#and cazador's expression is a mystery. but astarion's? man.

[ghost-proofbaby]

“I must admit,” his voice is dropping, a rasp taking over as he grows close enough that she catches a whiff of bergamot and rosemary, “Your blood certainly calls to me more than the others. It’s tempting, to say the least.” 

summary: aruna probably should have known there would be consequences to letting astarion drinking her blood.

wc: 5.2k+

warnings: this chapter contains semi-graphic description of blood drink-

oh, sorry. i forget my audience. y'all knew it was coming - this one is for my fellow juice boxes <3

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Gale had been an endlessly patient teacher, and Aruna had taken that fully for granted. She simply hadn’t realized how good she had it, sitting with the wizard who would kindly answer all of her endless questions, until she was sat with Astarion and watched herself genuinely get on his very last nerve. 

“So,” Aruna says slowly, leaning even closer to the vampire on the bed of moss they had all but claimed as their own, “Let me get this straight – they drink your blood, you drink their blood, and that’s how you become a true vampire?” 

“You make it sound simple .”

“It does sound simple,” she narrows her eyes at Astarion’s exasperated expression. 

“Well, it’s not ,” he huffs, brows furrowed as he levels her with a returning glare. 

She doesn’t understand why he’d be glaring at her, but she sits patiently and waits for him to further explain himself. He doesn’t. 

“The man who turned you-”

“ Cazador,” he hisses the name in interruption with infinite discontent. 

“Yes, Cazador,” she doesn’t say the name with quite as much hatred, but something certainly tugs within her chest when the name falls from her lips. Something uncomfortably and nearly angry, but for reasons she can’t pinpoint, “He won’t let you drink his blood? Wouldn’t it be better for you all if there was… I don’t know, an army of powerful vampires?”

Astarion stares off ahead at something in the distance, and she could tell just how confining this conversation was slowly becoming for him. He sighs restlessly, “If only. Vampires are power-hungry creatures by nature. The biggest threat to a vampire isn’t a cleric with a stake, as you all seem to think. The biggest threat to a vampire, is another vampire.” 

The pieces are slowly coming together for Aruna, and she’s slowly beginning to understand that tug of disdain within her as she said Cazador’s name. Nothing good is becoming more and more apparent to be a cold-blooded truth. 

“He’s better off keeping you as his obedient puppet,” she murmurs, looking softly to her friend . “It’s not about strength in numbers by building an all-powerful army for the masses – it’s about Cazador building his own personal army of spawns. Making you a true vampire just makes you… competition.” 

Astarion won’t meet her gaze. There’s not a single sign of him confirming nor acknowledging her observation. His reactions on their journey thus far make far more sense; the instinctually loyalty he offered her, the small acts of defiance in which he was always testing the waters of her patience. He’s practically traded one master for another – he’s freed of Cazador, only to try and weasel his way under Aruna’s thumb instead, because it’s all he’s ever known. The safety of being someone else’s responsibility, the desperate reach for normalcy that she doesn’t think he’s even noticed himself grasping onto. If she were to so much as utter what she’s just realized, he’d probably drive a dagger into her chest for the suggestion. 

But she didn’t want to be Astarion’s newest master. She had no desire to exalt that type of terrible ownership over the spawn. All she really wanted was to keep him safe and alive, which was a mystery upon itself with all things considered. 

She decides to change the subject, not wanting to push him any further, “How are you able to walk in the sun? Is it a symptom of the tadpole or-”

“I have no idea,” he suddenly perks up, slowly returning back to her. She likes to see that – loves to see the spark of livelihood return to his eyes and the curiosity race across his features. It’s better than all the vacancy that would creep it’s way across him as he spoke of this Cazador, “Somehow, this tadpole has done some good. I can walk in the sun, I can cross running water, I can enter residencies without invitation. Something, someone , has officially changed the rules thanks to our little friends.” 

He taps a finger to his temple, and she feels the vibrations of their connection. She’d decidedly left the mental bridge open for the time being rather than closing him out again. All his tiny bursts of excitement with each word of his newfound freedom are felt fully, minuscule zaps amongst her own brain that she adores. 

