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vampiric-hunger · 3 months

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𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖆 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖚𝖇𝖊𝖔, 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖔

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1 - 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔟

“Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” – Cesar A. Cruz

⫸ pairing: Cazador Szarr/f!high elf reader

⫸ tags: no y/n used etc, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, canon-typical violence, asphyxiation, physical abuse.

⫸ story summary: Accompanying your father, the General of Baldur's Gate, has always been a duty that bores you near to death, but for first time you feel completely unnerved as you come to Szarr mansion. The family's patriarch is a strange man and so is his wife and son. Son, who seems unperturbed by anything, until he's left alone with you that is. Then and only then, Cazador shows emotion and what kind of a threat he is. You realize soon - behind those dark eyes there's something dangerous lurking and your future soon becomes inescapably intertwined with his.

work contains illustrations, credit at the end

⫸ word count: 5,825

⫸ author note: oh god where do i even start. this fic has been for a very long time in the making, and plot has been reworked so many times i nearly lost count. besides drastic changes and rewrites - he it is. i want to thank artists who kindly worked with me to bring more life to this fic with their skill and as cheesy as it sounds - i want to thank people who constantly supported me through planning and every other agony that i went through while i was figuring this work out. i call this my magnum opus and i can only hope that those who read it buckle up for the journey. it's going to be a wild, dark ride. enjoy♡~

⫸ chapter list: [link]

“Vice is ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue.” ― Matthew Gregory Lewis

1021DR

A throne, carved from stone and elevated over the rest of the hall with steps leading to it. Steps are draped with red carpet, askew in parts, and there’s candles everywhere. The evening is coming, casting only slivers of orange sunlight through the gaps in heavy bronze colored curtains, making the room sink in darkness if not for the candles and a fireplace. You glance around with only your eyes, feeling unnerved and on edge, not even knowing why.

Your father is on your right, a tall figure with long white hair that he keeps loose on his back, and his silver eyes are looking ahead of him with seriousness of a warrior about to engage in a battle. You have seen this look before, the look that tells you that your father, the recently appointed General of Baldur’s Gate army, is taking his opponent seriously. Except this time his opponent is not a raging zealot or a horde of goblins, it’s a man.

This man, when you finally return your gaze to him, doesn’t look very intimidating except for the throne he’s sitting on and his relaxed pose. With knees parted and his back lazily leaned against the backrest of his seat, this man exudes power through his body language, even with how his jaw is resting easily on his knuckles or how fingers of his other hand tap lazily against the armrest. You take the man in: black long hair, straight, draping to his waist, red piercing eyes gazing down from an upturned, arrogant face. His nose is straight, his lips are pulled into a tiniest of smirks and his garb is embroidered with bronze threads of light gold silk. A garment to show status, not practicality.

“Lord Varitan Szarr, I am grateful you granted an audience.” Your father begins and you glance at him, unable to stop yourself before you do. Granted an audience? You never heard him speak like this before, even to the Duke. “Can I assume you have been informed about the purpose of my visit?”

You look back at the patriarch of the Szarr family. He’s not speaking, not yet, because he’s clearly observing your father with sharp eyes. Led by curiosity you glance at the chair on the left to the throne, noticing a woman there. Her black hair is put up and her dark eyes are watching you. When your gaze meets hers, a shiver runs down your spine. You turn your eyes away, not sure if the woman is trying to provoke you or make you uncomfortable, but either way – you are not willing to play the games of strangers.

When your eyes move to the right of the throne you see a young man sitting in the second hair. He looks maybe around your age, maybe few decades older, you can’t quite tell, but it’s hard to tell such things even among the elves. His uncommon appearance, just like Lord Szarr and the strange woman, tell you that he is related to the man in the throne. Young elf doesn’t seem to see you as he watches your father, his dark eyes fixated on the General, his hands resting on his thighs in a disciplined manner, and you can’t help but notice that he has same length hair as Szarr patriarch. Could he be the young man’s father? The resemblance is definitely there, to the woman as well.

Your observations don’t last more than a long moment and your eyes instinctively snap to the speaker, Lord Szarr, the moment he opens his mouth.

“Yes, I have been informed. I hear you are reforming the army, is that correct, General Cradith Sylven?”

“It is.”

“I hear you want my son to be part of it?”

A pause short as a heartbeat and yet you still notice your father hesitating before he responds with a voice that betrays none of his own thoughts. That’s something you always admired in him as he taught you how to be a soldier just like him.

“That’s correct.” A curt, short reply and another pause before he continues. “I’m sure that young Lord Cazador would benefit from such position.” General gestures to the young man and you follow the direction with your eyes, seeing how the one named Cazador is focused on your father, his eyes watching with silent curiosity.

“Would he now?” Lord Varitan laughs and your eyes are drawn to him when he moves, getting off the throne and making one single step to Cazador, placing a heavy looking hand on the young man’s shoulder, but not receiving any reaction as he does so. “What do you think, child, would military strengthen your character?” Patriarch laughs but nobody else finds humor in his words, not even your father who often jokes with other soldiers about how every child needs a sword in their hand to gain a spine.

Awkward silence is cast upon the hall as only Lord Szarr’s laughter seems to be echoing off the walls, and you notice how he squeezes Cazador’s shoulder, tight enough to turn his fingernails white, yet the young elf seems completely unperturbed by it, sitting in silence before his eyes suddenly turn to you and meet your curious gaze.

You almost lean back from the intensity of his dark eyes that bore into you, and you nearly look at your father, instinctively wanting to ask for help, but then you frown and arrogantly raise an eyebrow at him, as if challenging him, and Cazador’s gaze slips from you to your father once more. You can barely hold your smirk down – a victory, however small.

“How old is your daughter, General?” Lord Szarr speaks again once his amusement settles and you watch the man descent the steps from his throne, approaching you and your father, making you suddenly realize how tall he is.

“Hundred and ninety-seven, Lord Szarr.” Your father replies calmly and the patriarch stops once he’s in front of you. He faces you specifically, his gaze cast down on you as he confidently reaches out and takes a strand of your long hair into his fingers, caressing it without pulling at it.

“Beautiful flower, General. But made of steel, I can tell already. I hear you’ve trained her to be a quite skilled little soldier?” there’s something mocking about how the man talks about you and you frown, albeit you otherwise don’t move a muscle. Your expression is noticed immediately and the Szarr patriarch lifts an eyebrow at you, eyeing your stance as you keep yourself straight and proud, just like your father taught you.

“I would suggest you talk about my daughter in more respectable terms, Lord. I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate such things being said about your wife or son.” Your father immediately verbally steps in and you feel relief. Yes, you could respond, snap back, mock, maybe even physically take down this pompous ruler of his household, but you know better than to act upon your anger. You’ve been taught better than this.

Lord Szarr drops the strand of hair he was holding the moment your father finishes speaking and you watch him turn from you and face your father at last. General Cradith is not short by any means but even he has to turn his face up when speaking to this self-important man.

“My wife wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it.” He laughs and then crosses arms on his chest. “My son wouldn’t either. Is that right?”

“Yes.” A singular reply comes from Cazador, making you briefly glance at him.

“Good. And you, Donnela?” without being looked at, the woman is addressed, but she slightly bows her head anyway.

“Yes, my dear.” Her voice is smooth, soothing even.

“Good, good.” Lord Szarr laughs and uncrosses his arms to place a palm on your father’s armored shoulder. “Now let us go somewhere more private to discuss your proposition, I’m sure the children will be fine without us.” His eyes snap to his wife. “Donnela, make sure that Cazador entertains our esteemed guest while I talk to General.”

You glance at Lady Donnela and then at your father, question in your eyes but he just nods.

