taking in your tired, but now tranquil face.

You drift to sleep in his arms, body going limp as he continues to trek toward his home. Bringing you closer and closer to a warm safe shelter. 

Sergei feels your body go limp in his arms, signaling that you've fallen asleep. His arms instinctively tighten their grip on you, holding you securely against his chest as he continues to trek through the snowy forest.

Each step brings you both closer to his home, a small cabin nestled deep in the forest, away from the chaos of the outside world. As he approaches the cabin, Sergei can't help but feel an odd sense of protectiveness over you.

He gently pushes open the door to his cabin and steps inside, careful not to wake you. The cabin is warm and cozy, illuminated by the soft glow of a fireplace in the corner.

Sergei carries you over to a large, comfortable armchair and carefully sets you down, ensuring you're settled and comfortable. He takes a moment to gaze down at you, his eyes roaming over your tired face as you sleep.

He sighs deeply, his hands resting on the arms of the chair as he contemplates what to do next. You stir slightly at the lack of his body against yours, your arms reach out, seeking him once more. 

As you stir and reach out for him, searching for the warmth of his body, Sergei can't help but smirk to himself. He's not used to being sought after like this, and it brings an odd feeling of satisfaction to him.

He steps closer, gently taking hold of your seeking hands and holding them in his own large, calloused ones.

"I'm right here, little one," he murmurs gruffly, his voice low so as not to startle you.

As the morning sunlight streams through the windows, bathing the cabin in a warm, golden light, you stir in the soft, comfortable embrace of the armchair.

Sergei, who had spent the night keeping watch by the fireplace, notices your movements and rises silently from his chair. He watches as you pull the soft cloth blanket up to cover your face, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

He takes a step closer, leaning against the back of the armchair, and speaks in a low, gruff voice. "Morning, little one."

"You never told me your name.." you murmur, sliding out of the chair and sleepily moving to his side. 

Sergei's eyes roam over your sleepy form as you move to stand beside him, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he hears your question.

"I suppose I didn't," he says gruffly, his eyes watching you with a mixture of amusement and something else, something he can't quite place.

He lifts a hand and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, before replying, "My name is Sergei. Sergei Kravinoff."

"Sergei.." You repeat, settling onto the ground next to him, basking in the heat of the flames.

As you say his name, a small shiver of satisfaction runs through Sergei's body. He can't remember the last time anyone has spoken his name with such soft, sweet lips.

He watches as you settle onto the floor next to him, your body seeking the warmth of the flames. He can't help but admire your small, fragile form, your skin flushed and weary but still so very beautiful.

He glances down at you, his voice still gruff but softer than usual. "You should eat something, little one. You must be hungry."

Your face lights up at the mention of food, your stomach growling as if on cue. "I am a little hungry.." 

A small, satisfied smile tugs at the corners of Sergei's lips as he watches your face light up at the mention of food, and hears your stomach growl in confirmation.

"Looks like that settles it," he says gruffly, pushing himself up off the floor. "I'll fix you something to eat. Stay there and warm up."

Without waiting for a reply, he strides over to the small kitchen in the cabin, starting to prepare a meal.

You turn to watch his movements, craving his company at your side once again. A feeling of heat rises in your stomach as you gulp, eyes glued to his muscular frame. 

Sergei can feel your eyes on him as he moves around the kitchen, his muscular frame easily handling the preparation of the simple meal. He can't help but detect a hint of something in your gaze, a heat that he's not sure he quite understands.

He glances over at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he meets your gaze. "What is it, little one?" he asks gruffly, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and mild amusement.

Your cheeks flush a bright pink, causing you to shake your head. "Nothing.. it's nothing." you reply softly.

Sergei's smirk grows wider as he notices the bright pink flush on your cheeks, knowing that he's caused a reaction in you. He can't help but be captivated by the innocent, shy look on your face.

He lets out a gruff chuckle, returning to his task of preparing the meal. "It's not nothing," he says, his voice holding a hint of playfulness. "You're staring at me, little one. I can feel your gaze on me. What are you thinking?"

"You're just very big.." you whisper, shocked by the words coming from your mouth. Clenching the blanket tight around you, you carefully adjust your clothes, feeling your panties becoming wet.

Sergei's eyes widen slightly at your words, a soft chuckle escaping his lips at the innocent bluntness of your statement. He can't help but be amused by your shyness, your flushed cheeks, and the way your body fidgets under the blanket.

He turns to face you fully, his eyes roaming over your form, drinking in the sight of you. He can sense the change in you, the heat in your body, and he can't help but wonder if you're even aware of it. 

"Is that so?" he asks gruffly, his voice holding a hint of something else, something deeper.

You nod, mind wandering to.. other parts of him, and how big it might be. "Mhm.." you murmur, looking up at him as he brings you a plate of food.

As you nod and confirm his words, Sergei can't help but notice the way your eyes wander over his frame, lingering on certain parts of his anatomy. He knows what you're thinking, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

He approaches you, holding out the plate of food. As he does, his eyes lock onto yours, his voice gruff as he speaks again. "Eat up, little one. You need your strength."

"Thank you Sergei.." you smile up at him, taking the plate and beginning to take a few small bites, your mind still focused on him. 

Sergei watches as you take the plate and begin to eat, his gaze studying you intently. He notices the small, subtle things, the way your eyes wander over his form, the way your lips move as you chew.

A small, amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches you, his own thoughts wandering to the same subject as yours.

"You're welcome, little one," he grunts, his voice gruff and low. "Make sure you eat all of it. Can't have you wasting away on me."

"Yes sir," you murmur between bites. Comfortable silence fills the air as he takes a seat next to you, his shoulder lightly brushing yours.

As you finish your meal, the silence of the cabin is filled with a comfortable stillness. Sergei lowers himself down to sit beside you, taking a moment to admire the sight of you as you finish eating.

His shoulder lightly brushed yours, the contact sending a small shiver through his body. Despite his gruff and stoic exterior, he can't help but be drawn to you, your innocence and vulnerability stirring something deep within him.

"Feeling better now, little one?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly murmur.

"Much better," you grin, leaning against him, your hand falling to his lap. You're craving more, more of his touch, more of him, you just need him. 