He deserves it. She hardly knows him, but she knows he deserves this freedom he’s found despite their… complicated situation. 

“How convenient,” she hums, leaning back and mimicking his current position as her arms stretch out behind her to hold her weight, “Well, I’m glad one of us has some positive side effects. Sounds like you’ve won the brain worm lottery there.” 

This time, when he looks away from her, there’s no stress or fear in his features. He’s not wandering far from her mentally in recollection of his past; he’s simply looking around smugly, a faint smile playing at his lips, perfectly content. 

“Seems like it,” he agrees. 

With all that he’s revealed to her, she’s painfully aware of one topic they haven’t even brushed the surface of: his feeding habits. She obviously knows that he fed on the boar, has no doubt he’s been hunting down whatever small creatures he can get his hands on without causing any sort of ruckus that would draw attention. But the question lingers – is he used to only feeding on small vermin and the occasional boar? 

Is it enough to satiate his hunger? 

“I have a question-” she starts, and he’s already rolling his eyes, but she elects to ignore it, “-and you don’t have to necessarily answer it, I suppose, but… well, consider me too curious for my own good.” 

“When aren’t you too curious?” he pokes fun at her, but she can see that shift of worry beneath it all, “I think I’d be more worried if you didn’t have any prying questions for me after all that’s been said.” 

It’s just them. There’s no real harm in her asking as the rest of the camp rests, blissfully unaware of all she’s uncovered tonight. And yet she still hesitates, weighs out her options as she considers just how defensive he might get if she brings up his feeding habits. 

What answer was she even seeking out? Did she wish to hear that, yes , he could sustain himself as he had been? And did she even have a plan, a solution , if he says that he can’t ? 

The only blood she has easy access to would be her own. 

“You’ve been feeding on animals…” she begins uneasily, tongue already fumbling to find the right words. He’s looking directly at her now, attention all hers as he hums and nods to signal that he’s following along. How do I even phrase this? “Is that- are you- is that normal for you?” 

“Are you really asking a vampire if it’s normal for him to drink blood ?” 

The scoff he lets out truly isn’t helpful. Because she’s asking so much more than that. 

“Well, no- I just-” she can’t stop her stuttering, hands curling into tight fists as her nails bite into her palm in an attempt to steady her tone. She should just spit it out – ask him plainly and suffer the consequences, if there might even be any. “Is that all you need? Can you survive on just those animals, or should I be worried?” 

His face morphs. At first, it falls slowly, a genuine and vulnerable show of consideration until he seemingly remembers where he is and who he’s with. In an instant, the mask is up. 

“Well, they’ve worked just fine thus far, have they not?” 

His scowl is almost cute. That gentle scrunch of his nose and the way his lips pull to reveal the sharp tips of his fangs. The entire show should probably worry her, is probably his attempt to warn her from pushing too far, but she can’t find a lick of fear anywhere in her. In neither her own addled mind, or that half of her soul buried beneath a mountain of unknown memories. 

“I don’t know, have they?” It’s a hill she’s decided she’s willing to die on. Even if he lashes out, she’ll be pushing the question. Not just for her own safety, not just for the rest of her companion’s safety, but for Astarion’s safety. She’s meant to keep him alive, and part of that includes making sure he’s well fed, “I’m asking if this is the diet you’re used to, Astarion. If you’re capable of carrying on this way without me waking up to you fangs-deep in one of our companions.” 

She could have phrased it a bit more kindly. Especially as he stiffens up and glares even more harshly at her. 

“I’m not a monster, you know.”

“I never said you were.”

“Yes, but you seem to be insinuating such. I’ve kept my fangs to myself so far, why would you assume that to change after finding one of the carrion I’ve chosen to dine on instead of - oh, I don’t know – Gale , for example.” 

It’s certainly not the right time to crack a smile, but she can’t help it, raising a brow, “ Gale? Out of all our companions, he’s the one you’d first sink your teeth into?” 

If Astarion had any blood to spare, she’s sure it would be rushing to his cheeks right about now. 