“Get to know the lad, I’m sure he’s a pleasant company.” He says and you immediately want to reply and say that you doubt it, but instead you remain quiet and obediently nod. Not the time or place to be snarky with your own father. This Lord Szarr obviously is a tricky man to interact with, so when your father nods to you in return, you exhale slowly and watch him being led away to a door on the side of the room.

Once the men are gone, with the door tightly shut behind them, Donnela raises from her seat and looks at Cazador with an emotion you can’t call anything but contempt.

“Go, do as your father says.” Her voice is nothing like it was before, not soothing or pleasant anymore, but instead sharp and demanding. “Go, you idiot boy!” She snaps at him before even a moment can pass since her previous words and you yourself nearly flinch at them, but not Cazador. He raises to his feet and without looking at his mother, descends the few stairs and walks to you.

“Come. They will take a while.” He says in a tone that’s quite blank and you frown but nod, following him.

As the young man leads you outside of the hall, you throw one last look into Lady Donnela’s direction, noticing her smoldering gaze that speaks of hatred cast upon her son, and you wonder why, but Cazador opens the door, letting warm evening air enter the chilly room and the sunlight looks so welcoming now, after spending time in the dark hall even for as little as you did.

You two walk out and approach the balustrade of the mansion, glancing upon the fields and the houses down below. You know that Szarrs are building the palace in Baldur’s Gate, but here, in Anga Vled, you find the view quite bucolic, relaxing even. The streets can get so busy after all.

Cazador leans over the balustrade, draping his arms over it and looks into the horizon as you take a spot on his right, looking to the setting sun yourself. Silence follows and how long it lasts you’re not sure.

“She’s not my mother.” Cazador suddenly speaks and you look at him, seeing his long black hair whisp in the light breeze. He’s beautiful in this moment, you admit to yourself. His features so unusual for elves and yet you can’t deny that he’s handsome.

“Really? Lord Szarr seemed to insist that she is.” You comment and you hear the young man scoff.

“He insists everyone is a family.” A puzzling comment, but you don’t have time to think about it before Cazador speaks again. “Well, she is my mother, but she forgets that more often than not.”

Silence.

You don’t know how to reply so you remain quiet for a time, thinking about what he just said.

“I call her aunt, it seems more fitting.”

Ah. You understand now.

Yet you remain quiet for some more time, unsure if you should address what Cazador just said or let your suspicion that his mother is actually also his aunt too go unspoken, so you try to think of something else to talk about.

“Do you want to join the military?” you ask with your throat quite dry and Cazador looks at you, his waist-length hair wisping across his face and he moves his hand to tuck rogue strands behind his pointy ear. A smile appears on his face, tainted with same arrogance his father showed before.

“If anything, it would get me out of this barn.” He smirks and you raise an eyebrow at that. Szarr mansion surely is not as luxurious as some houses in Gate but calling it a barn seems a bit much. And spoiled, it sounds very spoiled to you.

“You’re not going to survive through the training if that’s your attitude.” You can’t help your snark as you smirk back at him and Cazador pushes himself off the balustrade, stepping towards you, his eyes narrowed.

“And who are you to judge me, hm?”

“My father says I was born with a sword holding hand.” You grin at him, feeling superior than Cazador. You’ve been training how to fight since you were a toddler, you’re not sure if Cazador’s pale skin and slender fingers are telling the same story. He seems the type to spend bent over books instead of holding a weapon, but his towering figure does intimidate you to a degree, and you swallow as you look at him, your eyes locked on his while a moment passes charged with tension.

You are caught off guard when Cazador’s hand shoots up, grabbing you by the throat and squeezing so tightly you immediately cannot breathe. Your eyes widen at the assault and you try to pry his fingers away while the young Master begins lifting you as if trying to elevate you to his eye level. Yet when you’re on your toes he bends over you, bringing his face close, and you see a chilling joy in them because of your struggle, because how you gasp for air. His other hand now clasps over your open mouth as if he doesn’t want to risk even a smallest sound escaping you, and a wicked smile appears on his face. Pure, unadulterated delight is reflected on his face, tainted only by how cruel it is. He’s terrifyingly beautiful as he looks down on you like this, like the death itself.

“Quite a little soldier you are.” Cazador hums in near sing-song voice that’s barely above a whisper, you and only you are meant to hear it. “But not quite sharp as you reckoned, don’t you think? You could be dead. You can be dead if I just keep this going for a moment longer.” He chuckles and pure fear begins spreading in your chest. With your eyes still wide you stare at him, gripping his hand and trying to pry it away from your neck while your lungs burn for air more painfully with each passing second. “But don’t worry, you’re too important to damage.” Szarr finishes with a whisper and with one last gleeful look at your shocked, fearful face he releases your neck.

You land on your feet, immediately stepping backwards from him. Your fingers instinctively move to your sword by your side and you tug at it only to stop when Cazador raises his hand at you, smirking with satisfaction at this little display of power he just showed to you.

“Calm down.” He laughs while your heart beats fast in your chest and you gasp for air with your face twisted in anger. Cazador upturns his palm with a wide smile, now looking less cruel but still amused. “Give me your hand.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Yes.”

“You little-“

“Give me your hand.” Cazador’s tone is suddenly sharp, cutting you off mid-swear and if you could frown any more you would.

However, begrudgingly you realize that in the end he didn’t harm you. On top of that, you suspect he’s trying to make a point and, despite your anger and your wounded pride, you are still curious about what that point is. So with some reluctance you release the handle of your sword and straighten your back, showing pride with which you were born when you step closer and place your hand in his. Cazador’s smile is soft when you do as he wants and then he tugs you towards him.

“What are you doing?!” you gasp with sudden blush on your face when you’re pressed chest to chest with him, but young Master just takes your hand more comfortably, placing his other on your waist and begins leading you to music that only he can hear.

Shocked and quite speechless, you try to follow his steps until you recognize the pattern and let him lead you, turning and spinning, dancing with you while he watches you go through several emotions: shock, then anger again for being treated like this, then curiosity accompanied by a slight blush.

“You dance well.” He comments and you smirk at him.

“I’m a noble too, not just a soldier. I attended my fair share of balls and battles.”

“I can tell.” Cazador says and stops, pulling you by your hand and making you spin around, then tugging you to his chest again, this time your back to him as if you’re a marionette he’s controlling, pulling you by your strings.

His arm wraps around your waist and your hand is released only for you to feel his fingers around your throat once again. Your heart skips a beat in fear and he can feel it, because he’s pressing his fingertips against your jugular. You gasp and stay still, with your hands on his arm on your waist, as Cazador makes you look into the horizon, to the setting sun that’s slowly letting the sky become darker as it loses the orange coloring. His touch is firm, yet gentle and warm.

“Look, what do you see?” Cazador asks in a quiet voice and you sweep your eyes over the sky, then over the fields and houses.

“Life.” You respond in a voice that matches his and you feel him begin to rub the underside of your jaw with his thumb.

“Indeed. There’s life. In the sky, on the ground, in the earth.” He continues, the warmth of his chest against your back soothing you, the flicker of fear that you just felt snuffed out at last. You feel strangely safe, even with his hand on your throat after letting you know exactly what he can do. “Do you think you can protect that life, soldier?”

Cazador’s question puzzles you slightly, he’s still getting to the point and you’re becoming impatient. So you turn your head slightly, to look up at him and the dark, calm gaze of his eyes meets yours. The closeness makes you feel flustered but you try to hide it.

“I don’t look to protect life, Cazador. I enjoy the rush of the battle, the feeling of victory, the blood on my hands.” You finally respond and notice a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he grins, obviously satisfied with your answer. His thumb props your chin just a little higher as he leans closer, his eyes not leaving yours.