As you lean against him and your hand falls to his lap, Sergei's body tenses momentarily, his breath catching in his chest. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the slight weight of your hand on his thigh, and it awakening something within him.

He can't help but glance down at your hand, then back up at your face, a mix of surprise, desire, and a hint of hesitation in his gaze. "Little one..." he growls, his voice deep and hoarse.

"Yes, Sergei?" you breathe out, biting down on your bottom lip with desire. 

Sergei's eyes are fixated on your biting your lip, the sight sending a wave of heat through him. He can feel his body reacting to your closeness, to the desire in your voice.

He leans closer to you, his breath tickling your ear as he speaks, his voice a low, gruff whisper, "What are you doing to me, little one? You're driving me insane.."

You gasp as his voice sends shivers down your body, leaning closer to him you find a small amount of confidence. You slide your hand up his though, nearing the place you're most curious about. "Sergei.. I'm curious about something.."

As your hand slowly slides up his thigh, nearing a sensitive spot, Sergei's body tenses once more, his breath catching in his throat. He can feel the heat of your touch, the desire in your movements, and it's driving him wild.

He glances down at your hand, then back up at your face, his eyes dark and intense. "What is it, little one?" he growls, his voice thick with desire. "What are you curious about?"

"How big is it?" you gulp, looking up at him through your lashes as you settle between his legs. Almost salivating at the thought of seeing his cock.

As your words sink in, and your body moves between his legs, Sergei's breath hitches in his chest, a low growl escaping his lips. He can feel the heat in your body, the desire in your gaze, and it's driving him crazy.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and ravenous, as he responds in a low, guttural tone, "Are you sure you want to know, little one?"

"Mhm, I'm really curious," you whisper, hand sliding to the buckle of his belt and slowly maneuvering to remove it. "Is this okay?"

Sergei watches as your hand moves to his belt, slowly working to undo the buckle. Your touch is innocent yet filled with a desire that he can't deny.

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he contemplates your question. "You're very forward, little one," he says gruffly, his voice thick with a mix of desire and surprise. "But yes.. it's okay."

You slowly remove his garments, moving to free his hardness. Your body trembles in anticipation, desire coursing through you.

As you remove his garments, revealing his hardness, Sergei's breath hitches in his chest, his body trembling slightly as you bare him to your gaze.

He watches you, his eyes roaming over your face, studying the mix of desire and innocence in your expression. He can feel his own desire growing stronger by the second, a mixture of primal need and unexpected gentleness.

"Look at you..." he mutters gruffly, his voice thick with want. "You're so, so curious.."

Your hand wraps around his thick hard dick, eyes wide as you take in the sheer size of it. "I want to taste you," your gaze is focused on his length as you stick your tongue out, licking his tip slightly.

As you wrap your hand around his length, a low, guttural moan escapes his lips, his body tensing at the feel of your touch.

He watches as you lick his tip, your gaze fixed on his manhood, and it drives him crazy. The heat in your eyes, the desire in your movements, it's driving him to the edge.

"Is that so, little one?" he growls, his voice thick and strained. "You want to taste me, do you?"

You nod, lips wrapping around his throbbing cock. Your mouth is full of his manhood, eyes fluttering shut as you moan at the taste of his precum.

With a deep, shaky breath, Sergei allows you to continue, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels the warmth of your mouth engulfs his cock. The sensation sends waves of pleasure through his body, his muscles tightening and his heart racing. 

His hands instinctively move to the back of your head, guiding your movements gently as you take him in deeper, your soft moans muffled by his flesh. The feeling of your wetness and the gentle suction as you work your mouth over him is almost too much to handle, and he has to fight the urge to thrust into you.

Sergei's eyes snap open as your eager mouth continues to explore him, his grip on the back of your head tightening slightly as he watches you with a mix of hunger and amazement. "You're a natural, little one," he grunts, his voice strained as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. 

His hips begin to move almost imperceptibly, matching the rhythm of your mouth. The warmth, the wetness, the way your tongue swirls around his head – it's all too much for him to handle. He can feel his orgasm building, the tension coiling in his stomach and balls, begging for release. But he doesn't want this to end yet. He wants more of you, all of you.

With a sudden urgency, he pulls you off his cock, panting heavily. "Not yet," he growls, his eyes burning with desire as he looks down at you. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, laying you down gently before climbing over you, his large frame looming over you protectively. 

His hand moves to the hem of your shirt, sliding it up to reveal your soft, pale stomach. His lips follow the trail of his hand, kissing and nibbling gently, leaving a path of heat in their wake. 

You gasp and arch up into his touch, your own desires spiraling out of control. His rough hands begin to unbutton your pants, his gaze never leaving yours as he slowly reveals your most intimate secrets.

As he unbuttons your pants, Sergei's eyes are dark with need, watching your every reaction with a predatory focus. 

He can feel the heat between your legs, smell the sweet scent of your arousal, and it's all he can do to not rip the rest of your clothes off in one swift move. But he holds back, enjoying the slow, methodical unveiling of your body.

He slides your pants down, his calloused hands brushing against the softness of your skin. His eyes are drawn to the small, lacy underwear you're wearing, the stark contrast to the ruggedness of the cabin and his own attire not lost on him. 

With a smirk, he hooks his fingers under the elastic and pulls them down, revealing your bare, shaven pussy.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. His eyes roam over the delicate folds of your sex, the sight of your wetness making his cock throb even more. He leans down and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

You whimper at his gentle touch, your body quivering with anticipation. "Sergei," you breathe out his name like a prayer, your legs falling open wider to give him better access. You can't believe this is happening, but all you want is for him to keep going.

His mouth follows the path of his kisses, moving closer to your core. When he reaches your pussy, he lingers for a moment, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh before his tongue darts out to taste you. The sensation is electric, sending bolts of pleasure shooting through your body as he explores you with the same curiosity and hunger he had when you first touched him.

"Oh god," you moan, your hands fisting in the sheets as his tongue delves deeper into your wetness. He licks and sucks, his beard scraping gently against your thighs, sending sparks of pleasure through you. Your hips buck against his mouth, seeking more, begging for it.