“What can I say? He has a certain air of forbidden fruit to him, does he not?” 

He seems shocked when Aruna suddenly shifts her seated position. Instead of lounging beside him, she takes up the space directly in front of him, leaning in as if they were partaking in a secret conversation that not even the Moon would be privy to. 

“I suppose he does. Not my first choice but… at least he wouldn’t put up a fight like Lae’zel might,” she fully lets him sink into the hypothetical discussion with her rather than reminiscing on what he had assumed she was insinuating. It was a careful dance, a subtle beckoning, to drag them away from something that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

She didn’t see him as a monster, not in the slightest. And perhaps she should, or one day he would give her a reason to, but not tonight. Not here, in their little patch of moss, just hidden away from the rest of the camp. A spot forever tainted for her from now on, no longer her own personal bubble of safety to escape to, but their sanctuary. 

Any nights spent here without Astarion were tinged with loneliness, she’s come to realize. 

“Lae’zel would be quite the adventurous choice,” he nods, eyes slowly becoming hooded, as though the conversation was igniting a certain hunger in him she knew wasn’t satiated by mere boars, “Is that who you would sink your teeth into, my dear?” 

“Gods, no,” she laughs, shaking her head quickly, “I can feel the press of her blade against my throat even for entertaining the idea. No, no – I’d probably go with a safer option. Perhaps… Wyll.” 

Astarion’s face twists, as if the mere suggestion disgusts him, “ Ugh . I perish the thought – the man would probably be far too sweet.” 

She’s never really considered how each person’s blood may taste differently. And even if she’d never be in a position to really experience such a thing, it’s entertaining to watch Astarion’s reactions to the hypotheticals. 

“What about Shadowheart?” 

“Hm, better. She’s nearly as enticing as Gale.” 

“And me?” 

The question slips out beyond her control. She’s simply too lost in whatever game they’re playing. She expects another rapid fire answer, just as he’d provided for Shadowheart, but instead, he looks taken back . True and genuine consideration flashes across his features. He’s taking his time, as though actually picturing her blood flooding his senses. 

It should scare her. It should make her turn her cheek to him and call it a night. The mere thought of him drinking her blood should be enough to shake her from this entrapment that is his charm, but it isn’t.

She’d let him drink from her once. In her dream, in her discovered memory, she had let him feed on her. 

“Sweet, but not quite as overwhelming as Wyll’s,” he finally whispers carefully, gazing at her in bonafide interest, “I imagine you’d go down smoothly, like a well aged whiskey. Perhaps even burn along the way, but in an… enjoyable way, I suppose. A burn I’d like to experience, over and over.” 

“Sweet and spicy?” she huffs, growing a bit breathless, “You make me sound as though I’m made of pixie dust and cinnamon.” 

“You could be, for all I know.” 

“I could be.” 

Her voice is so faint she isn’t even sure if he’s heard her. But he has, of course he has , as he shifts a fraction of a meter closer to her. 

“I must admit,” his voice is dropping, a rasp taking over as he grows close enough that she catches a whiff of bergamot and rosemary, “Your blood certainly calls to me more than the others. It’s tempting, to say the least.” 

All that temptation, and he still had never attempted to drink from her in the dead of night. He’s had ample opportunity to take a taste, and he hasn’t. 

She trusts him. Gods, she trusts him more than she should, memories of a past life or not. Tasked with being his savior or not.

“You’ve never tasted a human’s blood, have you?” she quietly asks, finding herself also leaning in as he was, erasing that space between them. Her hand twitches, tempted to lift and shift her hair to only one side, to expose her neck to him. It would be playing with fire; it would be a reckless choice to bare such a vulnerable body part to a vampire who’s just admitted to craving your blood. 

She doesn’t do it, not yet. 

“You’re not human,” he teases with a tilted grin, cocking his head to one side, “You musn’t forget your drow heritage, dear Aruna. Although, I’ll admit, that only fuels the temptation. I’ve heard whispers of just how addictive a drow’s blood can be.” 

“Addictive?” 

