#szarr fanfic

[jesternlove]

My WIP for my Vellicaz fanfic, Vellioth and (oc) Luciareja Szarr...

Archiveofourown: by Jesternlove : " The Unethical Machine " ( 98, 000 ish wrds so far)

[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 ^^

[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

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel @cheeslyy @ofmyth-andmagicart @neetheslayer @whispering-depths @freesidexjunkie @lightsinmycity @the0ldmann @gobbodoggo @oooof-ifellforyou @beeblisss @fangboner @aquaarietes @fiercest-eigengrau-skies @niqhtfell @call-me-nyxx @lueji-m @ceres-xiv @tricksy-trinity @graynstairs @rosa-rubus @ynisthatyou @thegoodwitchs-blog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @kiyastrf94 @vincemachina @silverfangmarks @ravenswritingroom @hinata7346 @hellethil @caramel-hufflepuff @beemiilk @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @starwatch77 @julianmarie @sadexistentialism @supernaturallover15 @writinghound

[cinnamontails-ff]

The Secrets of the Universe - Big Dick Mafia!Astarion Part 1

Here we go! Some of you have seen it already, but part 1 of my Big Dick Mafia!Astarion is now live on AO3.

Pairing: Astarion / Original Female Character

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Modern AU, Mafia AU, Undercover Missions, Falling For Your Boss, Astarion Has a Big Dick, Kink Negotiation, Scientific musings during the act

Word count: 4525

Spoiler: It's not a gun.

Read on AO3

[liminalghost]

Constant scrutiny of the vampire family matriarch 🦇

​(This was a gift for @jesternlove for always giving me ideas 🫡)

[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?"

[magnoliasinthegarden]

Fanart for the fic « effigy » on ao3 by Deerna

[ozthedm]

Vampire Ascendant Ramblings!

I love Baldur’s Gate 3. I love the vampire genre. I am particularly fascinated with the concept of the Vampire Ascendant for a number of reasons that mainly boil down to “what does it mean to be the Vampire Ascendant and what is the true cost of this power?”

This post is essentially a collection of my observations, thoughts, and headcanons regarding the ascension ritual. Think of this as fanfic inspiration material. Get ready folks, because we’re about to dip a toe into 5e lore and get existential.

What does the Rite of Profane Ascension actually do?

Raphael explains the ritual as thus:

“If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being - the Vampire Ascendant. All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them he will enjoy the luxuries of the living. The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun. But the ritual has a price, as all worthwhile things do. Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls including all of his vampiric spawn if he is to ascend… Your soul will set off a very wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life.” 

TLDR: If Cazador offers up the souls of 7000 vampire spawn, then maybe he’ll feel less like shit.

Other specific perks include:

The hunger for blood that plagues all vampires will no longer affect him.

His heart will beat again (Could he even be considered undead at that point?)

He still gets to remain immortal in the sense that he will never age

He can choose to extend his protection from the sun to his spawn, but this protection can be revoked

He can be reflected in mirrors.

There are some details that remain unclear, so here’s where we step into headcanon territory:

Running water will no longer harm him

A normal wooden stake won’t be enough to paralyze him. You’d be better off with a magical weapon

Although he will still need an invitation to enter homes, His enhanced vampiric charm practically makes it a nonissue

And now a couple of notes on Mephistopheles and the contract itself:

“Devils bargain with mortals to upend the divine order. They stake claims on souls that would otherwise go to the gods or be cast adrift somewhere other than the Nine Hells. If you are already a creature of Law and Evil devoted to no other entity, your damned spirit is of meager value.”

  - Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes

Mephistopheles is an arcane innovator. His realm, Cania, is essentially a giant laboratory where he conducts extensive experiments. 

When it comes to souls, Mephistopheles prefers quality over quantity. He mostly acquires the souls of highly accomplished wizards and sages to help him with his research. To demand the souls of 7000 vampire spawn seems uncharacteristically beneath him (especially for the power he’s offering) 

My thinking is that Mephistopheles is working on something that specifically requires vampiric energy and lots of it. The 7000 spawns are nothing more than fodder.

A devil’s deal never ends well. This is repeatedly stated throughout the game. Considering what we know of Mephistopheles and how little Cazador cares for his spawn, this whole contract sounds far too good to be true. So what’s the catch?

A few possible ideas as to the downsides:

Mephistopheles is always watching. After all, this is a completely new kind of being that warrants study. 

The Ascendant’s hunger for blood is replaced with a different hunger. A hunger that is indescribable and insatiable. He will always yearn for more. More power, more control, more anything. He may even return to Mephistopheles in an attempt to fill the void. 

The Ascendant’s own soul is included in the price, albeit differently. Where the other souls were simply consumed by the ritual, his will serve another purpose. (Not gonna lie, this one sent me on a whole existential journey trying to figure out what is means to have/lack a soul)

I might post more thoughts later, but this is enough for now

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Summer Days Gone

Astarion centered || M || 5.7+ words || ao3 || Masterlist

Magistrate Ancunín seldom held private hearings in his office; once granted an open ear, most people overstayed their welcome all too readily, believing their problems to be more significant than they actually were. All too often had he witnessed this ill-mannered behavior, though, once in a while, there were esteemed guests who were eager enough to make his time appropriately worthwhile.

warnings: abuse of power, corruption, semi-graphic descriptions of violence, death, implied sex trafficking, racism, blood. Cazador Szarr.

a/n: Summer Days Gone was written for a server exchange event and I publicly apologize to @ollysoxisfree for publishing her gift two weeks late even though we were given more than enough time to work on our exchange pieces.

Olly, thank you so much for your patience—I sincerely hope you enjoy the read! ♡

And another big thank you to @leomonae for the beta-read!

Magistrate Ancunín nodded along to the lengthy complaints of his guest. His mind had been wandering for a while now, as had his eyes; ever so often he found his gaze straying towards the nameplate crowning his desk, the beautiful star speckled blue irises staring right back at him from the polished metal. Should he wear his new lavender waistcoat for his meeting later that evening? The Magistrate pursed his lips. No, his favorite silver vest would do nicely; it so brought out his eyes and would be just right for the mild sunset hours of early summer. 

And besides, it wouldn’t hurt to bring his lucky charm, would it?

 “Magistrate?”

Suppressing a frown, Magistrate Ancunín glanced at his guest. Although stout in physique, the Gur woman’s face was gaunt, her black eyes underlined by circles almost as dark. She was visibly troubled, that woman, and, to make matters worse, didn’t look as if she would be taking her leave any time soon.

That was why the Magistrate seldom held private hearings in his office: once granted an open ear, most people overstayed their welcome all too readily, believing their problems to be more significant than they actually were. All too often had he witnessed this ill-mannered behavior, though, once in a while, there were esteemed guests who were eager enough to make his time appropriately worthwhile.

It had taken Magistrate Ancunín only one look at the woman on the far side of his desk to know that she was not one of those guests.

“I was saying—“

“I heard you,” the Magistrate lied. “What I do not understand, though, is why you’ve come to me with your undoubtedly legitimate matter of concern regarding...” He shifted through piles of papers in front of him until he found the letter the woman—what was her name again?—had sent him this past spring. He quickly read over the report, acting as if the little doodles shining in the midnight blue of his signature ink in its margins weren’t there. “The disappearance of—“

“My brothers and sister did not simply disappear, Magistrate,” the woman said, clearly fighting against a scowl threatening to take over her scar-streaked face, as if she were a kind teacher whose patience was finally about to run out. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, they all headed out to investigate a specific location and were never seen again.”

With a mix of amusement and growing irritation Magistrate Ancunín considered the woman’s practical braids and worn hunter’s garb, the cheap boots leaving dust all over his new carpet. Who did she think she was? “With all due respect, that rather sounds like occupational hazard to me.”

The woman tilted her head; there was a grin on her lips now that could only be described as annoyingly victorious. “So you do agree that there is a monster prowling the Upper City—one powerful enough to ‘disappear’ my most skilled hunters?”