“I’m sure they scream beautifully when you kill them.” Szarr whispers with same terrifying glee that you saw on his face when he was choking you and you can’t help but find it… appealing. Yes, that’s right. He’s crazy, insane, absolutely nuts, that’s what you tell yourself, but somehow how he acts, how he talks, it makes your blood run faster.

And so you break into a grin of your own.

“They do.” You pause, wondering if you should share the secret you never uttered even to your father and decide that you can, that Cazador will understand the joy of a good fight, the adrenaline of it all. “If I have time, I make sure that they suffer as much as they can.” Your whisper is so quiet that Cazador has to lean even closer to hear it, and when he hears what you’re saying - there’s like a spark in his eyes. He’s surprised, pleasantly so.

“Then I would be glad to ride into a battle with you, my Lady.” He whispers back and you blush slightly, feeling like you both suddenly formed a strange connection, found someone who shares the same view of a good fight and good victory.

But the moment, that is clearly turning intimate somewhat, is suddenly interrupted by the opening door and a loud, angry scream.

“Release her at once!” Lady Donnela’s voice is shrill and Cazador flinches at it, but he doesn’t let go of you just yet. His eyes move from your face and to his mother, a moment passes and you finally feel his hands leave you.

Blushing now for being caught like this you step away from him, your eyes downcast as you don’t want the woman to see that you’re embarrassed, but she quickly walks to you both and then you hear a slap. Shocked, you look up to see that Donnela just slapped Cazador so hard the sound is still ringing in your ears, but he doesn’t look phased. In fact, his face is completely calm and you can only imagine the red mark blooming on the right side of his face as Donnela now turns to you.

For a moment she looks worried as she grips your jaw to look at your face, her eyes scanning your neck, as if she is expecting Cazador was trying to hurt you, but the moment she finally pays attention and notices your blush, Lady Szarr realizes that it wasn’t the case at all. Her expression becomes a painting of rage and her nails dig into your jaw so painfully you frown.

“Stay away from him.” She warns and you blink few times in surprise, not quite sure what she means by that. Stay away for his sake or… your own?

Donnela releases your jaw and looks at her son with anger, then reaches out and grabs his long hair in a fist, beginning to walk back inside and drag Cazador with her. With utter shock at such display of abuse you stand frozen, not knowing how to react, but Cazador himself doesn’t look distressed, if anything his face is completely blank as he follows his mother back inside, and in couple seconds you are left alone, the door closing.

You exhale slowly, trying to understand what just happened, and begin walking to the door yourself when you hear a crashing sound. You run now, swinging the door open only to witness Lady Donnela on the floor, a candelabra broken by her side and Cazador standing over her, with same emotionless mask across his face. Donnela’s face, on the other hand, is both shock and rage.

“Leave! Now!” She shrieks at her son and Cazador only shows a small smirk before he nods and walks off, without giving you or her another look.

You stare at Donnela and finally snap out of your stupor before you rush to help her get up, but she pushes you away with hatred in her eyes.

“DO NOT TOUCH ME!”

You recoil immediately and just watch her quickly scramble to her feet, not even giving burning candles on the floor a glance, before she too rushes off out of the hall, leaving you alone. Utterly shocked you stand as you are for a moment, trying to understand what just happened, but when you begin smelling burning wood you walk to the broken candelabra and snuff out the candles. Then your eye catches a glimpse of something, a shine that appears right under the heavy curtain as you are putting out the flames.

After carefully looking around to see if there’s anyone else here besides yourself, you step to the curtain and kneel with one knee picking the shiny object up, then stand up and turn to the nearest candlelight to see better what it is.

You realize that the object you picked up is a pocket miniature, usually meant to portray passed loved ones that their family members can carry with them. You have seen some of your father’s soldiers carry these before and you become intrigued because you suspect Lady Donnela dropped this during whatever altercation happened between her and her son.

When you flip the portrait you see a young man, clearly an elf, sketched with a pencil instead of being painted, situated in a beautiful silver frame. You can’t tell the color of his hair or eyes, the picture carrying only the shades of grey, but you notice an emphasis on white streaks of hair framing his sharp features. What catches your attention most is this elven man’s eyes, because it seems that whoever drew this - they were captivated by the look of his piercing gaze. Regal in outfit, you assume him to be someone Lady Donnela might’ve cherished.

For a moment you just look at the picture, wondering who he is. He doesn’t seem to be related to Szarr’s, they have their unique looks making them stand out among other elves, but whoever this man was, you realize that Donnela is still attached to him enough to carry his portrait with her.

Once again you lift your eyes and look around, finding no one present in the hall except for the sounds of soft crackling fire, and you wonder what you should do while you wait for your father. The answer comes for you in a form of footsteps nearing the hall.

As Cazador returns you notice his completely calm expression. He doesn’t pause before walking to you and you just watch him approach in silence, not knowing if you should address what you have just seen, but before you can speak he’s right in front of you, eyes darting down to the object in your hands and he raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. Without a word he extends his hand, palm up, beckoning for you to place the miniature there. After a glance to his open hand you do as he wishes and young Master quickly pockets the item.

“Who was he?” you speak before you can consider if it’s a good question to ask and Cazador gives you a smile that you can see is strained.

“A friend of a family.” A pause then he clears his throat. “He’s close to Donnela.” You look at Cazador for a long moment, wanting to know more. Not because you’re overly curious about this person, but because you simply don’t know what else to say or do.

Yet before you can formulate a proper thought, the door opens and you both look in the direction of the room where your father disappeared with Lord Szarr. They both exit, smiling and seemingly relaxed.

“Child, come closer.” Varitan waves his son closer once the two men stop and your eyes meet your father’s, but you can’t exactly read his face except for the fact that he seems more relaxed compared to how he was when coming here.

Cazador, without a word, walks to his father and Lord Varitan smirks at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. You realize that they are both nearly exact same height, making even your father stand shorter than them which is usually not the case and you approach as well, not needing permission.

“It has been decided that the boy will join Gate’s army for some time.” Patriarch of the family speaks up again and you watch him, wondering what’s the reason behind his decision because you already learned that Cazador is quick and sharp, even against someone as skilled as you. “He won’t make a military career, but I’m sure that under General Cradith he will learn a lot, won’t you, child?”

“Yes.”

“Since Lord Varitan informed me that you do have a degree of training, which you acquired back in your homeland, it was decided that you will start at the similar position as my daughter.” General says and you frown at that. This… this new recruit is going to have same position as you? You glance at your father but he either ignores your pointed stare or doesn’t see it, because he continues without skipping a beat. “Being a family member of a noble household, I’m sure Cazador knows how to take on some responsibility. Is that correct?”

“Of course he does, he is my son.” Lord Varitan answers and you now look at him, trying to keep your face neutral but finding yourself disliking the man more every time he opens his mouth.

“Then it is settled. When young Lord is ready, please do send me a letter so that we can welcome him appropriately.” Your father speaks and you finally look at Cazador, still finding that mask of nothingness across his face, completely unreadable, completely still. Even his eyes look void of emotion as he stands by his father, frozen like a statue.

You wonder what’s going through his head. You wonder if he’s happy to be promised an escape from his mother, maybe even his father, because the way he gripped Cazador earlier comes back to your mind with vivid intensity. Knuckles turning white, fingers meant to hurt, to remind him of what, his place? Or that he can’t escape, not forever?

“Of course, of course.” Lord Szarr grins and his crimson eyes look unpleasant when accompanied with his sharp smile, making him look more predatory than polite and you want to leave, as soon as possible. This mansion makes you feel like you’re in a den of wolves, or worse.