She’s fully enraptured now. He’s caught her in whatever web he seems to be spinning for the two of them. They’ve saunted dangerously over a line that should have never been crossed; she should have left well enough alone, but she hadn’t, and now she pays the price as his words settle in her chest. 

“Think of it in terms of wines,” he has no need to stay so quiet, but his tone continues to lull gently across the spanse between them. Low words that she swears travels only to caress against her skin. The connection between their tadpole practically purrs with his sudden enticement, “Elven blood of any sort will always be considered of the more elite variety. Sweeter, richer, easier to get lost in. I’ve never tasted it for myself, but… well, word spreads amongst spawns and vampire lords alike.” 

He’s never tasted elven blood. She’s so close to getting an answer, one that she had forgotten she was chasing after as her knees bump his. She can feel the chill radiating off of him, and it should cause her to jump far from his touch, but she can only lean into it. 

A piece of her wants to break the distance and reach out for him. To hold him in her palms, to feel his body against hers. As if there has been a space specifically carved somewhere deeply within her, and only his shadow could fill the emptiness left behind. Only his carmine eyes, only his starlit curls, only his honeyed words. Only him. 

An Astarion-shaped hole, left between the two halves of her soul, that only he can bridge the gap between. 

She opens her mouth to reply, unsure of what words were about to even fall from her lips, when he interrupts, “I’ve never tasted the blood of a thinking creature – Cazador forbade it. I’ve only ever feasted on beasts .” 

A simple truth, offered so freely, that rattles her. 

She thinks she hates Cazador more with each bit of information Astarion offers up. 

“What would it do to you?” she whispers, swearing she could capture the reflection of her violet eyes somewhere within his pupils, “If you did drink from a thinking creature, would it be any… different?” 

He all but sighs out, “Infinitely.” 

Something inside her twists, thrashes, suggests. 

Offer yourself up to him. Offer him a gift. Offer your neck and don’t linger on the details. 

“It’d certainly make me more powerful,” he continues on, oblivious to the decision she’s arrived on the precipice of, “If you think I’m helpful in battle now, you should see what a well-fed vampire spawn is truly capable of.”

It makes sense . If she offers him her blood, he’ll fight better. He’d be more useful to her. Helping him achieve that power helps her in the long run as well, making her entire task of keeping him safe a whole lot easier. It would only be a taste; she has faith in him. He could restrain himself, he would stop when she commanded so. 

It simply makes sense, she convinces herself. 

“Would you like to?” she blurts out before she can overthink it. 

His eyebrows crease, “Like to what?” 

“Taste a living creature’s blood.” 

Time stands still as it always does with just the two of them. Aruna doesn’t dare to take another breath as she watches Astarion’s reaction, only partially worried that she’s overstepped some boundary she’d grown blind to. 

It made sense. It had to. 

He offers her protection, always following her closely and lending his daggers as needed, and she would offer her neck. It’s an even exchange, a fair trade. It’s the bare minimum of a gift she could offer him. 

“Well, that depends,” he laughs nervously, “Surely, no one is simply offering up their necks to me. Most of all not you.” 

“And if I was?” she cuts in, “If I was offering up my neck, would you accept?” 

His sharp intake of breath is audible, mouth falling open and gaze set on her. It’s soft with genuine shock for a few seconds before those rubies turn cold as stone, “Do not play games with me.” 

“No games are being played here, Astarion,” she doesn’t know what she has to do to convince him as she shuffles closer, growing more determined now, “You said it yourself. You can fight better, be stronger. All of this would benefit all of us in combat.” 

“And you trust me that much?” he huffs out, back straightening out as he sneers, “You’d trust me to not drain you dry, to not leave you in the middle of the road just like that boar?”

She’s never been asked a simpler question. For once, her mind is quiet, her answer resounding. 

“Yes.” 

She trusts him. Whether it’s the right thing to do or not, she simply does. 

She knows she shouldn’t want this. It shouldn’t feel so natural to offer up herself on such a pretty silver platter. He should be the one yearning, begging, for the opportunity. He should be the one overwhelmed by thoughts of how his fangs would feel as they pierced into her delicate skin. 