Sergei growls in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against your clit, sending you spiraling closer to the edge. His hands move to grip your hips, holding you in place as he devours you, his tongue swirling and flicking with expert precision. You're lost in the feeling, your world narrowing down to the warmth of his mouth and the exquisite pleasure he's giving you.

And as your orgasm builds, he slows down, teasing you, making you beg for release. "Please," you whine, your voice desperate and needy.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something else, something that makes your stomach flip. "Please what, little one?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your core.

"Please, make me cum," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a smirk, he goes back to work, his tongue and lips bringing you closer and closer to the precipice until, with one final, hard suck, you're tumbling over, your body shaking with the intensity of your climax. You cry out his name as waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

Sergei watches you come with a fierce satisfaction, his cock pulsing with his own need. He moves up your body, his eyes locked on yours as he positions himself at your entrance. "Are you ready for me, little one?" he asks, his voice a gruff whisper.

You nod, your eyes glazed with passion as you reach up to pull him closer. "Yes," you pant, your body arching up to meet his. "I need you inside me."

And with that, he pushes in, filling you up with one long, slow stroke that has you gasping for air. Your bodies fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces finally coming together. He begins to move, his thrusts deep and measured, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes you, claiming you as his in this moment of raw, primal passion.

With a fierce growl, Sergei slams into you, his cock stretching your tight pussy as he takes what he's craved since the moment he laid eyes on you. The feeling of you, warm and wet around him, is indescribable, and he can't hold back any longer. 

He begins to pound into you, each stroke hitting just the right spot, making you scream out in ecstasy. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels digging into his muscular back as you meet his rhythm, urging him to go faster, harder. 

The bed beneath you creaks and shakes with the force of his thrusts, the headboard slamming into the wall in a steady rhythm that matches the beating of your heart. The room is filled with the sounds of your passion, the slapping of skin on skin, the harsh breaths, and desperate moans that fill the air like a symphony of desire. 

Your nails dig into the smooth skin of his back, leaving swollen red marks on his tanned skin, your pussy clenching around him as he continues to thrust into you. With each move of his hips, you become more and more needy, gasping and moaning his name. 

Sergei’s movements stutter, his hips pushing flush against yours, his head digging into your g-spot. His thick cock swells inside of you as your grip around him, your body coaxing his orgasm out of him. 

He buries his face into your neck, moaning lowly as he fills you with his warmth. You arch up into him, spasming around his still-hard length. 

“Fuck, oh fuck…” you whine, eyes fluttering shut as he collapses onto the bed next to you, pulling you to his chest. 

[kawareo]

And in the end, you were nought but a blink.

I finished Unsaved!! :)

I had such a blast writing it, thank you so much for everyone who commented and gave support, I read every single comment and they mean so so much to me

Feel free to send me your thoughts on the fic as a whole or just anything in general! I know for a fact I wouldn't get this far without such an active feedback ^^

[reinwinters]

@imagineitdearies

The final moment.

[seriiousgiirl]

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝕴𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖎𝖓𝖊.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭!𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 — 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝐼𝓥⊹ ₊ ݁.

❛ You lied to me! I did. You poisoned me! I did. You said you loved me! I do. ❜

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱. ⊹ ₊ ݁. regency!au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, tension, mutual pining, angst, smut will happen later, lewd themes, corruption, age difference, forced marriage, gothic setting, dark themes.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

➜ ┊ a/n: I'd like to thank everyone who has supported this story so far, I never thought anyone would be interested. It means a lot. ♡

The doorbell rang, its sound resonating through the quiet halls of your home. You paused, setting aside the book you had been reading, your heart fluttering with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. Moments later, your maid appeared at the door of your sitting room, cradling a magnificent bouquet of red roses in her arms. 

"These just arrived for you, miss," she said, her smile warm and knowing.

You reached for the bouquet, your fingers brushing against the delicate petals as you searched for the inevitable note nestled within. Unfolding the small piece of parchment, your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the elegant, flowing script. It was from Astarion.

My dearest Y/N,

Would you like to meet at the park later today?

Since the ball, your days have been filled with such enchanting surprises. Every morning, without fail, brought a new delight—a fresh bouquet of flowers, a beautifully bound book of poetry, or a heartfelt letter penned in Astarion's distinctive hand. Each gift is a demonstration of his thoughtfulness and growing affection.

Your mother, however, was less enthusiastic about this burgeoning romance. 

She watched with a critical eye, her disapproval evident in the tight lines of her mouth and the occasional sharp comment. Yet, despite her reservations, you found yourself eagerly anticipating each new message from Astarion, each new opportunity to see him.

You turned to your maid, who was watching you with an expression of gentle amusement. "Would you help me get ready for an outing to the park?"

She nodded, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of approval and fondness. "Of course, miss. Let's make sure you're ready to meet your charming gentleman."

As she helped you dress, you couldn't help but reflect on the past few days. In his company, you found a rare sense of freedom and joy. Your conversations ranged from the profound to the trivial, from dreams and aspirations to the simple pleasures of life. With Astarion, every moment felt infused with a sense of possibility.

You could still recall the way his eyes would light up when he saw you, the way his voice would soften as he spoke of his thoughts and feelings. Each encounter deepened your connection, making you yearn for the next—making you yearn for him.

As you smoothed the last wrinkle from your gown, your maid stepped back to admire her handiwork. 

She tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eye. "Do you think Lord Ancunin will match the colour of your dress today as well, miss?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

You couldn't help but smile at the thought. Astarion had an uncanny knack for matching his attire to yours, as if he knew exactly what you would be wearing each day. The lilac dress from the ball, the pale blue for your last meeting, and perhaps, the soft rose you had chosen for today. It had become a delightful, unspoken game between you. 

"I’m hopeful," you replied, a note of excitement creeping into your voice. "He hasn't missed a single time yet."

The maid chuckled softly. "It seems he's quite taken with you, miss. Such attention to detail is not common."

Your heart warmed at the thought. Each meticulously chosen outfit, every thoughtful gift, spoke of a man who was deeply invested in your happiness. Astarion's gestures, grand and small, had woven themselves into the fabric of your daily life, making each day brighter and more exciting than the last.