Magistrate Ancunín, overplaying his surprise with a scoff, let his eyes dart to the letter in front of him yet again. He hadn’t been aware that the Gur had vanished from the Upper City, in fact, it was the first time he’d heard about it. But, now that he read the woman’s—Varra, if he’d deciphered her signature correctly—letter more thoroughly, he had to admit she’d mentioned that very detail a number of times. 

The Magistrate’s heartbeat quickened. This surely was interesting—inconveniently so. 

If only to keep his hands busy, Magistrate Ancunín took up his swan feather quill. Its golden tip caught the afternoon sun pouring into his office through the high south-facing windows. Their new brocade curtains would be delivered soon, as would the new furniture for his townhouse. The Magistrate thought about the jewelry that had yet to be picked up from the shop, and, most of all, he thought about his upcoming meeting. 

Slowly, he glanced up at Varra again. It occurred to him that she’d been observing his every move; if he wasn’t careful, this meeting could very well turn into a problem he couldn’t afford. Not now. Not because of the Gur.

Magistrate Ancunín leaned back in his chair, forcing his spine into a straight line as he stoically met Varra’s hardening gaze. The Gur would only become a problem if he let them.

And he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“I agree with the City Watch’s findings that there’s no evidence whatsoever that your people have been, well, what? Been abducted? Murdered? Eaten by carnivorous butterflies?” The sneer in his voice didn’t seem to impress Varra much, prompting the Magistrate to go on with the same bored tone he usually reserved for petty criminals entirely beneath him. Their cases weren’t much different from this one to begin with, the Magistrate told himself. The Gur weren’t worth his precious time. “There are no monsters in Baldur’s Gate.”

Varra shook her head, but before she could voice her protest, the Magistrate raised his hand dismissively, silencing words he didn’t care to hear. 

“I understand that a city free of monsters is compromising the livelihood of your people, but have you considered that, maybe, it is time you took your business elsewhere? Somewhere you’re actually needed? I hear there are plenty—”

“Do you know why I came to you with my concerns, Magistrate Ancunín?” Varra’s demeanor had changed. Whatever little glimpses of impatience the Magistrate had been able to catch in her face before were now well concealed behind a nonchalant little smile; in the blink of an eye, the shabby woman across from him had turned into a seasoned diplomat whose every word was calculated and every thought a mystery.

It was the tightly clenched fist at her side that gave the illusion away.  

Magistrate Ancunín, although rather new to his position, had seen his fair share of people just like Varra: stubborn people. Desperate people. People who didn’t know when to submit. This woman had come to say her part, and, like the dying clinging onto life, she wouldn’t leave until her last words were heard. The Magistrate sighed, knowing from experience that humoring her would eventually bring a speedy end to this irritating meeting. “Do enlighten me.” “I’ve been watching you.” The Magistrate raised an eyebrow, but Varra only continued, unfazed. “Unlike many, you haven’t come to this city in search of power.” “And what am I searching for, if not power?” Varra considered him, the beautiful elf sitting behind his stately desk, his neatly tied hair and manicured hands. She watched intently as Magistrate Ancunín shifted in his seat. 

“Life,” she mused after a moment, never letting him out of sight. “I thought—hoped, really—to have found a kin in you, for we, too, have come to this city looking for life. A good life.”

The Magistrate’s lips tensed into the sorry semblance of a smirk. “A good life that depends on the death of others?”

Varra let out a laugh, short and high. It never reached her eyes. “The death of monsters, yes.” 

An uncomfortable silence settled in the room, only broken by the way the Magistrate’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. Embarrassed, he wondered whether the woman could hear how much she’d rattled him. The rustling sound of paper dispelled the silence as the Magistrate lazily shifted through the stacks of notes, documents and letters on his desk again; anything to keep his hands busy. Anything to break the silence. 

Eventually, feeling uncomfortably small under the Gur’s observant gaze, Magistrate Ancunín cleared his throat. “If there is nothing more to say, madame, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. I’m rather busy, as you can see...” 

Varra stared at him blankly, her mouth twitching with anger and more words she undoubtedly wanted to let go but, to the Magistrate’s surprise, she turned out to be a reasonable woman after all. The only thing that passed her lips was a gentle sigh.

“Pity.” And Varra was right: it was a pity, indeed, but Magistrate Ancunín didn’t know that—not yet, though he would soon enough. For now, he only felt a deep sense of relief watching Varra rise from her chair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any service to you, but know I do wish you and your people the best.” The words sounded dishonest even to the Magistrate himself but, thankfully, Varra didn’t comment on them. Instead, she just gave a curt nod of good-bye; the diplomat in her had been replaced by the warrior who knew when she’d lost her fight. 

And she was just about to take her leave when she suddenly froze in the movement, prompting Magistrate Ancunín to follow her gaze to a thick envelope on his desk. Recognizing its broken seal, he felt the tips of his pointy ears turn red at once. 

“Have you met the master of that house, Magistrate?” Varra asked flatly.

There was no need to clarify which house she’d meant; as sinister as a drop of blood on freshly fallen snow, the lavish letter S stamped into crimson wax loomed right between them. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet, no,” the Magistrate admitted against his better judgment, his voice softer than it needed to be in his own office. “Not personally.” 

A moment of silence passed, then another. Then—startling the Magistrate—Varra laughed once, sharply, and this time, it actually reached her black eyes. 

“You’re a perfect fool, Astarion Ancunín,” the Gur grinned. “But I suppose so am I.��� Before the Magistrate could protest Varra’s insolence, she wordlessly headed for the door, though she did look back once—not at the Magistrate, no, but at the tall windows. In the distance, the afternoon sun bathed the Gate in a golden light; a promise for all the bright days yet to come. 

“Summer is fading fast,” Varra said, almost to herself, before, at last, the door fell shut behind her.

Magistrate Ancunín’s shoulders slumped; it took him longer than he would have liked to compose himself. But, eventually, his heartbeat calmed. 

He scoffed. 

What a foolish woman, that Gur! She knew nothing—she was nothing. He would show her soon enough.

But first, the Magistrate had to hurry, lest he be late for his meeting; he couldn’t afford to let his generous clients wait. 

Muttering profanities to himself, he opened a desk drawer and dumped the cursed Gur’s letter inside where it could mingle with unpaid bills and other forgotten correspondence. The letter with the crimson seal vanished in Magistrate Ancunín’s briefcase before he stood, stretching his aching spine. It was time to go. 

Summer was just about to begin. 

Astarion licked little beads of sweat from his upper lip, tasting the heady remnants of a fleeting lover’s kiss. Even this close to midnight, the sweltering heat of the past day lingered in the Upper City’s cobbled streets and dark alleyways, only to be disrupted by the rare breeze carried up all the way from the bay. 

Astarion inhaled deeply as he sauntered through his neighborhood, his shadow dancing around him in the soft glow of the streetlights. Almost greedily did he take in the scents of warm stone and perfumed garments, late night dinners and powdered skin; music and laughter seeping freely into the night through ever opened windows. Those made up the deliciously noisy composition of Baldur’s Gate—his city. 

Astarion grinned widely. His spirits were heightened not only by the alcohol in his bloodstream but the money in his pockets, the weight his name carried now. Astarion’s eyes wandered to the rings on his fingers that reflected the star speckled sky high above. Was that the limit to his good fortune? 

Amused, he shook his head. No, it was impossible, preposterous even, to imagine that this giddy feeling, this visceral happiness he’d found in Baldur’s Gate, could ever come to an end.

Astarion was drunk on life and deeply in love with this city, and nothing could ever change that. He’d worked too hard for this life—this good life. Whoever wanted to take it from him would have to rip it from his cold, dead hands.

Another breeze tugged gently at his silken tunic as Astarion passed a group of elven ladies and gentlemen enjoying the midsummer night. The sweet smoke of their pipes made his head spin pleasantly. The young magistrate should join them, they said; inviting smiles and glassy eyes of every shape and color followed his every move. How very kind—but, alas, can’t do. Long day ahead tomorrow! Next time, yes! For sure, next time! Thank you. It will be a pleasure. Good night. Astarion threw the group his most charming smile as he walked by, dropping it only after he’d rounded the next corner. Who did these fools think he was? Important men like him didn’t waste entire nights prowling the streets; he wasn’t some common alley cat. 