A chasm runs between them. Not Astarion-shaped, not Aruna-shaped, but vaster than either of them could fathom. And she stares into it, listening to the wind’s hushed warnings of all she is about to give up. All that is about to offer.

It’s a choice she can’t take back. One that she doesn’t even really want to take back, when she comes to think about it. 

His eyes are lively suddenly as he leans forward, an unexpectedly gentle hand brushing away the hair flowing over her left shoulder. With their mental bond, she can feel his hunger. That ringing abyss within him that echoes with all his wants, all his needs. The crippling and terrible thing that haunts his own gut, just as Aruna’s cleaved soul weighs upon her own chest. He helps heal the cleave – she doesn’t understand how or why, but he does. He makes the ache of being split in two a little more bearable. This small offering of help is the least she can do. To soothe the ache that resides in him. A tit for tat, of sorts. 

“You want this?” his pupils are blown, eyes wide and staring right where her skin quivers with her racing heart rate. Listening to each pounding of each beat that makes her hands shake as she continues to let his fingers graze the vulnerable skin, “Truly?”

“I do,” she confesses quietly, more to the moon than to him, “I want you at your strongest. If this is the price to pay, then so be it.” 

Save Astarion, no matter the cost. 

Her blood is a small token in the grand scheme of all that is to come.

He swallows hard, clearing his throat slightly, “Well… let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” 

It’s automatic as they readjust. She shuffles herself to lay down on the bed of moss they’ve made their own, holding her breath as Astarion grows closer and slowly lowers his palms to press into the ground on either side of her head. She can’t tell which is colder – the ground beneath her, or the body above her. He radiates a chill that challenges the night’s own beckoning winds, one that could freeze her from the inside out if she’d just let it. It doesn’t seem like a bad option, either, as warmth blossoms in the center of her chest from his proximity. 

She thinks back to the day they’d discussed methods of killing each other, should either of them ever appear to be succumbing to ceremorphosis. How the mere brush of his hands over her throat had sent her into a tizzy. The way he hovers over her now has a similar effect, switching on a terrible need to simply be close to him. The need for his touch, for his closeness. To feel each breath that he takes, not out of necessity but out of instinct . 

He could kill her if he wants to. Drain her of life, and with the way they’ve hidden themselves away, none of the others would know. 

His cool breath hits the side of her neck that he’s exposed, right over her thrumming artery, as he whispers, “ Relax . Just breathe, darling.”

She finally lets out a breath, head swimming as she fists the ground below, preventing her hands from coming up to touch him as they so desperately crave. Each deep breath that follows is flooded with his scent. The night is lost behind the essence of rosemary, bergamot, and… was that brandy? She thinks it might be. She’s sure it must be – but all thoughts have begun to evade her as his head dips down fully into the space between her shoulder and her ear, chest grazing her own as he adjusts to straddle one of her thighs. 

That’s my good girl, the whisper of his voice cuts through the tadpole bond, sending shivers down her spine as she gasps for breath. 

If she thought all logical thinking had been sent to the wind before, she knew it truly was now. All she knows is him . If he wants her, he can have her. She’s his. If only for this moment. 

He leans in closer, and waves of deja vu wash over her. She’s been here before , she swears she has. Beneath the weight of his body, his fangs mere inches from her skin. 

She’s been here before, his nose bumping along her neck, beckoning for her to stretch it even further for him as she looks up to the night sky.

She’s been here before, feeling the pounding of her heart so ferocious that he surely can feel the residual shakes of it in the little air between them.

She’s been here before, the grasp of his fingers against her hip, knuckles tense as he leaves his fingerprints seared into her skin, dancing dangerously close to the hem of her nightshirt. 

She’s been here before, feeling the graze of his fangs in trepidation as he takes in a final unnecessary breath-

The deja vu is interrupted. Flashes of memories intertwining with the present come to a halt by one simple, innocent action. He surely didn’t mean anything by it. Maybe it was instinctual. Maybe it was a warning. 

The softest press of his lips to her neck, the briefest of pecks, before she feels the return of his fangs. 

One kiss, not even a second long – and it effectively unravels her mind. 