"He's certainly different," you admitted, feeling a flutter of anticipation as you thought of the afternoon ahead. "And I think that's what makes this all so... wonderful."

The maid nodded, her eyes kind and understanding. "Well, let's not keep him waiting, then. You look absolutely perfect."

With one last glance in the mirror, you took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. Today promised to be another chapter in the beautiful story that was unfolding between you and Astarion. 

As you descended the stairs, the bouquet of flowers still fresh in your mind, you couldn't help but wonder at how much your life had changed since you arrived in Baldur's Gate. The city, once so intimidating and foreign, had become a place of discovery and unexpected romance, and all thanks to Astarion.

You stepped out into the crisp air, the sun casting a warm glow over the bustling streets. The carriage was ready, and with a sense of excitement, you climbed in, eager to see what the day would bring.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As your carriage rolled to a stop at the park's entrance, you could already see Astarion waiting for you. Even from a distance, his elegance was unmistakable. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, the fabric catching the sunlight in a way that accentuated his every movement. But it was the pale pink handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket that drew your eye—a detail that matched your dress flawlessly. 

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. The round sunglasses he wore were nearly opaque, casting an air of mystery over his crimson eyes, which you longed to see.

The coachman opened the door, and Astarion was at your side in an instant. He extended a gloved hand to help you down, his touch as gentle as always. "Good afternoon, my lady," he greeted, his voice smooth and rich with a hint of amusement. "Did you enjoy the roses this morning?"

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his thoughtful gesture. "They were beautiful, Astarion. Thank you. Each bloom was perfect."

He inclined his head, a pleased smile playing at his lips. "I'm delighted you liked them. They reminded me of you—elegant and captivating."

Your cheeks flushed at his compliment, and you were grateful for the momentary distraction of straightening your skirts. The park around you was serene, with pathways lined by tall, leafy trees and flower beds bursting with colour. It was a perfect setting for your rendezvous.

Astarion offered his arm, and you took it gladly, feeling the now-familiar thrill of being close to him and his muscles tensing beneath your palm. As you walked together, the hem of your dress brushing softly against the grass, you marvelled at how each of your meetings felt more special than the last.

"You seem to have a talent for always knowing what colour I will wear," you remarked, glancing at his handkerchief. "How do you manage it?"

He chuckled softly, the sound like a low, intimate melody. "Ah, a gentleman must have his secrets, my dear. But let us just say that I take great pleasure in paying attention to every detail about you."

As you continued your leisurely stroll, Astarion regaled you with stories of his recent exploits and observations of the city. His wit and charm were as captivating as ever, and you found yourself laughing and smiling more than you had in days.

"Your mother was quite displeased with me at the ball," he said after a pause, his tone shifting to something more serious. "I hope she has not made things difficult for you?"

You shook your head, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "She has her concerns, but nothing I cannot manage. Besides, she did say that I should most likely marry the one who will own our lands."

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly smile. "Is that so? I need to win the lands, to win your hand? Well, I shall have to make a very compelling case then, shan't I?"

His words sent a thrill through you, the implications clear and yet wrapped in the playful banter that was so characteristic of him. The thought of Astarion owning your family's lands, of being tied to him in such a significant way, was both exciting and daunting.

As you reached a secluded bench nestled under a canopy of trees and flowers, Astarion guided you to sit beside him. The world around you seemed to fade and the serene atmosphere and his charming presence created a sense of ease and openness. However, the questions that had been gnawing at the back of your mind, particularly those raised by your mother, refused to stay silent.

"Astarion," you began tentatively, "can I ask you something personal?"

He turned to you, his smile reassuring and charming as ever. "Of course, my dear. You can ask me anything."

You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts. "It's just... My mother has certain concerns about you. She thinks that if a man of your age and status isn't married yet, there must be a reason for it. She believes that no one wants you."

Astarion chuckled softly, the sound laced with a hint of sadness. "Ah, mothers and their concerns. I suppose I should have expected as much."

You felt a pang of guilt, regretting that you had to voice such a harsh sentiment. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just... she's worried."

He turned to face you fully, his expression thoughtful. "Y/n, there's no need to apologise. It's a valid question, and one I should address." Astarion took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the blooming flowers around you. "The truth is, my circumstances are... complicated. I have been focused on other pursuits, ones that have not left much room for marriage or family."

You watched him closely, sensing the weight behind his words. "What kind of pursuits?"

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Business, mostly. And certain obligations that have demanded my attention."

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Obligations to Duke Szarr?"

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he nodded. "Yes. My association with Duke Szarr has shaped much of my life. It has been both a blessing and a curse."

You wanted to press further, to understand the full extent of his relationship with the Duke, but you sensed that now was not the time. Instead, you focused on the man before you, feeling a deep sense of compassion.

"And what about now?" you asked softly. "Do you still feel those obligations are more important than finding happiness for yourself?"

Astarion's gaze softened as he looked at you, his crimson eyes no longer hidden by his sunglasses. "Meeting you, Y/n, has made me reconsider many things. I find myself wanting something more, something genuine."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you couldn't help but smile. "I feel the same way."

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "Then let us take this one step at a time. Ignore the gossip and the doubts of others. We can create our own path, just you and me."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief and hope. "Yes, let's do that."

But, subtlety Astarion's usually confident demeanour faltered, replaced by a palpable sense of unease. His gaze, normally sharp and captivating, now held a hint of vulnerability as he spoke. "Y/n, there's something important I need to tell you," he began, his voice soft yet tinged with regret. "If... if you were to marry me, we would have to live at the Castle of Duke Szarr. He's been like family to me, and he insists that we all reside there together."

You felt a mix of emotions at his revelation. The idea of living at the Duke's castle alongside Astarion filled you with excitement, but the thought of being under the watchful eye of the Duke added a layer of complexity to the situation. Nevertheless, your affection for Astarion outweighed any concerns.

"It's alright, Astarion," you said softly, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. "I understand. Living at the castle with you sounds wonderful, regardless of the circumstances."

Astarion's eyes softened at your words, a flicker of relief passing over his features. "Thank you, Y/n," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. "Your acceptance means more to me than you know."