Not wanting to let the rude encounter dampen his mood, Astarion quietly tried to recite a poem he’d read just the other day. Working against the tides of alcohol swirling inside his head, the words came to him strangely slow as he made his way down the street. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. The sound echoed from the shuttered windows of opulent townhouses and neatly paved sidewalks before it faded into silence.

Silence.

Astarion paused. Only now did he realize how quiet the night around him had grown, how empty, how colorless. The streetlights had gone out, tinting his way home in varying shades of gray. With pursed lips, Astarion strolled on. It wasn’t like he needed any light to guide him home; if he squinted he could see the iron gate to his house some way ahead. It was still bothersome, though, this darkness—did nobody care to do their job anymore? 

A gust of wind caressed the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. He stood taller. Not a second could have passed before Astarion heard what sounded like a coin hitting stone, the faint clinking sound reinforced by the unusually quiet night. 

Instinctively, Astarion’s eyes scanned the sidewalk around his feet, while his hand went to his coin purse, finding it intact. With furrowed brows, he glanced over his shoulder. All he could see were an empty street and sleeping houses, a rat scurrying from one alley to the next. 

Then he heard the same sound again, another coin hitting the ground.

Astarion jerked his head in the direction of the sound; he felt a sudden chill. 

The sound hadn’t come from behind him, but from ahead.

Frozen to the spot, Astarion stared into the gray-scaled darkness with narrowed eyes. 

There was movement somewhere in the shadows a few feet to his right; he’d only noticed it a heartbeat before he heard another coin hit the pavement. Astarion flinched. There was no doubt—someone was lingering in the dark alleyway separating him from the iron gate of the next house. His house.

 I’ve been watching you… 

The Gur’s words had stuck with Astarion from the moment they’d first passed her lips all those weeks ago. Every now and then, they echoed in his skull, steadily growing louder as summer progressed.

Not daring to blink, Astarion reached for the mean little dagger he kept concealed at his side. Another coin fell. He stared at the mouth of the alleyway, making out a shadow that appeared just a hue darker than the rest, growing in size—stretching towards the street. Towards him. Astarion considered his options. Should he attack, or run? He had nimble feet, he could easily outrun an assailant. The shadow was now big enough to pour out into the street. With the element of surprise, Astarion thought, he could take it up with one or two of them. If not, he could at least stall them and make enough of a commotion to wake the neighbors and alert a Watch on patrol, or—

The shadow rushed at Astarion before he could make a decision. In the blink of an eye, it had reached him. Its warm, sticky fur grazed Astarion's ankle; he cursed and promptly reached down to grab the shadow’s long tail before it could scurry past him. 

Heat rose in his cheeks as Astarion glared at the fat, squirming rat he held an arms-length away from his face. He felt like a fool. Of course there were no Gur in the Upper City; somewhere in the Court’s grand archives, a recent ruling had made quite sure of that. Astarion’s midnight blue signature had looked so pretty on the fine paper. 

He let out a shaking breath.

They couldn’t hurt him—not here. In his beloved city, Astarion was safe.

He simply didn’t know better, yet.

“Excellent reflexes, rat-catcher. Bravo!” 

Astarion wasn’t sure whether the shriek of surprise had come from the pest in his hand, or from his own lips as he spun around. There, but a few steps from him, a gentlemanly figure stood, its amused face the palest shade of gray Astarion’s eyes were able to perceive amongst the dense shadows of the night.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the figure. It took him a moment to recognize the stranger as the pale elf he’d spotted amongst the nightly crowds filling the Upper City every now and then; his thin voice didn’t match his haughty looks, Astarion found, nor the odd intensity in his eyes. 

A sudden chill raised the fine hairs on the back of Astarion’s neck as he followed the stranger’s gaze; appalled, Astarion let go of the rat. 

The animal darted off after it had barely hit the ground, vanishing in the same dark alleyway it had come from but a moment ago. Not meeting the stranger’s eyes, Astarion cleared his throat. “A plague, those rats,” he said, trying and failing to hide the nervous timbre in his voice.

The stranger gave a short laugh. It echoed mockingly in Astarion’s ears. 

“A plague, indeed. But with an expert such as you around there is no need to worry about rats, no?”  

Before Astarion could think of a reply, the stranger bid him good-night with little more than an arrogant nod of his head. The elf passed by Astarion, his lips curled into a satisfied grin as he, too, vanished in the alleyway ahead. 

A moment passed in which Astarion tried to collect himself. Where an almost absurd dread had settled in his stomach before, he now felt anger rise. The audacity! Who did that elf think he was, to mock him like this? He wasn’t some witless boy, he was the esteemed Magistrate Ancunín—smart, beautiful and important!

Rat-catcher…

Ears burning, Astarion moved on. If his tongue hadn’t been weighted down by alcohol, he would’ve shown that pasty dog exactly who he was—who he could be. The elf might’ve rattled him, yes, but only because…he had heard something odd before he’d had his run in with that rat, hadn’t he?

Only a step into the reaching shadows cast by the mouth of that cursed alleyway, Astarion hesitated. With furrowed brows, he listened. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a cat hiss. Crystal glasses shattering on cobblestones. Far-away laughter. The soothing noise of Baldur’s Gate.

Absent was the sound that had caught his attention before: coins dropping onto the empty street, one after another…It occurred to Astarion that neither the pale elf nor the rat could’ve made that sound.

Craning his neck, Astarion dared a careful look into the shadows. The alleyway laid dark and empty, free of any sign of life. Free of any danger—as it should be. As it had been all along. There was nothing to fear in Baldur’s Gate.

Only one thing caught his eye. 

With a smooth, fluid motion Astarion darted into the shadows, picking up three gold coins from the ground. For a moment, they felt pleasantly warm in the sweaty palm of his hand before he added them to the heavy coin purse at his side. 

Astarion hurried home.

He was grateful to hear his front door close behind him; elated by the color returned to his vision. In the sparse candlelight of his entryway, Astarion let his shoulders fall before he raked a hand through his curls. They stuck to the cold sweat lingering on his temples, the nape of his neck. Astarion sighed, wondering if the past night had left its marks on him. 

He took a look at the mirror on the wall. Star speckled blue eyes stared right back at him from a face that was as beautiful as ever. 

Were it not for the rusty red stain on his cheekbone. 

Frowning, Astarion raised a hand to his face, only now noticing there was half-dried blood on them and—oh!—on his tunic, too. What a shame, Astarion thought, he would never get the stains out of the fine silk…

With a shrug, Astarion wiped his hands clean on the cool fabric. He could just have a new tunic made—dozens of them.

After all, there was no end in sight to the sweltering midsummer heat. 

There was autumn in the air; he could tell by the crisp salty breeze reaching him from the harbor. It was still faint, the change of seasons, dominated by the stench of fish and waste and iron—but it was there nonetheless, unyielding. 

He shivered.

The wind tugged at the silver curls that were plastered to his face. It was an irritating sensation—he hated when someone messed with his hair—but not as much as the boiling wetness gathering in his lungs. Breathing was strangely difficult, though he couldn’t be sure what exactly had caused the inconvenience. Whatever it was, the part of his brain that was at odds with the tears streaming down his face supposed it didn’t really matter anyway. Not anymore.

He coughed. 

The puddle under his cheek slowly turned a darker shade of gray. On its surface, he watched the star speckled sky ripple—whether it was by his labored breath or the spit and blood leaking from his body, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the fat rat deigning to keep him company. 

Were those tiny feet able to rattle the stars? If so, its hunger was understandable, justified, even. A good life didn’t come without a cost.

Curious eyes observed the rat as it gingerly gnawed at the side of a crushed hand. Dark ink stained the crooked fingers, or maybe it was blood. Neither was ever easy to wash off. Could the rat eat it away, or did the stain seep through skin all the way to the bone?