“Very well then.” Your father goes out of his way to shake Varitan’s hand and you nearly grimace at that without even knowing why, but the idea of touching the Szarr patriarch unsettles you deeply. “Come on then, let’s go.” General turns to you and with relief you nod.

When your father passes you, you turn to follow him, not sparing another glance at the dark-haired elves as you notice Lord Varitan also turn to walk away, but suddenly you hear words spoken to you.

“I guess I’ll see you soon, little soldier.” Cazador’s voice is quiet, meant only for you and you stop, turning just enough to see his face, to see the arrogant smirk on his face and he steps to you, confident and proud, his eyes now burning with excitement.

“Don’t think it’s going to be easy, recruit.” You reply with a grin, not wanting to let him feel as if he’s somehow better than you, stronger than you, and Cazador raises his eyebrows as he stops in front of you. He tilts his head slightly to the side then leans close to your face, staring deep into your eyes as if daring you to step back from him for invading your personal space, yet you stand your ground, letting him get as close as he dares, letting your own arrogance show on your face.

“I’m sure you will make army an interesting challenge to me.” Young Master’s voice is barely above a whisper, you feel his breath on your skin when he speaks, and you begin to feel blush coloring your cheeks, this closeness is too much for you, too intimate, his dark eyes becoming all that you can focus on, all that you can see.

Yet you’re not the one to admit defeat, no matter how perceived or imaginary it is. You stay still, looking back even if your palms begin to sweat. You know he’s challenging you and you are accepting it, he’s some spoiled noble after all, however capable in surprising you he was for a moment, when it comes to real fights you know, you are sure, you would best him. You have no reason to let him think he can intimidate you, so you don’t.

“Don’t make me break your neck on the first day, Szarr.” You taunt and Cazador’s grin widens, he’s pleased with your answer.

“We’ll see about that, Lady Sylven.” He too addresses you by your last name and you raise your eyebrow at him, but pause when you hear your father call for your attention and you exhale slowly, annoyed to be interrupted, but Cazador just leans back from you. “See you soon.” He says with ego dripping of each syllable and you briefly cock your chin at him, then turn and walk off, catching up with your father who’s lingering by the hall door. But entire time you walk away you feel eyes on your back, it makes you grin to yourself.

When you and General walk out of the mansion into a gently dark evening, your father glances at you as you both walk to your horses that you two took to come here from the encampment outside the Gate’s walls.

“What was that about?” he asks and you snap out of your thoughts, giving him a quick look.

“Nothing. He just told me he’s excited to join the defenders of the city, father.” You lie and quickly approach your horse, taking the reins that you tied to a wooden fence, but your father stops you by grabbing your shoulder.

When you look at him, you see that his eyes are serious, his lips pressed into a thin line, worry of a father with seriousness of a General.

“Don’t get involved with that boy, you hear me?” he says strictly and you stare at him completely baffled, not sure how to even react.

“What? Why?” you let out a nervous laugh, unnerved by his sudden mood change, but General’s fingers linger on your shoulder for a little longer before he releases you and gently presses his palm onto your cheek.

“I have a bad feeling, that is all.” Father sighs, making you feel even more confused.

“Surely you can’t judge anyone’s mettle based on what… bad feeling?” you realize you sound defensive, in a moment General’s worried expression is changed by a frown.

“My gut feeling saved my life on the battlefield multiple times before. So did yours. Do not underestimate it just because the boy is charming.” He responds and you know you’re blushing now, but you frown, still slightly defiant.

“He’s not charming, father. We just talked while waiting for you and he seemed like an interesting person.” You lie again, the memory of Donnela’s abuse flashing in your mind and then quickly disappearing. You don’t want to tell him about that either and you realize that you’re lying on Cazador’s behalf already. It makes you feel uneasy inside.

“Heed my warning, child.” Lord Cradith begins and removes his palm from your face, his hard eyes pinning you in place. “Szarrs are bad news. Be very careful with the young Master.”

You can’t argue, not when he’s using his commanding tone, this will not bode well if you talk back, so you just curtly nod and he seems to relax at that, then even smiles.

“Good. Glad you understand.”

With that you both untie your horses and mount them. As your father begins leading towards the encampment you pause and look back at the Szarr mansion, all stone and wood. At the second level of it you notice something in the window: a pale face and black hair, and at first you think it might be Cazador, until you suddenly recognize red eyes and a sharp, unsettling grin.

Grin that looks too wide to be natural.

⫸ end note: thank you @sadist69 and @alienrat-art for wonderful illustrations that helps bringing this story to life♡~

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #cazador szarr #reader insert #x reader #female reader #cazador szarr x female reader #cazador szarr smut #cazador fic #cazador szarr x reader #my fics #lacrimosa in rubeo sanguinarius in atero

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vampiric-hunger · 2 months

Text

𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖆 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖚𝖇𝖊𝖔, 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖔

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 2 - 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱

⫸ pairing: Cazador Szarr/f!high elf reader

⫸ tags: no y/n used etc, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dueling, canon-typical violence, smut, dubcon, vaginal fingering, PiV, creampie, getting caught during sex.

work contains illustrations, credit at the end

⫸ word count: 7,403

⫸ author note: happily presenting chapter two! have to say, the fight i wrote in this chapter was probably one of the best things i have ever written, really proud of that one :) enjoy♡~

⫸ chapter list: [link]

“None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.” ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

1044DR

23 years later

Quill in your hand, a parchment in front of you on the desk. You’re reading the lines slowly, trying to decipher them because this report came from a soldier who’s been sent out to scout for possible enemy ambushes and it’s important. But instead of it being a code it’s just his handwriting that is simply awful. You lean in and frown, trying to read one word that looks nothing more than a scribble and grit your teeth because you’re losing patience. You and Cazador have been going at this the entire morning with no end in sight. General Cradith set you both to this task because, like a father of two unruly children, he thought you two spend too much time parrying with soldiers and not enough time familiarizing with less exciting aspects of your positions. In this moment you start to doubt if you really need or want your rank as a Captain.

While you internally lament your less than exciting predicament, your attention is drawn to a scribble of a quill. Sat at another desk just like yours, Cazador seems to be tackling his task without issues. You watch him finish whatever he is writing, sign it, quickly read it again, then roll it up and put it to the side. With early afternoon sun filling the room through open windows and sounds of bird songs, you once again wish you were outside instead of being stuck here. Beautiful weather to test the mettle of some soldiers, alas, unless your father deems you done with your work, you’re pretty much nailed to the chair.

Cazador, on the other hand, doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He reads through the following report, his dark eyes scanning the paper with ease, the quill held gently in his fingers. You remember when he first arrived to the standing army encampment. It’s a small town in its own right with utility buildings, a fortress and some civilians, set between Sow’s Foot and Whitkeep. So when Cazador first showed up, you couldn’t help but notice how gentle his hands looked and you quickly assumed he might not be as good at actual fighting compared to the impression he gave you that time in his family’s home. Yet when he held a sword, his grip firm and unwavering, you quickly saw that he’s more skilled than you realized. Your first practice fight with him ended up with you on your back, pinned underneath his boot, the tip of his blade at your throat and your father laughing.

“Don’t underestimate your enemies, I told you that before, Captain.” He chastised you, making you feel embarrassed that you lost against this Szarr brat, only because his hands and long, shiny hair misled you, making you think he’s just another pampered noble.