As Astarion spoke, you could sense a palpable relief washing over him, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It puzzled you how he seemed to view the Duke as an obstacle— if he was family, when it was perfectly natural for him to reside in his own castle if they were to be married. 

Yet, you could guess there was a complexity to their relationship that you couldn't quite grasp.

Intrigued, you probed gently for more information. "Astarion, can you tell me more about your relationship with the Duke?" you asked, your voice soft with curiosity.

He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to share such personal details. Eventually, he sighed, his gaze distant as he spoke. "The Duke... he saved me when I was at my lowest," he admitted, his voice tinged with emotion. "I was lost, alone, and broken. But he took me in, offered me sanctuary, and gave me purpose. I owe him a debt of gratitude that I can never repay."

Astarion turned towards you, his eyes softening as he reached out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The intimate gesture sent a shiver down your spine, his touch both comforting and electrifying. "You have no idea how much you mean to me," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You've changed my life in ways I never thought possible. For the first time in so long, I feel... free."

The sincerity in his words was like a confession, a man shedding his armour to reveal his most vulnerable self. You felt the full weight of his emotions, as if they were your own, your heart racing in sync with his unspoken desires.

As Astarion leaned closer, the air between you thickened, charged with a magnetic pull. You could feel the heat emanating from his body, a warmth that seemed to seep through you and pool in your core. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you leaned forward to meet him, the world around you fading to nothing but the sensation of his breath upon your lips.

Just as your lips parted and his were about to brush against yours, the sweet anticipation of your first kiss shattered. The sound of footsteps and a cheerful voice echoed through the park, and you both pulled back. Reality crashed down, the spell broken. Your eyes snapped open, meeting Astarion's, where you saw the echo of longing, rapidly masked by polite interest.

"Ah, there you are, Lady Y/N! And Lord Ancunin, what a pleasant surprise!"

You both pulled back abruptly, the spell broken. Your eyes snapped open to see an acquaintance approaching with a wide smile. The disruption was jarring, pulling you back into reality with a harsh jolt.

Astarion's expression quickly shifted back to brief anger and then one of polite interest, though you could see the disappointment flicker in his eyes behind his sunglasses. He took a deep breath, composing himself. 

"Indeed," he replied smoothly, though his hand lingered on your cheeks, his thumb gently stroking the soft curve, for a moment longer before he let go. "We were just enjoying a lovely… conversation."

The acquaintance, oblivious to the tension they had interrupted, continued to chatter cheerfully. "It's wonderful to see you both here. Such a beautiful day, isn't it?"

You forced a smile, your heart still racing from the near kiss. "Yes, it is," you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You exchanged polite greetings with the acquaintance, though your mind was still lingering on Astarion's words and the kiss that had almost been.

As the conversation continued, Astarion subtly shifted closer to you, the tension between you was palpable, a charged undercurrent that neither of you could ignore.

Finally, the acquaintance took their leave, offering a polite nod before disappearing down the path. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words. Astarion turned back to you, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry about that," he murmured, his voice low. "I didn't mean to..."

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's okay," you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. "We were bound to be interrupted, eventually."

Astarion's gaze softened, his hand finding yours once more. "Still, I want you to know how much I care about you, Y/N," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "You've brought light into my life, and I can't imagine going back to the way things were before."

Your heart ached with the depth of his words, and you squeezed his hand gently. "I feel the same way, Astarion," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "You've changed my life too."

He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that lit up his face. "Then let's make the most of the time we have," he said softly, his eyes shining with determination.

You nodded, your heart full as you leaned into him, ready to face whatever came next together.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Days had passed since your last meeting with Astarion at the park, but the memory of that near kiss lingered in your mind, making your heart flutter every time you thought about it. Today, you found yourself at an art exposition, admiring the beautiful paintings and sculptures displayed throughout the grand hall. The soft murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses created a sophisticated ambiance, perfect for such an event.

Beside you stood Wyll Ravengard, a charming and dependable friend you had met shortly after arriving in the city. His father was an old friend of your family, and your mother had made it abundantly clear that she viewed Wyll as the ideal future husband for you. 

Despite your mother’s wishes, your heart was elsewhere, tangled up in thoughts of Astarion.

You turned to Wyll, a smile playing on your lips as you recounted the events at the park. "You won't believe what happened the other day, Wyll," you began, your voice filled with excitement. "I was at the park with Lord Ancunin, and... he almost… kissed me."

Wyll's eyes widened with surprise, and he leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "Really? Tell me more," he urged, his tone a mix of intrigue and genuine interest.

You sighed, your cheeks flushing slightly as you recalled the moment. "We were talking, and he was being so sweet and sincere. Then, out of nowhere, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. It felt so... intimate. He told me how much I meant to him and how I had changed his life. And then, just as he was about to kiss me, we got interrupted."

Wyll chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Seems like you two can't catch a break. But it sounds like he really cares about you, Y/N."

Your heart swelled at Wyll's words, and you nodded. "He does. Every time I'm with him, it's like the world fades away, and it's just the two of us. My heart was beating so quickly, I thought it might burst."

Wyll’s expression turned more serious, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "I can see how much he means to you," he said quietly. "But you know your mother has other plans."

You sighed, glancing around the room filled with elegantly dressed patrons admiring the artwork. "I know. She wants me to marry someone like you, Wyll. But my heart... It belongs to Astarion. I can't help how I feel."

Wyll placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, offering you a kind smile. "Follow your heart, Y/N. It's your life, and you deserve to be with someone who makes you truly happy."

His words provided a comforting sense of validation, and you squeezed his hand in gratitude. "Thank you, Wyll. I appreciate your support more than you know."

As you and Wyll continued to stroll through the art exposition, admiring the intricate brushstrokes and masterful sculptures, Wyll couldn't resist teasing you about your burgeoning relationship with Astarion.

"Speaking of plans, Y/n," Wyll began, a playful glint in his eye, "do you think Lord Ancunin might be planning to ask for your hand in marriage soon?"

You felt your cheeks flush with warmth, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. "Wyll, don't be ridiculous," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your true feelings.

Wyll chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Oh, come on. It's obvious how smitten he is with you. The flowers, the letters, the poetry books... not to mention that almost-kiss in the park. I'd say he's head over heels."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Maybe, but marriage? It's only been a few weeks since we met."