A strange sound echoed through the dark alleyway. Somewhere, someone sobbed. 

What a proper fool, he thought, how embarrassing it must be to die in the gutter!

But, to his luck, an idea occurred to him as he listened closely. He had heard that noise, so maybe someone else had heard it, too. Nobody had answered his cries, but everybody knew that fortune favored fools—if they could be saved, why couldn’t he?

The rat scurried away with a sudden shriek.

It wasn’t good fortune that made the starlit puddle tremble now, though the Fool wholeheartedly believed it was—as was his nature. 

Soon, he would be schooled in the intricacies of his folly. For now, though, he tried not to choke on the blood gathering in his throat.

A pair of shiny boots entered the Fool’s field of fading vision; it took all his strength to raise his tired eyes, behold the person who would surely be his savior. Met with an oddly intense gaze, the Fool thanked all the gods that would hear him.

“Pity.” 

He recognized that thin voice; this time, he found it matched the disgust written all over that pale face.

The broken hand in the puddle didn’t move, even when the Fool wanted to reach out to his savior; his body had always been smarter than his brains.

“They were watching,” the Fool moaned, convinced he would be heard even when his voice was little more than a whisper. “They were watching me all along.” 

The pale elf looked down at him, lips pursed. Unfazed. Maybe he didn’t understand…?

“I say there are monsters in Baldur’s Gate!” The Fool coughed, blood spilling from his mouth, down his chin. It burned hot against the night. 

The pale elf licked his lips as he kneeled, careful not to soil his trousers in the black puddle at his feet. 

“And they got you, you fool, because you did not care to do your job properly,” he scolded as he roughly brushed a damp lock from the Fool’s forehead. “You cannot just drive the rats out, boy, you have to wipe them out.” 

The Boy, though he didn’t quite understand, nodded—at least he thought he did, as stone and dirt dug deeper in his throbbing temple. It seemed like it was the right thing to do; he didn’t want the pale elf to be angry with him. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I can do better.” 

For what felt like eternity, the pale elf considered him with narrowed eyes. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Please, I’ll be so much better.” 

The Boy would’ve said anything, promised anything, and would’ve meant every word. Surely his savior could see that?

“I suppose I can give you another chance, then,” the pale elf mused, finally. “If you really think you can do it.”

“Thank you.” The Boy’s body trembled with a sob. “I can do it. Thank you!”

Long, pale fingers caressed his tender cheek, but the Boy didn’t flinch, even when they were as cold as the air, the cobblestones. Death. So unnaturally cold. It was summer, still, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he felt the sun warm his skin when it rose over the Gate only this morning? 

Maybe it was the gaudy sigil ring the Boy could glimpse on his savior’s finger—the opulent letter S—that made him think of crimson blood on freshly fallen snow. Yes, snow. So very cold…

Have you met the master of that house?

The Boy hadn’t—not personally, no. Not then.

He had now.

“And you promise to be my good little rat-catcher?”

His body spasmed.

“Answer me.” The pale elf leaned over him, engulfing him in a veil of darkness. “Will you be good?”

“Very good, yes,” the Rat-Catcher promised. His head rested heavily against the cold, pale hand; it did nothing to expel the feverish heat from his skin. “The best. I promise.” 

“‘I promise, Master’,” the pale elf corrected, claws as sharp as his tone digging into the Rat-Catcher’s jaw.

“I promise, Master.”

“Good,” Master Szarr sighed. “Do not disappoint me again, boy.” 

It was music to the Boy’s ears. Never in his life would he dare to disappoint the Master—he swore it to himself! And so he smiled when the Master’s face slowly crept towards his own. The Boy studied the porcelain skin of his savior, so pale that it was the lightest shade of gray in the night. A smirk, stretched impossibly thin. Intense eyes boring into his own…

But for a moment, the Boy glanced away; gray eyes meeting the star speckled sky, wet at the tip of his nose. It drenched his face and his hair, his favorite silver vest. Could he have a new one made? This one was quite ruined, he feared. 

A warm swell of blood came over his lips once more. His entire world—dark alleyways and cobbled stone; cold breezes and blood, so much blood!—could be contained on the surface of one stinking black puddle.

But he was more than that, wasn’t he? He had been so much more only this morning.

He was Magistrate Ancunín—smart, beautiful and important!

He’d been unable to outrun the Gur.

He was dying.

But Master Szarr would save him; although mysterious, he’d always been such a generous client.

There was nothing else that mattered now—Astarion would live, somehow.

He sighed, focusing on the colorless eyes that danced with the stars in the reflected night sky. His eyes were blue, like his signature ink. It looked so pretty on fine paper. The beaten and broken visage frowning back at him from the trembling surface of his world did not. Who did that ugly thing think it was, gaping at him like that? 

Astarion tried to ignore that face, but there was nothing else to see.

Nobody else.

That couldn’t be right; he could feel Master Szarr’s weight on him, long fingers tugging at his ruined clothes, a cold tongue licking over his blood-stained lips, but still… 

The pale elf did not cast a reflection. 

Astarion whimpered; from shock or the pain coming from his fractured spine as he tried to push away, he didn’t know. 

He was corrected at once. 

Szarr tut-tutted, pinning him down with little effort. Dying or not, Astarion had never stood a chance against this creature, though this didn’t keep him from trying. He grasped at the creature’s hair, tried to scratch its pale, blood-streaked face with broken nails. Bit the creature’s lips as it lapped up the blood around his mouth.

More than anything, Astarion wanted to live; he always had.

The creature laughed.

“My, my! Little liar, you promised to be good but a moment ago, did you not?”

No, not like this!

“If you do as I say, this need not hurt.” 

No, I don’t believe you!

“Enough!” 

Never.

“As you wish.” Szarr grabbed his jaw again, forcing Astarion’s head off the ground before he slammed it back against the cobblestone, not unlike the Gur had done a while ago. Bone cracked; Astarion wailed. Claws raked through his blood-streaked curls, scratching at his scalp. “Yes, let me hear how sweet those screams sound, boy.”

The creature opened its maw, exposing a pair of long, sharp fangs. They gleamed under the starlight, reflecting a pair of horrified gray eyes.

In that moment—the Magistrate, the Fool, the Boy, the Rat-Catcher, the Liar—they all wished Astarion had just died a good death when he’d still had the chance.

He screamed when the creature sank its teeth into the side of his neck.

No, please.

The creature chuckled, greedily taking its fill of what little life the Gur had left him.

Please, help.

A gentle breeze carried his screams from the gutter all the way to the Upper City. 

The creature tore at his throat. How much blood did he have left to spill, how much pain was there to feel?

If his beloved Baldur’s Gate had ever heard him, his agony must not have been worth its time; it mocked him only with silence.

He laid still, at last. 

Summer was fading fast…

And so was Astarion Ancunín.

Nimble feet carried the Spawn through damp corridors. Across the drafty entry hall. Into cold, busy streets. He scanned the bleak evening sky; if he were alive, his heart would skip a beat. How late it was already! He had to hurry now—the way to the Upper City was steep, and he couldn’t let his clients wait, oh no. 

Punctuality was of utmost importance. He couldn’t embarrass the Master, not again.

With a shudder, the Spawn straightened the stiff collar of his cape; the wool was rough against his ashen skin. He tugged it closer around him anyway. He had earned the cape for bringing the Master that glassy-eyed elf, the first of his many clients—the one who had made his head spin with her stinking pipe. 

Who had that bitch thought she was when she’d messed up his curls, pushed his face against the cold tiles of her room; this bitch, this rat—easy prey. The Master had instructed him well. 

The Spawn shook his head. Sometimes, when he was very still, he could still hear the elf’s screams echoing inside his skull. They hadn’t been as sweet as his, the Master had said, disappointed. Why must he always disappoint him so? He didn’t do it on purpose, he promised, but the Master did not care for idle talk, oh no. 

Master Szarr was an important man. Very busy. Best not waste his time. 

Frowning, the Spawn scurried past dark alleyways, over wet cobblestones. Somewhere in the shadows, a rat squeaked. He licked his lips, but—oh no, no—no time for that.