In an instant, all self-restraint has been lost. She’s dizzy with the lingering feeling of that kiss, reeling from such an innocent action, when her hands let go of the moss below her and fly up to him. He tenses at first. The first brush of her desperate palms against his shoulder, and he stills entirely. It reels her in for just a second, and she readjusts, her greedy paws finding purchase elsewhere. One hand fists his sleeve within reach, the other rests delicate at the nape of his neck, urging him forward. Pressing him closer, closer, closer. 

She can hear his chuckle over the bond. 

Demanding little thing. 

Even over quiet, mental exchange, she knows she sounds pain-stakingly desperate and breathless as she replies, always. 

Demanding more of his touch. Demanding more of who he truly is. Demanding, demanding, demanding. The shattered bits of her will always call out to him with such an exigent manner. 

When his fangs pierce her delicate skin, it only fuels the flames. 

Icicles spread out beneath her skin, a searing pain she shouldn’t be so familiar with blossoming from where he’s sank them into her. In an instant, she can feel her blood rushing eagerly to pour out all that she can give him. And he drinks greedily, taking all that she will offer fervently. 

Every nip, every suck, every lick – she experiences it intensely. The hand on the back of his neck turns into a grip. She tries to keep gentle, she truly does, but she can’t help but tug tightly on those curls. Threading them between each finger, pulling on them in time with each pulsation of her ichor flooding his mouth. 

She feels him growl against her skin, and her entire body goes limp, pliant in his palms. 

She should stop him soon. She feels the tips of her fingers and toes going numb, but she finds herself clinging to the weightlessness that takes over her body. An addictive feeling, only comparable to what he must feel as he drags her even closer and buries his face even deeper against her. 

They’re getting lost in one another. Her head buzzes, an endless string of whimpers falling from his hunger lips, and she knows they need to stop . But it’s a distraction – a beautiful, kind, nice distraction. 

For just a moment, there’s no weight of who she is or once was. There’s no need for her to decipher her past or the memories that have been revealed to her thus far. All she has to focus on is him; the feeling of his hair between her fingers, the weight of his knee sliding up her inner thigh as he further bends himself in half to stay desperately close to her, his cold skin beneath her fingertips as they slip and lose their grip on his sleeve. Over the connection, the hunger fades, and in its place lingers a purr of satisfaction. Of happiness.

Her entire body has begun to go numb. Her eyes flutter shut, unable to handle the way the sky above is seemingly spinning. 

“Astarion.” 

Her voice is hardly even a whisper. Something to lose within the breeze, the smallest of pleas. Insignificant and insincere. He could kill her, here and now, and she would allow him. 

Astarion. 

Just as she feels herself slipping further, lids too heavy to even attempt to open, the tadpole connection between them goes taut. One moment, they’ve completely lost themselves in one another, circling about in that chasm together . The next, painful flashes blind them both. Muddled pictures, blurry with time and space, appear not only in her mind, but his . 

Astarion, leaning over her, caught red-handed during a time in which he had tried to taste her blood without permission. Frightful as he waits for her to make a choice: to stake him, or to trust him. 

Aruna, a book in one hand as the other tangles fully in Astarion’s snow-white curls. His face is buried in her stomach as he hums, hidden, but no doubt painted with a contentment the vampire has only dreamed of for two hundred years. 

Astarion’s hands resting on Aruna’s hips, his lips brushing her ears with dire instructions as he corrects her hold on a pair of daggers. Do not let your guard down after your first attack, his distant voice coos to her as a determination sets onto her features. 

Aruna, leaning her weight against Astarion’s side, pressed safely into him as he wraps a blanket around her shivering form a bit more securely. The backdrop of a city, of Baldur’s Gate, behind them. Nothing good waiting for them just beyond. 

A plethora of quiet nights spent in one another’s arms, across multitudes of landscapes. In the very camp they reside in now, in a darker scene in which the mushrooms just outside their tents seem to glow with magic. In a land of shadows, in some sort of inn that buzzes with the distant chatter of patrons down below. They all flash, one after another, each memory growing more blurred as they continue on. Aruna can’t decipher them, can’t reach out to cling to a single one, as she feels Astarion react to the intrusion as well. And then, it finally happens – a resounding snap within her mind that would have made her cry out in agony had she had any energy left. 