Wyll raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "And yet, in those few weeks, he's made more effort to win your heart than anyone else ever has, since you arrived. Besides, from what you've told me, he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would waste time if he knew what he wanted."

You bit your lip, considering Wyll's words. "I suppose you're right. He does have a way of making me feel like the only person in the world when we're together."

Wyll nodded, his expression turning more serious. "Exactly. And if he makes you happy, that's what matters. Just don't be surprised if he gets down on one knee sooner rather than later."

The thought sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but smile at the possibility. "I suppose we'll see," you said, your voice soft with hope.

Wyll smiled, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just promise me you'll invite me to the wedding. I'd hate to miss it."

You laughed, feeling a sense of lightness at Wyll's teasing. "Of course, Wyll. I wouldn't dream of getting married without my friend there."

As you and Wyll continued your leisurely stroll through the art exposition, your eyes were drawn to a striking painting hanging on the far wall. The artwork depicted a dark, gothic scene of a vampire feeding on a woman. The vampire's features were both mesmerising and terrifying, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light as he sank his fangs into the woman's delicate neck. The woman, in turn, seemed to be caught in a trance, a mix of fear and surrender in her eyes.

You stopped in front of the painting, studying the intricate details. "This is awfully realistic," you murmured, unable to tear your gaze away from the chilling scene.

Wyll nodded, his expression turning more serious. "It is. Vampires have always been a subject of fascination and fear. But this... it's almost like the artist has seen it firsthand."

A shiver ran down your spine. "Do you think it's possible? That someone could have actually witnessed this?"

Wyll sighed, folding his arms as he continued to gaze at the painting. "It's hard to say. Ever since vampires found a way to stand under the sunlight – despite the pain it causes them – it's become nearly impossible to catch them. They blend in, move among us, and strike when we least expect it."

You turned to Wyll, concern etched on your face. "How is that even possible? I thought sunlight was their greatest weakness."

He nodded, his expression grim. "It still is, to an extent. But there's a ritual – a blood ritual – that some vampires have used to build a tolerance to sunlight. It's dangerous and incredibly painful for them, but it gives them a significant advantage. The problem is, this ritual has fallen into the wrong hands."

You furrowed your brow, the weight of his words sinking in. "What do you mean?"

Wyll glanced around, lowering his voice. "There are groups out there, dark factions, that have been using the ritual to create more powerful vampires. Our security forces are struggling to keep up. Every time they think they have a lead, it slips through their fingers. The city is on edge, and people are scared."

The thought of vampires lurking in the shadows, almost indistinguishable from ordinary people, sent a chill down your spine. "That's terrifying. How do we protect ourselves?"

Wyll gave you a reassuring smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Stay vigilant, avoid dark alleys, and trust the people around you. And if you ever see anything suspicious, report it immediately. The authorities are doing their best, but they need our help too."

You nodded, feeling a mix of fear and determination. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Wyll."

He patted your shoulder gently. "Anytime, Y/n. Just be careful, alright? The world is a dangerous place, and we need to look out for each other." As you and Wyll continued your conversation about the unsettling topic of vampires, a familiar voice broke through your thoughts. 

"What are you two discussing so intently?" Astarion's smooth voice asked, a hint of curiosity lacing his words.

You turned to see him standing behind Wyll, looking... different. His usually impeccable appearance seemed a bit off. For the first time since you met him, his handkerchief did not match your outfit. The mint green fabric stood in stark contrast to your crimson red dress. More than that, he looked tired, almost weary, as if something was weighing heavily on him.

Wyll turned, smiling at Astarion. "We were just talking about the painting," he said, gesturing towards the eerie artwork depicting the vampire feeding on a woman. "And the recent concerns about vampires in the city."

Astarion's gaze flicked to the painting, and for a brief moment, an unreadable expression crossed his face. He nodded slowly, then turned his attention back to you. "Vampires, huh?" he said, attempting a lighthearted tone. "Always a fascinating, albeit morbid, topic."

You couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, the slight slump in his usually perfect posture. "Are you alright, Astarion? You seem... different today."

He offered a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just a bit tired, my dear. It's been a long few days."

Wyll, always perceptive, raised an eyebrow. "Is everything alright, Lord Ancunin? You don't look like your usual self."

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing to worry about. Just some business matters that needed attending to. But tell me more about these rumours. Have there been any actual sightings?"

You exchanged a worried glance with Wyll before replying. "Not that we've heard, but the authorities are struggling. It's the talk of the city apparently."

Astarion nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. It's a troubling situation. But let's not let it ruin our evening. We came here to enjoy the art, after all."

Despite his attempt to change the subject, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply troubling Astarion. As you continued to explore the exhibition together, his usual charm seemed dimmed, his laughter more subdued. You found yourself glancing at him more often than usual, searching for any sign that he might open up about what was bothering him. 

After a moment, Astarion's voice broke the contemplative silence between the three of you. "Lord Ravengard, if you don't mind, I'd like to steal Y/N for a moment."

Wyll glanced at you and then back at Astarion, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Of course, Lord Ancunin. I'll be fine on my own. Besides, I've got a few more paintings to admire."

As Wyll wandered off, Astarion extended his arm, and you linked yours with his. The two of you walked through the gallery, the hum of other visitors' conversations creating a low murmur around you. Once you were alone in a quieter section, Astarion turned to face you, his expression more serious than usual.

He turned to face you, his expression serious. "There's something I need to tell you," he began, his voice low. "The Duke Szarr will be coming to the city."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Why?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Astarion's jaw tightened slightly, and you felt the muscles under your palm tense as he continued. "It's mostly because of our relationship. The Duke wants to meet you."

His tone was neutral, but you could sense the underlying tension. "Is that... a good thing?" you asked cautiously.

Astarion's gaze flickered, a mix of frustration and protectiveness crossing his features. "He wants to see if you're... suitable. The Duke is very particular about those within his circle. Your presence in my life has attracted his attention, and he wishes to evaluate you personally."