The Master had forbidden him to even think of eating before his job was done.

A sharp gust tugged at his ill-fitting cape; the Spawn stood a little taller against the wind. He wasn’t supposed to slouch, but he’d always had a weak spine—not that he would tell the Master that, oh no, he so hated excuses. 

The Spawn rounded a corner. Heavy fur coats hiding red-nosed faces pushed past him, the overwhelming symphony of their heartbeats echoing from the shuttered windows of opulent townhouses and neatly paved sidewalks. The Spawn pulled the hood of his cape deeper around his face, lest someone recognize who he was. 

Had been.

In every shadow, the noise of life prevailed. The Spawn could hear blood pumping through living bodies, so many of them—so much blood. The Master drank his fill every night; sometimes, the Spawn picked such a delectable feast for him that the Master allowed him to drain a small alley cat. Very kind of him, oh yes.

Night had stolen the last bits of color again, tinting the city in scales of gray; the Spawn had reached his client’s house just in time. They wouldn’t be so generous, he knew, not tonight. Not to him, oh no.

The Spawn hesitated to knock at the door. 

The truth was, there were monsters in this city. From the docks to the highest tower in the courthouse, in every alleyway. In all those fine houses. Behind every iron gate. From every black eye that watched him, a monster stared back. It was the only reflection the Spawn was granted to look at.

Slowly, he tilted his head back. Crimson eyes lost themselves in the murky puddle that was the night sky. From it, the palest shade of gray danced through the sky. It fell gently towards the dirty streets of Baldur’s Gate—a blood stain amongst freshly fallen snow.

Astarion still loved this city, he always would; it just so happened that the city didn’t love him back. It never had.

Brushing the snow off his shoulders, the Spawn sighed.

Summer had gone by so fast.  

tag list:

@spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan

@darlingxdragon @herdarkestnightelegance @ayselluna

@chonkercatto  @anukulee  @roguishcat

@nyx-knox  ​​@anacdoce

[purplebubblywitch]

Astarion's Journal

_____________________________________________

Hey everyone, Last time, I wrote a letter from Cazador's perspective. To better understand this letter, make sure to check out my first fanfiction. Letter from Cazador If you like it, please let me know I'm not sure if I should keep writing more. So, what do you think? ❤️ ____________________________________________ To Cazador, I can hardly believe I’m writing this letter, but here we are. After our fight, when I found your… well, let’s call it an oddly obsessive love letter, I was furious. I won’t lie. But Tav suggested I should respond. Not that Tav always has the smartest ideas, but at least Tav managed to lead us straight to you and ultimately, to your lifeless body. Tav thinks writing down my thoughts might help me heal faster, maybe even start a journal. Normally, I’d scoff, I’m not a 12-year-old nor, for that matter, Halsin. But honestly, if anyone in our group is the journaling type, I’d have bet on Wyll. He looks like the sort who’d dance his feelings out, probably looking like a spider in a fire while doing it. No one’s got the heart to tell him he’s a terrible dancer. I wanted to, but Lae’zel gave me a look that said everything. Anyway, back to the journal. Who even has time for one? We’re here to kill an Elder Brain, after all. But speaking of Halsin, Tav handed me his old journal since we couldn’t find a blank one, so I tore out some pages and claimed it. We found it in Grove, and he hasn’t missed it since. I’d call that a cheeky solution. He can go hug some trees if he’s feeling out of sorts. You should  have seen how well I can imitate him! But let’s get to the point, Cazador. Every time I say your name, Tav tells me I sound like a hissing cobra. Where was I? Ah, yes. your stupid letter. Let me start by saying this: I am not a victim. You were the victim, Cazador. You never managed to break free from your own twisted cycle. And even though every part of me despises you, I almost pity you. No one was there to help when we killed you, and no one will miss you. It’s as if you never existed. No power, no love…nothing. While I may have first manipulated people out of fear, they’re with me now by choice. They believe in me, especially Tav. It’s hard to believe, but they actually love me. That’s something you never had, not even at the end. And that’s why I’ll always be more than you ever were. I mean, I’m alive. I survived, and you’re dead. What more could I want? Well, besides killing this wretched Elder Brain. And I’ll admit, I savor the thought that, in your final moments, you were penning that ridiculous letter, thinking I’d come to you driven by fear as always. It’s a delightful thought, realizing just how much power I had over you. I have my body and my life back. And yes, you were right…I have trust issues, fair point, but I have all the time in the world to rebuild that trust. And I will trust again. By the way, boiling down Vellioth’s skull and stuffing his rules into his mouth? Hilarious. I briefly thought about what I could do to you, but I’ve decided you’re not worth any more of my energy. This letter will be the last thought I give you. I will heal, slowly. Sure, you’ll haunt my dreams, but time heals everything. Even if I could’ve done without your “special treatment,” it made me the person who’s ready to take down an Elder Brain. Now I have a reason to fight again. You were always driven by fear, you poor, pathetic thing. So, what can I say, darling? Rot in hell. Oh, and by the way, I drank your wine and sold your art. Your taste was always abysmal. Astarion P.S. Halsin just walked by and noticed his old journal. Said it looked “familiar.” I guess I’ll find somewhere else to write next time.

[lagncx]

Tw: abuse by Cazador, Cazador, sad Astarion, sick Astarion, beatings, graphic detail.

Astarion looked at the cup of blood and then up at you. “Last meal before we get you out.” You frowned “Or we die trying.” Astarion had taken the cup and took a long sniff before finally drinking it.

The taste was thick like it was sitting for a while. You let out a groan “Please take your time.” You said sarcastically. He would’ve gone slowly just to anger you but he needed to get out, it was unbearable to be in here any longer.

Astarion had been through beatings almost every day, you’d come in and feed him and nurse his wounds. You looked at him “finished?” He nodded. You had grabbed him by the arm pulling him up and making him grunt from the force. You pushed against the wall sliding back and letting you both into the hall, you looked both ways before turning to him, giving him a cloak. “Stay close to me.”

Astarion put on the cloak staying as close as he could almost to the point where his nose was always against your back. He knew the layout of the place better than you, so he was ready to rip you to ribbons if you tried to fool him. So far things seemed right. “Just a bit more and we’ll get out-“ Suddenly the creak of a door was heard. “…what are you doing?” You froze immediately, biting your lip and keeping your head high as you turned to look at sweet Victoria. You smiled warmly

She looked at astarion then back at you “Where are you taking him?” She asked you pushed Astarion back “Where is your father Victoria? Where’s Leon?” Astarion looked between you both “Leon? Father? You're his girl?” He asked and Victoria scowled at him “Nobody is allowed to talk to you. So don’t try asking me questions like you belong.”

Astarion shook his head “Wow…Cazador has you all on hold well. He turned me, running away from his abuse against me?!” He let out a laugh “Why is that not surprising.” You sighed “Victoria go back to bed.” She stared at you “No. My father trusts you. I trust you, Cazador has chosen you as our protector, and now you're trying to take away my father's only opportunity for freedom?” She shook her head “No…no, I won’t let you.” She seemed like she was going to scream and in the corner of your eye, you saw Astarion pull a dagger from his waistband.

You blocked his view of her “Astarion, no.” You glared down at him and he glared up at you. “She’s going to cry wolf to an army of spawn! Do you want to risk that? It’ll be your head and not mine!” He was right, Cazador wouldn’t kill him. But he’d kill you. You looked over your shoulder then back at him “We just have to get out.” He shook his head “She’ll alert them and they’ll be on us in no time. Trust me…I don’t want to hurt her.” He looked down at the dagger. You sighed “I’ll do it.”

Victoria wasn’t a spawn she was still just a girl. You turned back to her “sorry” you had rushed up to her charging at her and sending her into the room onto the floor making her gasp trying to regain the air she lost you walked up to her holding her down and placed a hand over her mouth you started to whisper a chant hand giving a soft glow before she stopped struggling and her eyes closed pulling back you checked to see if she was okay, after seeing she was in a deep sleep you went back to the door Astarion standing next to the wall “Made a lot more sound than needed but…better alternative.”