Cazador is good at magic too, you soon learned, making your father take him on a year-long assessment journey and by the end of it, he quickly offered this elf the same position you have much to your chagrin. Not only he put you on your back in front of General and your own soldiers, he also quickly gained the same rank as you. In a matter of mere couple years, to be precise. And yet only you seemed to have been annoyed by it. Soldiers that were assigned to Cazador appeared to be happy with his leadership because he is strict, but clear and proved himself already. A year and a half later, General Cradith sent out Cazador to a battlefield as his first test when a group of orcs threatened to pillage Rivington, a small settlement outside Wyrm’s Crossing. You haven’t seen him command and fight with your own two eyes, but your father sounded most impressed by Cazador once the dust settled.

So the years went by and while you both were clearly fit for your positions, General still was unhappy that you and Cazador seem to spend more time practicing fighting with your soldiers than doing paperwork that needs to be done. And you haven’t forgotten the humiliation you felt during that fight when Cazador won, but father didn’t let you get back at him. Two nobles fighting, according to him, will only sow discord among the soldiers. However, when your father was away you found ways to do it without anyone seeing and reporting back to him. And the truth is – Cazador seems to get better with each battle he comes back from, so you never know what to expect from him when on a rare occasion you two parry.

“Hey, pay attention.” Cazador’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you blink couple times to see that he’s looking at you with a bemused expression. “You’re ruining it.”

“What?”

With the end of a quill he points at something in your direction and you look down, then immediately frown. While you were too absorbed with your unhappiness of being stuck in the office, the ink from your quill dripped on the parchment you were trying to read just earlier.

Annoyed you put the quill into the inkwell and lift the paper to your eyes, inspecting how bad the damage is, realizing it’s just couple drops and seems none of them are obscuring the scribbles that are meant to be words.

“You should be better than this. I thought you were raised to be a General.” Cazador taunts with a chuckle and you glare at him over the paper, putting it down so that he can see your angry expression.

“Captain Szarr the Perfect speaks up.” You mock and he raises his eyebrows at you with a smirk.

“I consider myself more avid than perfect.”

“Fine, Cazador the Avid, why don’t you do all my work then if you’re so avid.” You mock again and notice that despite his arrogant smile his jaw clenches.

“Captain Sylven the Impatient.” He snaps back, somehow making it sting more because he didn’t even use your first name, as if he’s talking to a stranger despite the fact that him and you have been taught and trained by your father for years. “Or should I say Captain Sylven the Inferior.” You watch his smirk become a grin, somehow looking so sharp as if it’s meant to cut you.

You lose your patience in a matter of a second.

You jump from your chair and clench your fingers into fists as you look at Cazador with fury. Your heart is beating fast and you try not to forget to breathe while he leans back in his chair, arrogance in his face promising more mockery to come.

After a moment you lift your chin and coldly glare at him while you relax your fists. A small smirk even appears on your lips now. A moment passes, two, a silent standoff between you and him.

“I wasn’t the one living in a barn before General scooped me up like a frail dame.” You finally speak and watch Cazador’s face immediately become furious, but he doesn’t move. Usually you manage to provoke him into same angry responses you experience, but not this time it seems. He just stares at you with silent outrage that you can nearly feel scorching your skin, burn into your eyes.

But before anything else is said, the door to the office opens and you hear someone in armor entering. Recognition of your father’s voice comes before comprehension of his words.

“Get your armors on, the Duke is here and he wants a demonstration of our best in a fight. You will fight each other.” General walks deeper into the room as he speaks and you look at him, your anger forgotten.

“Me and Cazador?” You ask, surprised, and he nods, then looks at the Szarr, with you doing the same. Elf looks unbothered by these news, just stands from the chair and nods curtly to your father.

“Understood. I will report to the courtyard after putting my armor on. Swords?” He asks and General Cradith thinks for a moment, stroking his chin with his fingers, then nods.

“Greatswords. Duke is not a military man, but even he will be impressed.” He turns to you now. “Go, don’t keep him waiting.”

You nod as well and turn on your heel, leaving the room but a grin appears on your face as you walk out of the office. After insults like that you are going to love proving to Cazador once and for all that you’re a better fighter than he is, you are sure of it. And it’s simply because while you’re proficient in greatswords – he isn’t, preferring longswords because he delights in fighting on a horseback.

Not this time.

You know the victory is yours, you can almost taste it while you quickly find yourself in your room. You have a squire girl and after you inform her what needs to be done, she helps you put on your armor. It’s heavy plate but the weight of it feels familiar and comforting. After your helmet is placed on your head, the one that is adorned with black feathers, you pick up your sword and head for the courtyard. The sound of armor as you walk, the heaviness of your weapon as you carry it leaned against your shoulder, you feel confident, in charge. When you pass soldiers they salute you, when you pass servants they bow their heads. And you remember with joy – you are their future General.

A smile on your lips and assertive steps – that’s how you exit the fortress, squinting at the sun that shines to your eyes through the visor but only for a moment. Cazador is already waiting for you, his own armor polished, his helmet bearing red feathers, his sword stuck in the ground with his hand on the hilt.

While you walk towards him, you notice your father not too far off, Duke at his side, not to mention several dozens of soldiers who were quick enough to show up for the spectacle. You can’t contain your grin as you walk and finally stop in front of Cazador, keeping some distance as is per etiquette.

Silence.

You can almost hear flies buzzing, as if nobody is even breathing. Your eyes meet Cazador’s, dark inkwells that consume near all your attention. And then you hear a command, spoken in General’s voice.

“Ready!”

You move into position, moving your legs apart for balance, gripping the hilt of your weapon with both gauntlet-clad hands and narrow your eyes as you watch Cazador move in very similar fashion, his tall form that always towers over you, now getting into attack position with a grace of a cat. His armored hand gripping the greatsword and for a moment you notice his long hair, untied, being gently moved across the armor plate on his back, looking almost like a cloak.

Another moment pass, your muscles are tense while you ready yourself to move first, waiting for only one word, the permission. You can win this, you know it, you feel it in every fiber of your being.

“Begin!”

You move at the same time as Cazador, dirt spraying from your sabatons as you charge each other. The rush of a fight takes over.

With gritted teeth but still with a smile you lift your sword over your head for a smite, using its weight to aid you in bringing a shattering blow that Cazador barely avoids, turning on his heel to the side at the last moment. When your blade strikes the ground he moves in response, his own weapon swung not from above, but from the side and you see it coming, but know you can’t avoid it, so you duck. While there you use one hand to support yourself on the dirt and deliver a heavy kick to Cazador’s right greave, seeing it bend under your boot when he staggers backwards before he can swing his sword at you.

Quickly you jump to your feet, gripping the sword with both hands again and barely manage to block the incoming blow, metal colliding with a shrill noise as Cazador now tries to use his height and weight of his sword to push you back. Your eyes meet again and you can already feel the sweat on your brow. You dig your heels into the ground and grip your sword tight, but Cazador still manages to push you backwards, you feel your sabatons tilling rows in the dirt as you are slowly but surely pushed backwards. Your jaw is clenched so tight you can taste iron.

“I’ll win, Szarr.” You tell Cazador and see his eyes through his visor, it looks like he’s smiling.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He responds and it sends a shiver down your spine. In this moment – you are absolutely fulfilled, in your element, and with a worthy opponent to boot.

“But I am.” You respond.

And then you let go of the handle with one hand, letting Cazador push your blade against your shoulder plate, leaving indentation in the steel and looks like it throws him off guard because he doesn’t see what your intentions are before it’s too late. With a steel fist you deliver a blow to the underside of his jaw, unprotected by metal, and Cazador makes a sound at the moment of impact, then he staggers backwards, the tip of his blade sliding off your shoulder and falling to the ground. Next moment you watch blood drip from under his helmet onto the front of his breastplate and your eyes meet his in which you see surprise.