The idea of being evaluated by the Duke was unsettling, and you couldn't ignore the way Astarion's usually composed demeanour was unravelling. "How do you feel about this?" you asked, your hand gently squeezing his arm in reassurance.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "In all honesty, I don't like it," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's something we must face. The Duke has been a significant part of my life, and his approval carries a great deal of weight. I just... I worry about how this will affect us."

You reached up, cupping his pale cheek with your free hand. "We'll face it together," you said firmly. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it."

Astarion's eyes held yours, a flicker of relief breaking through his tension. "Thank you," he murmured, leaning into your touch. "Having you by my side means more than you can imagine."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, but you couldn't ignore the unease that lingered. "What should I expect when meeting him?"

"He can be... intimidating," Astarion admitted. "He has a commanding presence and is used to getting his way."

The sincerity in his voice reassured you, but the thought of meeting the man who held such power over Astarion was daunting. "When is he arriving?"

"In a few days," Astarion replied. "I'll be there to introduce you. Just be yourself, and everything will be fine."

You nodded, though your mind was already racing with questions and concerns. "Astarion, is there anything else I should know about him?"

At your question, Astarion seemed to hesitate, his lips parting, but his voice got caught as he shook his head and offered you a small smile. "There's nothing important you should know about the Duke," he said, though the tension in his eyes suggested otherwise. 

"But the Duke is... very particular about loyalty. He values those who are unwaveringly loyal to him, and he expects the same in return. It's important to show him that you are... committed."

"Committed to what?" you asked, a frown creasing your brow.

"Committed to our relationship, of course darling," Astarion clarified, his voice softening. "To the future we are trying to build together. He needs to see that you are serious about us, about being a part of this life."

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realised just how significant this meeting with the Duke was. "I understand," you said quietly, squeezing his hand. "I'll do my best."

Astarion's expression softened, his eyes filling with gratitude. "I know you will, my darling."

As you and Astarion strolled through the gallery, your steps eventually led you to a secluded corner where a rather lewd painting hung on the wall. The artwork depicted a passionate embrace, the lovers entwined in an intimate moment that left little to the imagination. You felt a blush creeping up your neck, your cheeks warming as you took in the explicit details.

Astarion, however, seemed quite intrigued by the painting. He studied it with a keen interest, his head tilted slightly as he examined the brushstrokes and the expression on the subjects' faces.

"A fascinating piece, isn't it?" he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The artist has captured such raw emotion and desire."

You swallowed, trying to maintain your composure despite the heat rising in your cheeks. "Yes, it's... quite bold," you managed to say, your voice slightly breathless.

Astarion turned his gaze towards you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Bold, indeed," he said, his tone playful. "It makes one wonder about the inspiration behind such a work. Do you think the artist was merely observing, or perhaps... participating?" He asked, clearly enjoying himself. 

The suggestion in his words made your blush deepen, and you glanced away, your heart racing. "I... I wouldn't know," you stammered, feeling flustered under his intense gaze.

Astarion chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your reaction. He took a step closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. "Art has a way of stirring the imagination, doesn't it?" he said, his voice low and velvety. "It can evoke such vivid feelings and thoughts."

You nodded, still avoiding his gaze, but the warmth of his hand against yours was both comforting and electrifying. "Yes, it does," you agreed quietly.

Astarion's fingers intertwined with yours, and he gently lifted your chin, urging you to meet his crimson eyes. "There's no need to be embarrassed, Y/N," he said softly. "Desire is a natural part of life, just as much as love and beauty. It's something to be embraced, not shied away from."

His words, combined with the sincerity in his gaze, helped to ease some of your embarrassment. You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more grounded. "I suppose you're right," you said, managing a small, shy, smile.

Astarion's hand left yours, only to gracefully trail up your back, hovering for a moment before settling firmly on your waist. With a gentle but insistent tug, he drew you closer, the warmth of his body brushing against yours in an intimate embrace. His other hand, bold and persistent, crept up to your neck, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin with feather-light strokes. 

The intimate contact left you breathless, your heart thudding against your chest.

His voice, low and sultry, tickled your ear as he whispered, "You know so little about the true pleasures of the world, Y/N. It’s endearing." His breath fanned over your ear, sending chills down your spine, while his hand on your neck continued its teasing exploration. Astarion's words, combined with his touch, created an inferno of desire within you, leaving you physically and emotionally vulnerable— just like the last time at the ball.

His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against his chest as he whispered, "Let me show you, guide you through the uncharted territories, the realms you've yet to explore."

You could feel the heat from his body, the intoxicating nectar of his words coaxing you into a world you had never entered, promising to experience the realm of sensuality. The air between you thick with possibility, the world around you fading like a mirage, as you found yourself entwined in Astarion's spell, the alluring sensations overwhelming and intoxicating.

Astarion's hand on your waist squeezed, urging you to lean into him, a world of sensations and experiences waiting to be discovered, the true pleasure of the world laid out before you, guiding you through the carnal landscape you'd only dreamed of. His touch coupled with his words, stoked the fires of your curiosity, the veil of innocence slipping away, revealing the raw desire, the primal cravings that were waiting to be unleashed.

Your face flushed, the weight of his words and intimate proximity overwhelming. You managed to stammer a response, "B-But... but we shouldn't... not in public, Astarion." Your voice was thick with embarrassment and, despite your reservations, the thrill of being in such a situation with the Duke's right-hand man.

As if to punctuate his intentions, Astarion's mouth found its way to your neck, his lips brushing against the tender skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You felt the whisper of sharp teeth, like fangs that teased your flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

Astarion chuckled, the sound vibrating against your neck, the sensation both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "I'll admit, I find immense pleasure in watching you quiver under my touch, Y/N," he confessed, his voice sultry and seductive. As you and Astarion continued to stand before the provocative painting, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. 

“Y/N, I have a question for you,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “What do you think is the difference between the woman's expression in this painting and the one we saw earlier, the one with the vampire?”

You glanced back at the lewd painting, then thought of the earlier, darker piece. “Well,” you began hesitantly, "The woman in the first painting... She is submitting to pure pleasure, her desire all-consuming. In the second, she is in pain, fear, and torment," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Astarion nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on you, just like his lips, a curious intensity in them. “Pleasure and pain,” he repeated softly. “Do you really believe that’s true? That these emotions are so distinct and separate?”