You only grumbled your shoulder pushing him out of the way and walking towards the exit he was right behind you “Once we're out I take the lead we’re gonna find tav and the rest of them.” You stopped and shook your head “I can’t go to them, they'll crucify me in an instant.”

“No they won’t, I won’t let them. We’re together now. A team.” He said turning you around. You cringed at the thought of looking at the same guy that stabbed you in the back as a friend. “This is temporary, when I get my heart back…I don’t want to see you again.” You said turning back around and going to turn a corner before you bumped into Petras. “Shit!” He growled, dropping whatever he was holding. He let out a strangled laugh “You scared me..” Then, You saw the way he…froze his eyes wide and fearful as he looked back up at you shaking his head “no, come on…don’t tell me you're letting him go…” he whispered, pleading.

You gritted your teeth “Keep your mouth closed Petras. If you don’t tell him he won’t take it out on you, but all you do is squeal like a pig.” He shook his head “why are you letting this snake manipulate you??, again!?” You closed your eyes, almost like that same night your back stung the knife Astarion shoved into it, why? Was what you wanted to understand, when you could’ve vaporized Cazador in seconds, why did he stop you? You opened your eyes feeling that cold hand push up against your back. Turning to look at Astarion he seemed dizzy, weak. You fed him but over three days, he was suffering torture.

You’ll need to carry him soon, and there’s a long way ahead but you could make it to his camp by morning, he’ll just need to guide you. “Let’s just leave, forget Petras, he’s a coward.” Petras stayed silent and in the corner of your eye, you saw his lip tremble slightly. You secretly yearned for him to stand up for himself for once, he was such a pushover. You held a stern gaze with Petras before continuing down the hall his feet planted to the ground.

The fresh air outside was like a relief to know you weren't stuck in there with the threat of your heart roasted on a spit. You looked over at Astarion he was hunched against a wall holding his head “The hells is wrong with you?” you said and he only scrunched his eyes “Please, shut up..” he whispered, you scoffed “Excuse me? Shut up?” you said walking up to him and he only scowled “Yes, must I repeat everything are you paladins always so dense!”

you let your nose flair up, paladin…your family were paladins and monks you however…lost in time bloodline forever tainted with the missing daughter of the phoenix family were not a paladin…you wanted to be, you wanted to make your family proud. So, your emotions got the best of you and you snatched Astarion by his collar “Hey, little star you might wanna rethink your fucking attitude, or ill have you back chained up and break your legs myself.” You waited for a snarky remark but he only groaned “The…tadpole its, it feels like its feasting on my damn brain. Hells I need-..i need to get back to Tav” He pushed you away stumbling forward you could've sworn that when he shoved you you got hit with some kind of wave, what tadpole?

You wiped your hands on your clothes and looking up at him he was nearly falling to the floor. You scoffed “Dramatic, are we?” you pulled him back to you, and somehow even dead he was covered in sweat and his head was hot. He held onto you before casting some light that started to glide away, “Follow it. It'll take us to the camp” Then he was out, clear as day something was up, and it wasnt anything you could sense or smell. You sighed seems youll have to carry him there or you could leave him on the doorstep and let him get blamed for escaping, nope, too late to back out now.

You were following the light trail, how was it still going if he was in and out of it? . You huffed arms hooked under Astarions legs as he breathed on your ear, as long as he was alive and breathing, wouldn’t wanna walk to the camp with their dead friend. You looked at the light as it stopped, just around the way from the grove, they were on their way to the shadow cursed lands. “They move quickly.” Your nose twitched and you went to turn your head only to feel something Pierce right through your cheek. You dropped Astarion and you hunched over growling in pain.

“Grab him! I’ll give her what’s coming.” You rolled your eyes, Karlach…of course. You turned and stood up straight “Did you soot fhat?” You asked the feeling of the arrow laying on your tongue. She raised a brow “What?” She stepped forward putting up her arms

You broke the arrow in half with the force of your fangs spitting out the head and pulling out the remaining splint before throwing it to the ground “I said, did you shoot. That.” You repeated she staggered back slightly from your lack of response to being injured “Oh, careful. Don’t want you to fall on that bad leg.” You said raising your arms also “I don’t mind a fist fight.” But suddenly she was back on you.

—

Hits…you remember how it felt. The pain, the way you could feel your muscle being stretched and exposed bit by bit. You remembered how your cries turned to whimpers then groans then silence. But you’ll never forget the moment you broke.

Cazador had dismissed his little servant that had beat you for hours…felt like centuries to you. You had looked up at him, his smirk made your stomach drop. “Little bird…tell me, how are you feeling?” You were so tired your arms felt nonexistent as they were suspended up high you couldn’t move your legs they were like jello. You licked your chapped lips “Please…master. Release me from this, I’ll do whatever you want.” You pleaded you felt guilty about it.

You felt a sharp nail trace your temple then down to your chin “Hush now little bird, you will be released. But not now…I need you to be strong as stone, I need you to be a sword that will Not bend. I do not need you to break. I need you to keep your will, but you must submit to me, I am your master, your heart lies with me.” You let out a defeated sigh but stopped yourself. Crying won’t get you out of this, you bit your tongue. The sound of the beating came back but you couldn’t feel it, the only thing you could feel was anger towards the one who got you here.

Astarion.

—

Karlach was no soft hitter it was hard feeling her elbow land into your cheek but you bounced back, adrenaline pumping through you. You went to bite her, honestly you were blood thirsty. Before your teeth could sink into her the sound of something quick broke through the air and you heard Karlach let out a pained gasp and both of you confused turned to the sudden threat. But it wasn’t a threat when you saw the piercing, focused ruby red eyes “The hells was that Astarion!” Karlach yelled the area around you started to move like heat was radiating off of her, and it was.

You huffed “Looks like someone is back in good health all of a sudden.” You felt yourself being pushed back into the ground “Shut up!” Ah…the githyanki. You went to push yourself up but a foot pushed you back down. Heat had started to burn at your back, you felt yourself panicking the burn…the burn, her foot, the lashings, his red eyes, Cazadors eyes. You shook your head “Get off-..Get off of me!” You started breathing heavily. You saw a pair of feet rush over before pushing Karlach off the faint sound of arguing.

“You shoot at me?! I put my neck out for you Star and you shoot at me?!” Karlachs voice boomed

Astarion groaned trying to help you up “I did not! It grazed you! It was for both of you to stop!”

You stumbled to stand but when you did you felt yourself bound and unable to move “Karlach, maybe we should’ve thought before attacking her.” You looked at the girl with dark black hair, shadowheart

“Oh. Oh! So I’m the one who’s the bad guy?!” Karlach glared at you she was obviously a bit of a bomb

“There is no bad guy!” Astarion said trying to stay calm like he wasn’t just passing out a few minutes ago.

“Uhm yes! Yes there is and she’s right there!” You looked around and saw a man with long brown hair, gale. The wizard man you believed

Tav approached “Enough!” Even you felt compelled to stay quiet. “Stop fighting, Astarion, are you alright?” You looked at how Tav gently grabbed his hands and checked his arms, his face and he nodded “I’m fine Tav, the tadpole though it was acting up, I could barely stay awake it felt like I was going to pop.” Tav raised a brow “well I’m glad you're okay and your back safe. And quick too.” Astarion smiled and everyone asked their questions. Karlach, more calm, had approached “No tentacles?” She asked and he smiled “no tentacles.”

Tav sighed “so how you’d get here so quick?” Astarion turned to you, seeing you tied by magic as you avoided eye contact with him

“She brought me, carried me the whole way.”

Everyone blinked. “Knock her out, then we talk.” Tav said and you looked around “w-Wait a minute!” Suddenly you were out

——-

And just like that you were tied down to a tree. Fuck, again. You felt eyes on you as people passed. You struggled against your binds “Dammit!” You knew that taking sides with Astarion over Cazador would fuck you over. His friends didn’t trust you so now your tied spectacle of the damn camp.