You don’t waste a moment, you attack again and swiftly. You use all the might you have in your arm and swing your greatsword at him, making him jump backwards from you, yet the tip of your blade scratches loudly across his breastplate. You pirouette, and when your sword comes around, you quickly strike your foot to the ground, stopping your spin as you bring the blade towards his neck, a blow that would decapitate him, but you know he’s better than getting himself killed and you’re correct, as Cazador pierces the ground with his sword for balance and lifts his armored arm right before the impact. The sound of metal against metal reverberates across the courtyard but you’re not done, this is your moment, this is your win.

You let go of your sword now, watching it fall as if in slow motion, but with now free hands you know you can finish this fast. A punch to Cazador’s forearm makes him release the grip on his own sword and yelp in either pain or surprise, then you move your other hand upwards, again to the unprotected part of his body that is the neck and you grip it, making Cazador let out a choking noise, before you deliver another punch to his side, were armor is thinnest, making him bend forwards.

That’s all you needed.

Using your own weight, enhanced by your armor, you bring Cazador down, making him drop on his back with a heavy thud, with you on top of him, straddling his armored form. With your hand still on his neck, you use free one to grab the bottom edge of his helmet and you tear it off with a near manic glee. His hair is disheveled and now splayed on the dirt, the bottom half of his face covered in blood and his eyes beginning to radiate with growing fury. He lets out another choked noise at the attempt to speak and finally grips at your gauntlet, trying to pry your arm away, his armored fingers slipping on metal.

“Let… go…” Cazador manages a strained growl, but you ignore him.

Victorious you use your free hand to grip the edge of your own helmet, pulling it off your head and letting it clatter to the ground in a cloud of dust while you grin at Cazador, now pinned under you. Finally, your fingers relent and he breathes in deeply, his eyes wide even if they are full of anger. But he looks beautiful, with his bloody chin and flushed, sweaty face.

You lean over him, still the same arrogant smile on your face. He doesn’t fight you anymore, he knows it is over as cheers and clapping suddenly erupts like an explosion.

“Red suits you, Cazador.” You tell him, seeing his cheeks flush even harder now, his chest heaving while his fingers remain gripping your gauntlet tightly. He says nothing, making your victory all the sweeter for it.

“Come now! Both of you! Duke wants to talk!” You hear General’s voice boom over the noise of soldiers still cheering and you chuckle slightly, then lean even closer to Cazador’s face.

“What are you doing?” He suddenly asks, his voice slightly coarse from the choking he received and while keeping your eyes on him you allow yourself a taste of his blood on his chin, letting the tip of your tongue drag against the point of his jawline, making Cazador’s eyes widen in utter shock. “What-“

“The taste of victory.” You tell him and straighten your back, grin on your face, while he stares at you in disbelief.

Without another word you get off him and when you stand on your feet you offer him a hand. Cazador still looks at you with utterly baffled expression but finally he frowns, then suddenly smirks and takes your hand, getting to his feet as well.

“Well fought.” He comments and you nod arrogantly at him.

“You too.”

You shake hands, as it is mandatory to finish friendly fights like this, then you both pick up your weapons and helmets. You tuck yours under your arm while Cazador carries his in his hand, heavy swords hoisted up and leaning against your shoulders in same fashion.

When you both stand in front of the Duke and General, you try to listen alertly but you can barely hear their words as you relish the victory, scarcely able to resist another glance at Cazador’s bloodied, flushed face like it’s a proof that you’re capable just as he is. Not that you ever doubted it, but his quick rise to rank of a Captain still slightly irks you. Not anymore.

Today - you are victorious. Today – you proved not only to yourself, but to your father and Duke too, that you’re a fighter, a warrior, a true soldier, worthy of General’s title when the time comes.

These thoughts spin in your head, making pride swell in your chest like never before and when you are finally dismissed you glance at Cazador, seeing his dark gaze studying your face with intensity. You allow yourself a smallest smirk, then turn and leave the courtyard.

Passing the soldiers who cheer on you, you smile as you walk back to the building, climbing the stairs and crossing the main war room until you suddenly hear a sound behind you, the unmistakable clinks of an armor. You stop and turn your body to look at who it is because the room is empty, wondering if it’s your father but no, you see that it’s Cazador, his waist-length hair draping around him and his eyes narrowed as he walks towards you with firm steps. You notice that somewhere along the way he lost his sword and helmet. You grin as you watch him quickly approach you.

“Don’t be sour, Cazador, you know that-“ You don’t get to finish as his hands move unexpectedly fast, grabbing the back of your neck and clasping leather clad palm of another right over your mouth.

Your eyes widen in shock at the moment of fear from his attack, not having a chance to even resist as the tall elf quickly drags you to the side, your helmet and sword falling to the floor. He pulls you to the door that leads to a smaller room where your father sleeps. Just as quickly you hear the door close and find yourself being slammed into the wall chest first. You watch the icon of The Red Knight drop to the floor as your face made it slip off the nail it was hanging on. A hand from your mouth is removed and you inhale deeply.

“Cazador, what in the hells are you doing?” You want your voice to be loud and strong but instead it comes out in a strained whisper, you didn’t have a chance to gather your bearings yet, caught completely off guard.

“Claiming my compensation.” A reply comes from the behind you, then you immediately hear something metallic drop, probably a gauntlet because soon your neck is released and you feel Cazador’s hot, sweaty fingers grip the same spot again, then another sound, another gauntlet.

“Compensation for what?! I won fair and square, you bastard!” You say louder this time and try to push off the wall but his grip tightens and your narrow your eyes from pain with a huff.

“You humiliated me.” More sounds of metal being handled and you are clueless to what Cazador is doing while you bid your time, thinking of how you can escape him.

Suddenly you feel his breastplate push heavily against the back of your armor, squeezing you inside of it as leather straps on your sides lose their tautness with pressure. And then there’s a breath against your ear.

“You did quite a number on me in the courtyard. I ought to claim a small compensation for that, surely. Not every day those who make me bleed keep their lives.” A low chuckle and hot air against your skin makes you blush. You try to move your eyes, to catch a glimpse of his face, but you can’t, the angle is impossible because of how he has you pinned against the wall.

“Just accept you lost, Szarr!” You hear a rustle, more metal noises and the hand on the back of your neck disappears. Cazador is sure you’re still trapped as he keeps squeezing you against the wall with his chest.

Then – a strip of fabric over your mouth. Caution forgotten you try to protest, only allowing the piece of cloth to slip between your teeth, muffling your words. And then it tightens around your head, preventing you from closing your mouth as it becomes clear to you now that Cazador is holding both ends with one hand to keep you silenced, like reigns on a wild horse. It’s probably his handkerchief, you think to yourself, a useless fact to know in this situation.

"I can accept defeat, what I can’t accept is you making a fool out of me in front of General and the Duke.” Cazador whispers against your ear and you feel his hand under the chainmail covering your rear, caressing it through your pants that you wear below your armor. Your cheeks flush harder but you don’t want him to have this victory and you angrily slam an armored fist against the wall, making him chuckle. “You are good with your sword, I can commend at least that. But I still want to teach you a lesson that no one spills my blood and walks away unscathed.” You pause, your breath catching in your throat as dread pools in your stomach. “And I always get what I want.”

You make a sound, close to an angry scream only muffled by your gag and sweat begins to bead your forehead again. You don’t know how far Cazador wants to take this, maybe he will stop here, after showing you that he can still overpower you, but you’re not as hopeful. And then you whine when his fingers grip your ass with firm possessiveness. Dread you felt just earlier dissipates and is replaced by something you wish it wasn’t – desire. Men are generally either scared of you because of who you are and because of who your father is, or they hate you. Cazador… Cazador is neither. From the moment you met him, this man treated you different than all the rest.