His fangs retract from her in an instant. He throws himself back, landing harshly on the ground beside her. She doesn’t even have the strength to stop him, let alone question out loud what has happened. 

She can’t say a single word. The echoes of the memories linger, the tadpole connection seemingly shattered. 

Heaviness consumes her, preventing her from sitting up immediately in the same revelry of shock that she assumes that Astarion exudes. It takes several deep breaths before she can so much as open her eyes, let alone sit up. 

When she finally does, she finds Astarion to be exactly as she had predicted, exactly as she felt: downright petrified. 

“What-” Astarion is the first to speak up between them, pupils so large that they swallow his eyes in pitch black. A drop of her blood has long trailed past his chin, marking down the side of his neck now as he takes a shaky breath, “-was that?”

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[random-introverted-blog]

His Star - His Queen [Chapter 2 - You Beckoned the Stars and They Beckoned Back]

Setting the stage

Summary: Already in pursuit with the aid of a mysterious Elven man and woman, your vampire spawn was coming to the rescue. Without you, his newfound freedom from Cazador was hollow. You were more than a treasure. You were his star. And he was yours. You’d done more for him than you would likely ever realize. You saved him from himself. Now it was his turn to save you.

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Once they emerged in the wide open space, it became clear that this was going to be a complicated ordeal. A dozen empty, elegant chairs surrounded a round table in the center, matching the marble floor. The curved walls featured aged stone construction, and the floors were made from white marble.

How the room remained so well lit was anyone's guess. Though there were torches mounted along the curved walls, they shouldn't be effective at all due to the immense size of the room. The only darkness to be found was in near the top of the tall ceiling.

On the right, there stood a pair of imposing wooden double doors, sealed shut and framed in cast iron. Upon closer inspection of the surrounding walls, one could spot delicate patterns reminiscent of faded murals that adorned the chamber.

The trio approached the round table and the man - young for an elf - set his papers down and meticulously pored over them, his fingers gliding over the rough texture of the parchment. Astarion's focus only shifted when the older woman passed beside him, her footsteps echoing in his ears. "It will take some time to arrange and organize an effective strategy—"

"How long?" Astarion bit, his voice as sharp as his fangs, and his eyes hardened into a piercing glare

"An evening, no longer." The woman answered. Her tone carried a sense of calm as she spoke, her words hanging in the air like a gentle breeze on a cool evening. "We are venturing into forbidden territory," she explained, her voice steady and unwavering. "The gods themselves are wary of our meddling with such powerful magics. They will only allow us to proceed if we can prove our intentions are pure, aimed at preserving the delicate balance of time and space." She says, brushing her fingers along the odd, unrecognizable markings along the rim of the cold marble surface.

Her gaze lifted, meeting his eyes with a solemn determination. "We must find a way to ensure your safe passage from this realm to his, without causing further harm to either of your worlds," she concluded. The gravity of her words permeated the atmosphere, serving as a constant reminder of the monumental task that awaited them.

Astarion raises an eyebrow, his irritation simmering beneath the surface as he considers the challenges that await them before they've even begun. "If he could saunter into ours with the same insouciance a drunkard enters a tavern with, why can't I?"

She shook her head, the strands of her bright blonde hair swaying with the motion. "The simple answer would be because he is an Ascendant," she said, her voice carrying a hint of weariness. She paused, her features etched with a grim expression, as if burdened by the weight of her words. "But he's beyond that. He is The Ascendant. There is no other like him across any reality. The..." She hesitated. The air, as if reluctantly, grew heavy with a profound sense of awe and reverence. But her hesitation was born of more than that. Astarion recognized it right away. She was biting her tongue. Withholding information.

"If we were to open the way for you to trespass in his homeline now," she continued, her voice tinged with caution, "you would not last a full day before your body and soul deteriorated to dust." The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, suffocating. The atmosphere was charged with an unspoken danger, as if the very walls were aware of the consequences that awaited any who dared to challenge the Ascendant. "And without you, she has no hope of returning home. Not on her own." She said, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness.