The question made you pause. 

You turned to look at him, your brows knitting together in confusion. “What do you mean?” you asked.

Astarion's lips curled into a wicked smile, the intensity in his eyes piercing your soul. "Y/n," he murmured, leaning in, his voice a seductive growl, “Pain and pleasure can be intertwined, can’t they? Sometimes, what causes us pain can also be what we desire. And what we desire can be painful. Don’t you think?”

You thought about his words, the strange, dark truth in them. “I suppose... in certain situations, they can be connected,” you admitted, feeling a shiver run down your spine. “But they still feel very different, don’t they?”

Astarion’s eyes seemed to soften, yet there was a lingering intensity in them. He chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine, “For some,” he said quietly, “the line between them is very thin. Pain can heighten pleasure, and pleasure can make pain more bearable. It’s a delicate balance.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the nuance he was describing but still feeling a bit unsettled. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way before,” you said.

Astarion smiled faintly, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You have an open mind, Y/N,” he said. “That’s one of the many things I admire about you and make me weak for you.”

His touch was warm, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Thank you,” you murmured, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks again.

As he let his hand fall back to his side after leaving a final kiss on your neck, he stepped back, giving you space. “Shall we move on?” he suggested, his voice returning to its usual lightness. “There are still many more pieces to see.”

You nodded, grateful for the shift in the conversation. “Yes, let’s,” you agreed, and together you continued your exploration of the gallery, the earlier conversation lingering in your mind like a whisper of something deeper and more profound.

As the evening drew to a close, you and Astarion made your way through the final rooms of the art exposition. The lingering warmth of his presence and the intensity of your earlier conversation hung in the air. Eventually, you found yourselves back at the entrance of the gallery, where Wyll was waiting by your carriage, ready to escort you home.

Astarion spotted him first and raised a hand in greeting. "Lord ravengard," he called out smoothly, his usual charm in full effect once again. "I hope you didn't wait too long."

Wyll smiled and shook his head. "Not at all, Lord Ancunin. I trust you both enjoyed the exhibition?"

You nodded, but your mind was already drifting to the inevitable parting that awaited. "It was wonderful," you said, your voice tinged with melancholy.

Astarion’s gaze met yours with a softness that made your heart ache even more. “I’ll contact you soon, Y/n,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “We’ll arrange a time for you to meet the Duke.”

You nodded, trying to mask the sadness that welled up inside you at the thought of parting ways. “I look forward to it,” you replied, forcing a small smile. “Thank you for tonight, Astarion. It was... enlightening.”

He chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “The pleasure was all mine, I assure you.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned to Wyll. “Take good care of her, Lord Ravengard. She’s quite precious.”

Wyll nodded, his expression friendly yet protective. “Always do, Lord Ancunin.”

With a final, lingering glance, Astarion bowed slightly, taking your hand to place a lingering kiss at the back. 

“Until next time, my lady,” he murmured, his voice like velvet.

You watched him walk away, the elegant lines of his black tuxedo as he seemed to blend into the shadows of the evening, disappearing from view.

Wyll offered his arm, and you took it, feeling the weight of your longing settle heavily in your chest. “He certainly has a way with words,” Wyll commented as he helped you into the carriage.

“Yes, he does,” you replied, your thoughts still on Astarion. “But there’s more to him than just words.”

Wyll looked at you with a knowing smile. “I can see that. Just be careful, Y/N. Men like him are often surrounded by mystery and... complications.”

You sighed, knowing Wyll was right but unwilling to let go of the connection you felt with Astarion. “I will,” you promised, settling into your seat. Leaving Astarion always felt like leaving a part of yourself behind, but you had no other choice. 

For now, you had to be patient and wait for the next time you could see him, hoping it wouldn’t be too long.

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[rawrsatthetree]

I’ve had this idea for a fic for awhile with a wizard noble background Tav that was engaged to Cazador who took a mortal fiancé to simply keep up appearances.

She doesn’t know him too well having only stayed at the crimson palace a for short periods of time for parties and chaperoned courtship. But when she does see him he’s excellent at playing the part, always kind and gentle with her even teaching her magic. She believes he’s eccentric and mysterious and maybe a bit of a heavy drinker, but she also believes he’s kind and will be a loving husband as he’s given her no reason to suspect other wise.

Also their wedding approached (as well as Cazador’s ascension) she started staying at the palace more and more. She given rather plain explanations as to why he and the spawn are only up at night, like his business requires late hours and the spawn are the servants that work the night shift with him. It doesn’t matter really as long as she placated until the wedding when he’s planning to ascend and take her as his first post-ascension spawn, perhaps he’ll even take her with a bridal ritual if she continues to prove obedient and useful.

During her stay a few of the spawn take turns staying back from hunting to play servant until their new mistress goes to bed. One night after growing restless with her routine and chaperone, she sneaks around the palace halls when she spots Astarion leaving very late in the evening. Her desire to explore the city and get some fresh air leads her to follow him. Surely it would be alright if she was with one of her fiancé’s most trusted servants, Astarion was always very kind to her, if a little timid. She could even help with whatever errand he’s running for Lord Szar, and it would give her an opportunity to learn about his businesses.

He spots her trailing him quickly, pulling her into an alley in the lower city. They argue for a bit as he begs her to return to the palace. She’s completely impossible and childishly stubborn. He’s about to loose his patience and drag he’d back by force when they’re both snatched up by the mind-flayers.

Thankfully Cazador had taught her enough magic to depend her self as she’s taken from her sheltered noble life style and forced into a dangerous adventure. Her goal, get rid of the parasite and return to her beloved fiancé. Confused, lost, and with out a chaperone or authority figure looming over her for the first time in her life. She grateful to have met Shadowheart. As they walk along the beach following the wreckage, she spots a familiar face. Her relief at seeing Astarion is short lived as he forces her to the ground and pulls a knife on her. He’s rude, mean, and forceful; so unlike the timid, kind, and respectful Astarion she had come to know. He only mocks her, there’s so much she doesn’t know so naive and stupid. But there’s a lot he doesn’t know about her as well. For better or for worse their both tasting freedom for the first time.