You groaned, your head still ringing from karlachs boot, closing your eyes. You felt something cold press against your head. Cold meat you looked up at the snake tongue himself. Astarion. He looked down at you “Are you alright?” You only pulled away making him scoff “I’m trying to help you, I didn’t order them to attack you. But…this is the best option.” He said “Are you hungry?” He asked turning over to a silver cup filled with blood going to grab it you had kicked it before he could “Fuck You, I don’t want to eat your little catch, I want to lay down!” You felt the ropes burn against your skin

He let out a frustrated sigh laughing “I can’t help you if you keep denying any help!” He yelled before getting up and storming away, hands pushing through his head as he sat on his chair outside his tent, you watched tav walk over to him smiling and obviously talking about you. You put your head up looking at the stars peaking through the tree’s branches. Closing your eyes.

You had always have a heightened sense of awareness so the soft shaking of your binds made your eyes snap, turning your head you saw astarion cutting the ropes. “Whatre you doing?” You hissed “I don’t need your help.” Astarion tired of your shit pushed the dagger to your lip “we should’ve gagged you instead.” Slowly pulling away when you were silent “You’re filthy, so I’m letting you get cleaned.” You stayed quiet suddenly feeling the ropes fall and you sighed in relief. “Come on.” He said pulling you up and walking towards the river but further down from camp.

You could use a wash you started to undress but stopped. “You gonna watch me?” You asked, and he shrugged “I might want to wash up too, I am covered in blood and anguish from those three days.” You weren’t stupid, he was waiting to find something. But you continued, you turned your back towards him taking off your garments and feeling relief when your body was allowed to relax without tight clothing, you scratched your back feeling deep chunks of skin missing from all those lashings ago, and you heard a struggled sound, Astarion must’ve not expected this. You took off your trousers.

“Did he do that?” Astarion whispered he must’ve gotten closer. His whisper was loud. “Not Cazador…Godey though.” You said and he huffed

“So yes Cazador, when godey does it it’s just Cazadors way of keeping his hands clean so you can lean on him and deny that he had any part in it. Trust me I know.”

You sighed and went to step in. “Ah, wait.” You turned to Astarion and he didn’t seem to even care that you were exposed. He grabbed a band out of his pocket and started to tie your hair. “There.” You nodded and went in the water “Thanks.” You shrugged Astarion picked up your clothes “I’ll go wash these.” You nodded before sinking down under the water

Too late to turn back now.

[savs-sims98]

Astarion Shibuya🫡✨

Sylvannah was NOT ready for that evening🤭😅

[kawareo]

HEY YOU

New chapter of Unsaved is out!!

Enjoy this totally not misleading image (had to scrap most of promo doodles because they do not fit the scene anymore but I did really like this one so have Strike ruffling Astarion's hair)

Also not that my fics are currently locked for guest users about which I apologize, it is related to AO3's current ai scrapping bots problem

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

On My Knees

Love Bites, Chapter 8 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

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

Summary: A betrayal so severe even centuries of love threaten to break beneath its weight. Yet you offer forgiveness, even if Astarion has not felt its kindness in two hundred years.

Word Count: 2,360 words

Warnings: return to chp. 1 timeline, in-game timeline, reader becomes a vampire spawn, brief flashback, captured by Mindflayers, Astarion is vulnerable but also honest, confessions, Sebastian's back

Note: My apologies, I'm a day late! I had some technical difficulties yesterday but now we're back and almost done with Love Bites.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

“You screamed well into the morning. None of us slept. My siblings, they…offered me their blankets. It was the first time they had been kind to me in…a very long time.” Astarion fidgeted with his fingers, his voice thick with tears as he wrapped up his story. The spawn in the cage stayed quiet, listening intently, some wearing wicked, wicked smiles. “And we planned. They helped me sneak out when night fell so I could— So I could go to my grave.” He looked up at you for the first time in a very long time. “He buried you there. In my coffin.”

Bits and pieces of your memory came back to you. “Yes… Yes, he did, I remember— I remember so much. It was… Dark. Cold. Dirty. But I smelled…you.”

~❊~

The air was musty. It reeked of death, more strongly than the sickhouses during a plague. Your eyes burned when you opened them. You tried not to breathe, then realized after several moments of holding your breath, you didn’t need to. There was no pain in your lungs. You weren’t lightheaded from trying to hold your breath.

“What?” you whispered to yourself. Your lips tugged around two identical objects in your mouth, teeth that you knew had not been there all your life. 

Your eyes adjusted to the space slowly, but you knew from just a few experimental wiggles the place was cramped and tiny. It didn’t take long for you to recognize the smell of your lover or the appearance of your surroundings, lined in soft red velvet; you’d help pick the coffin yourself, all those years ago. It was Astarion’s.

You whimpered, the panic starting to set in. “Asty? Where are you?” You could smell him, all around you, even under the terrible scent of earth and bodily fluids and death and embalming fluids. 

You had no heartbeat, but you were sure you could hear it pounding in your ears, screaming, Out, out, out! You began scratching at the coffin lid and realized there were already claw marks there, ripping the velvet and gouging the wood beneath. You were not the first to have crawled out of here.

If Asty could do it, so can I, you told yourself and began kicking the lid. It didn’t take long for it to crack open, the latch already broken. You wedged it open slowly, clawing handfuls of dirt out of the way until you could make way for yourself. 

It was slow going, digging your way out of grave dirt. It was fresh and not packed down yet, which was your only advantage to get yourself out. It clung to you like summer heat, worming its way into your clothes, your ears, your mouth. You worked through the panic that built up inside you, getting worse the longer it took.

After what felt like hours—what probably was hours—your hand broke the surface. You nearly cried with relief and forced the hole to widen until you could pull yourself out, grappling with more loose dirt and very little for leverage. 

Your head came up through the hole and you took your first deep breath in ages, only to start coughing. You hacked up blood and dirt, your entire body heaving with the effort. You trembled more terribly than you had on the day you’d learned Astarion had died as you finally freed yourself from the grave. You turned to face the stone as you dry-heaved. Sure enough, Astarion’s name was carved into it. 

“You got out faster than he did,” a nasty voice said and you surged your feet, whirling and reaching for your knife. It wasn’t there. You stumbled forward, your body catching up to your exhaustion before your mind did. A black-haired elf stood before you and smiled sardonically. Cazador. “The only weapons you have now are in your mouth, dear child.”

Instinctively, you ran your tongue across your teeth and hissed as your new fangs sliced your tongue open. The tang of your own blood did nothing but make you aware of the pulsing, needy hunger curling in your gut. 

Memories came flooding back. Astarion, in your tavern, a vampire. Sleeping with him. Going back to Cazador with him. The pain of the bite that turned you. Attempting to run—being snatched up by Cazador and brought into the pit of the palace. Thousands upon thousands of spawn kept inside cages, jeering at you, watching you, giving you enough strength to try to fight back. Smiling defiantly at the vampire who promised you pain, even as you cried at the sound of Astarion’s sobs from so far above you. Darkness finally overtaking you as your body gave into the bite, the blood drained from your veins, your bones rearranging themselves, knitting together your new vampiric body.

“Get away from me,” you spat, stumbling away from him.

Cazador laughed. “Where will you go, little one? No one can save you now. Not now that you are this. You are mine.”

You heard a shout. Cazador stopped, turning to search for its origin. Another shout, this time your name, this time clearly Astarion’s voice.

“Do not meddle, boy,” Cazador warned, raising his voice in the direction of the shout.

A hand touched your shoulder. You looked, knowing you would see Astarion the moment you felt his touch. Cazador remained blissfully unaware that his spawn had already reached you. 

Astarion offered you his hand. You glanced back at your maker once, then slipped your hand into his. The two of you took off running. 

Cazador let out a shout, but neither of you heeded. You left the cemetery behind and began running through the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where do we go?” you demanded, impressed by how much faster you were now, even without blood. 

“Anywhere,” Astarion said, glancing at you. “You wanted to run? Now we are. Just don’t stop until the city’s behind us.”