And now you wonder how many times he thought about fucking you, looking for an excuse to do so. In this moment you have to admit to yourself – you wondered it too, how it would be if you two ended up in the same bed, the thought making your insides burn not with dread you felt just a moment earlier, but with need. Yet your pride won’t let you admit it and once more you try to push away from the wall, only making him push his armored body against yours harder, squeezing the air out of your lungs.

“It will hurt more if you struggle.” He taunts and you make another sound, one that’s supposed to be angry, but it comes out more like a pathetic whine instead of a growl as your teeth clamp on your gag, it makes Cazador chuckle again, then the gag over your mouth tightens as he pulls at it, making your head arch backwards. “Look at me.” Cazador demands and you finally can see his face, so close to yours and with his chin still covered in dried blood, but his eyes are near shining with dark excitement. “Good, very good, I knew a soldier would follow orders.” He grins, making rage boil in your chest and you frown, trying to show him just how angry you are, but he only lifts his eyebrows at that. “I guess you choose pain then.”

The hand that’s on your ass slips up your lower back, finding the hem of your pants underneath your armor, inspects it, then moves to the front, finding the knot there meant to hold the garment in place. With one pull he undoes the string, then his hand moves to the back again and Cazador begins peeling your pants down. You protest as loudly as you can but all of it is muffled and his hand grips the ends of the handkerchief tightly before he presses the side of your face against the wall.

You growl around your gag in frustration, trying to move but being unable to, you can barely breathe as is and you bite down on the cloth with rage and then suddenly - embarrassment as Cazador’s fingers work your pants down your hips, as much as your cuisses allow, and then you feel his index finger slip between your legs, rubbing your folds as if testing how wet you are. The embarrassment you feel comes from shame because you realize - you are wet already.

Cazador chuckles and you can see his arrogant smirk in your mind’s eye as he keeps feeling wetness on his fingers, smearing them. Then he leans in closer and with his teeth playfully nips at the gag pressing deep into your cheek.

“I knew you wanted me deep inside you.” Cazador whispers in your ear, there’s a hint of malice in his voice and you are not sure if he meant the double meaning of his words or not, but they are still making you blush from shame and anger.

But then you whine, your eyelids droop as Cazador’s finger nudges at your clit, making your body shiver. Gods, you don’t remember the last time you were touched like this and you want this, you know you do, but no, you can’t let him have his way with you, not like this. So you slam your fist against the wall again in protest, except this time it’s weaker, less powerful and that makes Cazador laugh silently against your ear.

Suddenly you feel the gag around your head loosen but before you can even think of spitting it out, Cazador’s hand clamps over your mouth, securing the already drenched from your saliva fabric in place, muffling your voice even further.

“Quiet now, soldier, I don’t want anyone to hear you scream.” He murmurs in your ear before Cazador begins to rub your clit slowly, as if he knows exactly how to make your knees weak.

His palm muffles the words you’re trying to speak, the ones meant to tell him to back off, to stop, that he will pay for this, that you will kill him, but soon you give up, letting out only small pants against his hand as your body easily responds to his ministrations. Your palms grasp at the wall for purchase but you know you can’t move, how hard you are pressed against the wall makes your breaths more shallow, making your head begin to feel fuzzy, and combined with increasing pleasure you begin to feel like you’re in a dream. A nightmarish one or a pleasant one – that’s up to Cazador, you realize with distant dread.

Seeing you give up your struggles, Cazador arrogantly chuckles, his palm is slick with your saliva but he doesn’t let go.

“I knew you would like that.” He whispers in your ear, feeling how tips of them now blush together with your face, then his hand leaves you, giving your gently trembling body a moment of reprieve as you once more hear armor being handled.

The next moment you gasp as you feel scorching heat of his cock against the cleft of your ass, grinding against it and you whine again, not knowing if your whine is of despair or desire. You don’t know what you want anymore, Cazador is muddying the lines between desire and pride, making your head swim. Then his hand navigates between you and him, two fingers finding your increasingly wetter slit and he slips them inside, testing you.

His test pays off because your hips involuntarily buck against his fingers, making them push even deeper inside of you and you whine in despair of your own body betraying you. You’re now sopping wet and your cunt swallows his fingers with hungry ease, making you a shiver run down your spine. You feel Cazador press his lips against the side of your face and you feel his smirk as you hear his own breath slightly hitch when he feels wetness of your walls clench around his digits. You start feeling the elf to begin pumping his fingers slowly and steady inside of you, his hard cock still pressed against your ass. And then, a whisper.

“You want more, don’t you, soldier?” Cazador whispers, arrogance oozing out of every word and you bite on your gag again, not wanting to admit it. You shake your head in last attempt of defiance and it makes him laugh. “I don’t think I believe you.”

Elf’s fingers now leave you, making you exhale with small relief, but then his palm leaves your mouth and once more, before you can think of it, he secures the gag around your head again with one hand, pulling at it so that he can look at your face. He sees your heavy-lidded eyes and you, in turn, see his taunting grin. You gave up fighting already, you both know that, he won.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” Cazador promises and with other hand he pulls at your hips, making you arch your back uncomfortably because your cuirass is unyielding but he still positions you just as he wishes and you get to watch his face when his eyes dart down, then a moment later you feel the tip of his cock nudging at your cunt.

You swallow and you’re not sure yourself if it’s from despair or anticipation. Cazador’s eyes snap back to you and he smiles, but his smile has no softness in it, just a mocking edge. And then he watches as he begins pushing his length into you, he watches your face as the near forgotten pleasure claims your mind, showing itself clearly through your expression, through how your eyelids droop even more and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Hm.” Cazador sounds pleased while he takes your body with his cock, pushes it into you inch by inch until he’s fully buried within you. He leans to your face again and your world fills with his smirk and the malicious glee in his eyes. “Submission suits you, little soldier.” A taunt, callback to one of your own in the courtyard, and you moan with shame and anguish, but it’s only for a moment, only until Cazador begins to thrust. You forget your humiliation when lust takes over your mind.

You try to remain silent at first, but his thrusts quickly pick up the pace and all you can hear is his armor slamming against yours with a ringing loudness while you feel him deeply in your core each time he drives his length to the root. By your ear you hear Cazador’s restrained grunts without noticing how you are moaning in response, your voice still muffled. He keeps your head turned to him so that he can watch your expressions and you see the sadistic joy in his eyes be replaced with pure passion, elf’s expression losing the sharp edge and his parted lips betraying the pleasure he’s feeling in this moment.

“Just like this, do not dare moving.” He commands and you don’t even think of disobeying him, your palms and chest still firmly pressed against the fall while the Szarr heir pounds into you as if nothing else matters in the world. “This is… what you get… for making me… shed… blood…” Cazador’s words are punctuated by his groans that he releases with each snap of his hips and you whine at that.

You feel hot, almost melting from heat, as you feel trapped in your armor but you don’t even think of trying to move away anymore. Finally your eyes close and you submerge in the feeling of satisfaction. Then with sudden realization you spit out now limp cloth from your mouth, at which point Cazador released it you have no clue, but now you notice that he’s not squeezing you against the wall with his chest anymore, instead you feel his hand under the front of your cuirass, gripping your right breast and fondling it with authority, as if every inch of your body belongs to him.

You wet your dry lips with your tongue and press the side of your face against the cool wall as you moan, not having a single thought to speak, all of this is too much in the most wonderful way and you hear a low chuckle rumble inside Cazador’s chest.