“How did you find me?” you asked.

He flashed you a fangy grin. “Dalyria. She helped me sneak past Godey.”

“She helped? Why?”

He shrugged. “She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

The sky above you opened up. You both stopped short, staring up at the massive ship that had come through the rip in the world. 

“Come back here!” Cazador’s shout rang through the street. He was still some distance away, but he was gaining on you.

You tugged on Astarion’s arm. “Honey, we have to go.”

Astarion was staring at something just ahead of you. “What in the gods’ names is that?”

You turned and something with tentacles for a face grabbed your head. You screamed as, once again, the world went dark.

~❊~

The rest was a blank, until you woke up on the beach with Astarion leaning over you, but the rest of your companions had filled you in. After you’d blacked out, you’d been put in a pod and a tadpole was forced into your head. Some part of you had always been glad you’d had no memory of that—but if you had remembered it, would you have also remembered everything else?

You looked up at Astarion, who was nervously chewing his lower lip, his fang peeking out. You felt your own fang with your tongue. He did this to me.

You took a step backward, putting distance between him and yourself. You saw his heart break in the way his eyes began to water. 

“It was you? You brought me to Cazador? You’re why I’m like this?” You felt short of breath, your chest tight, your head spinning: the beginnings of a panic attack your body remembered from its time alive—which was much more recent than Astarion had been telling you.

“Darling, I had to,” he whispered. “You told me to. You begged me to bring you to him so I wouldn’t get hurt!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you hissed. “You didn’t have to tell the others, you could have fed them the same story you told me about keeping me safe from Cazador for two hundred years. But why me? Why did you lie to me about how I was turned?”

Hurt flashed in his eyes. But there was more to it than that. He was afraid, afraid because he was vulnerable in front of too many people, afraid because you were slowly backing away from him. 

“I couldn’t tell you, darling, you wouldn’t have believed me—”

“No more lies, Astarion,” you snapped. “Tell me the truth! Why did you lie?”

His lower lip trembled. “Because I was scared, alright? I saw the fear on your face on the beach and it—it looked like the fear in your eyes when I brought you to Cazador. You were already afraid. Of me! I… I didn’t want to make it worse. I didn’t want you to hate me when you were all I had. I was—” His eyes dropped briefly to the floor. Then he looked back up at you, tears rolling down his cheeks. You knew they were real. “I was scared you’d stake me for what I did to you the first chance you got. Worse, I was scared you’d leave me.”

You studied his face. As you looked at him, your anger began to fade. Death scares him less than losing me. “Astarion…”

He dropped to his knees, clearly expecting more rage. He trembled as he kept explaining, “I had already been without you for long enough. I didn’t want to do it again, I was scared that you’d forget me the way I—the way I forgot you. I was selfish, darling, I was so selfish because I didn’t want to do what you had to do for two hundred years and remember and love and ache when it wasn’t returned. So I lied. And I lied well. I made up story after story and you believed them so much they were becoming your memories. Anything else was just a bad dream to you and I let you believe that! It was easier to dismiss your real memories as nightmares than confess what really happened. That’s why I did it. Because it was easy.” He sniffled and roughly wiped away his tears with his wrist. “You can hate me all you want, but I am going to be selfish even more and I am going to beg you to stay. Hate me for the next two hundred years but please, please don’t leave me.”

And Astarion remained kneeling on the ground, shaking, waiting for you to speak. No one—not the other spawn or your companions—dared speak or move.

Then you knelt in front of him and gently cupped his cheek in your hand, coaxing his head up. “Astarion… I don’t hate you, honey. I don’t. I…I understand. I’m not upset that you did what I asked you to do, I just…I wish you had told me the truth about it. I don’t like it, but I understand it. And I forgive you.”

The tension in the room shifted. Astarion stared at you with those wide, wet eyes of his, clearly caught off guard as much as, if not more than, your companions.

“Why?” he asked at last. “I let him turn you into a spawn! I let him make you the same abomination as me, as my siblings, as all these poor souls that had the misfortune of meeting me!”

You kissed the top of his head. “Meeting you was never misfortune,” you said to him. “Not in our lives. Not in your undeath. Not in mine.”

Astarion gripped your hand desperately. “Why?” he pleaded.

“Two hundred years are not easily shaken in six months,” you said softly, reminding him of a conversation you had already had about his instinctive need to seduce and manipulate you when he already had you. “I cannot blame you for any of your lies when I know why you have said them. You told me yourself, it’s instinctive. That you wanted protection. You couldn’t have known how I would have reacted if you told me the truth when I woke up, I’m not even sure of that. There was no promise that I would protect you then.” I squeezed his hand gently. “But I’m going to protect you now. I swear it.”

He shook his head, but he held your hand tightly as if he was still afraid of you leaving him, the bones in your fingers grinding from the pressure. “I’m… I’m not sure I’m worth protecting—”

“You are,” you said, cutting him off without a second thought. 

“Why protect me after what I did to you?”

Your heart broke. “Can’t you see? Oh, honey, it’s because I love you! I knew what I was getting myself into then, even if I didn’t remember it for so long. It’s not your fault I insisted, you even gave me several ways out.” You stood and pulled him up with you. “Come on, up you get. We’ve still got work to do, remember?”

Astarion dusted himself off as he got off the ground. He looked at you tenderly, his eyes soft. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

From the cage, Sebastian cleared his throat petulantly. The bubble that had kept your focus on Astarion popped. 

“Tender,” he drawled, “but foolish, trusting him again.”

“Speak for yourself,” you said, shrugging. “You’ll see, when we free you all.”

Astarion pulled a face. “Are you sure we can?”

You glanced back at Sebastian. “You said I fought back, right? And that was without a tadpole, when I was still a thrall.” You turned back to Astarion. “He can’t control either of us anymore. If anyone can kill him, it’s us.”

Slowly, Astarion nodded. “I… Yes. We can. Together.”

Sebastian drew closer to the cage’s bars. He held them as he murmured, “Maybe you will do it. Gods help us if you don’t, though.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you learned the gods don’t listen to the likes of us?”

“Boys,” you chided, before Sebastian could snap back. You glanced at your other companions. “Is everybody ready?�� They nodded and, at last, Astarion nodded, too.

You offered him your hand. “Now, let’s go kill our maker, shall we?”

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[d0odl3z]

Okay I have a fic idea, tell me if I'm on to something or if someone else has already done it. I was thinking about the relationship between astarion and regular tav and what it would look like after his ascension. I imagine that after a few hundred years, astarion would lose what little humanity he had, through his blind desire for power he would mold himself into a perfect replica of the man he once hated, and tav, poor tav. After hundreds of years of confinement and slavery being nothing more than a pet, a decoration to adorn astarions lap, they would be completely and utterly broken. What would happen if astarion was forced to regain his humanity, through a curse or a chance incounter with a particularly powerful hag, what if his mind reset to what it had been before the ascension? What would he do when faced with the reality that he became everything he despised, that he took the person that saved him and the only person that he ever loved and did to them exactly what cazador did to him?

[asidian]

Death and Fancies: Chapter 1

by: Asidian

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Cazador/Astarion

Warnings: noncon, torture, starvation, Astarion's very bad time during his first month after being turned

Excerpt:

Astarion gasps for air, and it tastes stale in his lungs; the scent catches in his nostrils, the too-sweet aroma of flowers just beginning to decay.

"Come to me, boy," says a voice, and it echoes through his mind.

Astarion knows that voice.

It lingers in fragments of memory: the hard grey shadows of a back street, and the sharp copper reek of his own blood, and the cobblestones beneath him, hard and filthy. He recalls staring down at the ruin of his own stomach, thinking senselessly that he's only just bought this shirt, and it will be a fortune to replace.

Then comes the voice: high and light and amused. Then comes the silhouette, standing in the mouth of the alleyway. Then comes a man, kneeling beside him – a face Astarion knows in passing, a noble from some event or another, someone whose name Astarion has not bothered to recall.

"You're dying, boy," the man in his memory says, and Astarion says, stupidly, "My shirt."