“Didn’t expect you to enjoy this that much.” He says with bated breath and coarse voice, but despite his words he can’t hide how much he is enjoying this himself. You let your chest slip down the wall just a little bit, making Cazador grip at your breast as if he’s anticipating you to try and escape, but when he realizes what you’re doing, adjusting your body for him, he lets out a breathy groan. “Yes, just like that.” It sounds like he’s speaking through clenches teeth and his fingers pinch at your nipple through the fabric of your undershirt, making you yelp a little louder.

Then suddenly you realize he’s close and you wish for him to go on for longer, to fuck you a little harder, you are not far behind him in this chase for bliss and it’s as if Cazador reads your mind. His hand disappears from under your breastplate and now he grips your hips with both hands as he begins pummeling against you with enough force to make your head spin.

“Gods, yes!” You cry out with sweat dripping down your face and your eyes closed as you begin to feel first waves of pleasure pool between your legs as his cock strokes you in the most delicious way. You don’t think you ever had this much pleasure with a man.

“That’s it, little soldier, you are mine.” You hear Cazador’s strained chuckle but you don’t care.

With a gasp and a moan you come, your body contracting and stiffening in waves as your orgasm surges through you. Somewhere distantly you hear Cazador near growl when your cunt clenches over his cock, making him climax too and milking him for all he’s worth.

“Fuck!” You hear him exclaim in a moment of bliss, something you very rarely hear him say, and you mewl while he uses his length to pound into you until your pleasure begins to fall.

Finally Cazador stops and you hear him panting heavily behind you, then chuckle despite his state. You can barely comprehend what just happened, needing a moment or two to gather yourself back together so you both stay as you are, letting seconds pass.

“If it were a battlefield you both would be dead.” A voice comes from behind you and it feels like a slice of a razor through your mind.

Immediately you become alert and straighten your back, pushing Cazador off you, then turn to see who intruder is. A moment, then two, and finally you recognize the face: long grey hair with white streaks, sharp features and eyes that left a lasting impression even from the small miniature you saw couple decades ago. This man, who you only saw a tiny painting of, now stands by the open door, his arms crossed on his chest and his red eyes focused on Cazador who moved the moment you pushed him off.

Both you and him quickly pull up your pants, the task not done as fast as either of you wish with armor and chainmail in the way but done nonetheless while the grey-haired man seems to be patiently waiting. Cazador doesn’t wait, while still trying to tie the string of his own pants underneath his cuirass, he glares at the intruder with so much hate you don’t think you ever seen in him before.

“What are you doing here, Vellioth.” Cazador demands to know and the man grins, his smile sharp and predatory.

“What do you think Donnela would say if she saw you like this? Tsk tsk tsk.” Vellioth chastises Cazador and you finally finish with your pants, pulling your gauntlets off as you stare the man down.

“Who let you in?” You ask in a commanding tone, now stepping forward. Not only barely anyone is allowed into the main war room, this man also invited himself into your father’s quarters. You realize that the noises and the voices probably made him look, but you can’t justify a civilian like him trespassing in the first place, no matter the reason.

“General Sylven. I asked him where to find Cazador.” Vellioth replies and you glance at Cazador, seeing how his expression is twisted with anger despite the sweat and post-coital blush still present on his face, making you realize that you must look exactly the same.

“You had no right to-“

“I didn’t interrupt, did I? I let you both finish this little display of honorable nobility.” Vellioth interrupts, making you even angrier with his rudeness.

“Get out, now!” You point at the open door and the man just raises his eyebrows at you, obviously not intimidated by you whatsoever.

“I need to speak to Cazador first.” Elf says calmly and Cazador finally moves, bending down to pick up his discarded gauntlets.

“Then speak.” He demands but Vellioth just laughs.

“No, I need to speak to you in private.”

You glance at Cazador, seeing his clenched jaw and his eyes focused on Vellioth, then he finally smirks.

“Very well then, wait for me in the courtyard, I need to finish here.” He gestures to the door in a relaxed and dismissive manner, but Vellioth grins wider.

“I thought you were already finished.” Vellioth replies with snark dripping of the last word and you raise an eyebrow at his insolence.

“Go, unless you want to be removed by force.” You respond calmly, finally with your anger and embarrassment under control, and Vellioth looks at you for a moment, his scarlet gaze taking in all of you.

Finally he nods and unfolds his arms, pushing his hands into the pants’ pockets before he looks back at Cazador.

“Don’t keep me waiting, boy.” He says and with that he departs, his footsteps quickly vanishing as he leaves the war room.

But you do wonder why he called Cazador that and you remember him mentioning that this Vellioth is somehow important to his aunt, or his mother, or whoever she is to Cazador. You get a feeling that this man is Lady Szarr’s lover because what other reason he would have to address Cazador this way, the way his own father did when you saw them in their family home, if not because some sort of upper hand. Vellioth doesn’t look much older than either of you, you have to admit, maybe six decades older, maybe even less and yet he acts like he can command Cazador around. This puzzles you.

You snap out of your musings when Cazador turns to you and you pay attention to his furrowed brows and cold expression, but after a moment of looking at your face his features relax and he smirks, stepping closer, grasping your chin with his fingers and making you upturn your face to him.

“Well, we may have been interrupted, but I am not done with you, Lady Sylven.” He speaks to you in a low, seductive voice and it catches you off guard, making you raise your eyebrows at him.

“I thought that was payment for bloodying your face.” You reach up and rub your thumb against his chin, flakes of blood coming off easily now and Cazador chuckles.

“My blood is expensive, more than you would think.” He responds and leans closer, you think he’s about to kiss you, but instead he leans to your ear into whisper. “And I think I need another compensation from you for that.” A pause as your breath catches in your throat. “And you did enjoy it, did you not?” Cazador’s face returns in front of you and you swallow dryly, new blush beginning to color your cheeks. Was he always this flirty? You can’t recall, but you can’t recall many things right now, not as you look deep into his dark eyes.

“Yes.” You hear yourself respond and Cazador smiles, victorious.

“I thought you did.” He pauses as if thinking and his gaze darts to your lips, then back to your eyes, and seems he makes up his mind because he kisses you, pressing his lips heavily against yours.

You feel yourself melting and you gasp ever so slightly against his mouth, allowing him to slide the tip of his tongue past your lips and run it alongside your upper front teeth before he pulls back.

“I’ll find you later. I have to deal with Vellioth first.” Cazador promises and you swallow heavily, your heart beating at the back of your throat then you nod, completely captivated by him in this moment and that makes him smile. “Good, very good.” Elf’s thumb rubs against your bottom lip for a brief moment like he’s considering another kiss, but this time he decides against it and steps back, releasing your chin and turning his back to you.

Without another word Cazador leaves the room, carrying his gauntlets in one hand and you watch him go, wondering what in the hells just happened and what does this mean for you from this point on.

But you can’t deny the pull you feel. When Cazador leaves the war room, you exit your father’s quarters closing the door behind you, and pick up your sword and helmet still littering the floor, while you feel Szarr’s seed seep out of you, soaking your pants, making you bite your lower lip. Lost in your thoughts you head for your own room, passing through the door that is one way out of three to lead you to officers’ personal rooms and you can’t help but wonder – for how long you have been blind that this was coming? A moment of unleashed lust transformed the dynamic between you two nearly completely, making you feel like you have been a fool to the obvious this entire time.

Still, you know this complicates things, very much so, despite how excited you feel to see Cazador later. You two will need to keep this secret, of that you are sure.

But you are both good at keeping secrets.

For better or for worse.

⫸ end note: thank you @sadist69 for wonderful illustration♡~

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #cazador szarr #reader insert #female reader #x reader #cazador fic #cazador szarr x reader #my fics #lacrimosa in rubeo sanguinarius in atero

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