Astarion felt his body stiffen, and he lifted his chin. Dead coiled in his chest like a frigid hand gripping his dead heart at the mere thought of you being truly trapped with that freak wearing his face. "The Ascendant's repression of his late queen was constant. She tried many times to find her freedom, to no avail. Even in death, he would not allow her to depart his side." The sound of her words echoed in the silence, each syllable carrying the weight of a lifetime of captivity. "The use of the disintegrate spell was rather clever on her part," she confessed. Her words carried a bitter melancholy, testament to the lengths she had gone to escape the clutches of the Ascendant.

"Why are you telling me all this?" He asked, his voice becoming more subdued, as if his lifeless heart was crumbling to ash within his chest.

Their eyes locked in a moment of intense connection, the woman's gaze revealing the weight of her words. "He spared no effort in protecting what he held dear, his most precious possession, only to have it torn away from him."

As she drifted toward him, Astarion's body tensed, his eyes unwavering. "He spared no effort in his relentless pursuit to find your Tav," she explained, "and went even further to take her from you." She skillfully thrust the memory back into his mind, causing a surge of emotions to course through him. The vision of your desperate struggle against the Ascendants' arms around you... How you only ceased when that magic encircled you. She paused, creating a palpable silence between them, before continuing, her voice tinged with a sense of foreboding. "And now that he has what he wants, his behavior will only worsen. His obsession will dominate her, becoming inescapable... He will not willingly relinquish his grip on his newfound queen."

Her warning came with a tone that left no room for ambiguity, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation as she continued "no matter how vehemently she resists, she will not so much as bend a single bar of the gilded cage he has confined her in." The woman's gaze lingers, a veil of poignancy shadowing her face, as if a dark brushstroke has painted her features. "And that's before he has tamed her. Shattered and molded her into his submissive queen, trained her mind to perceive his actions as true love..." Her voice teeming with sympathy... pity...

"That is why we need you. She needs you," she emphasized, tone filled with conviction and shows him no mercy, reminding him once again of where you were, what you were going through as they stood around. "That is why we must do everything in our power to ensure you have the best chance to overcome the heaven-height mountain that lies before you. And that starts by equipping you with the necessary enchantment to meld your existence into a timeline where you already live..."

As she studied his expression, she couldn't help but notice the mix of astonishment and bewilderment that played across his face, causing her to sigh in resignation. "If this is too great a burden to bear, we will not stop you. You are free to return to your homeline and live however you wish. We will stop him, one way or another. But we cannot guarantee her wellbeing."

Motionless, Astarion grappled with the heavy responsibility she had bestowed upon him. His instincts were screaming at him, telling him to have nothing to do with this. It was apparent that she was being selective in what she shared with him. That alone should be enough to ignite his fury and make him accept their offer to send him back.

But then he recalls the despondent look in your eyes, the way they shimmered with tears. Your voice quivered with emotion as you spoke those three little words and hung his name at the end. It was more than just fear that caused your eyes to gloss over; there was also a deep anguish. And with each tear that fell, the bitter ache of being forcibly torn apart from him was imprinted into every drop. Your heart filled with palpable anguish. That you'd never be able to say them to him again. The beautiful twinkling stars of your eyes, like his own night sky, flickering into nothingness.

Foolish, altruistic, reckless to extents that made him initially wonder if you were suicidal. And frustratingly heroic as you were, he knew you would have done the same for him in a heartbeat if the roles were reversed - lacking any of his rather wise caution. Hells, you had been doing the same for him when this mess started. Freeing him from his cruel master...

He was many things, but he was no liar.

He vowed he'd save you.

He would save you.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A/N: Just setting things up here, choosing the drapes (I'm going straight to hell for writing this one)

[vampiric-hunger]

𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕤 & 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕤 - 𝕖𝕡𝕚𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖

pair: Cazador Szarr x female! dhampir !reader (this chapter)

tags: no y/n is used, rating - E, dead dove do not eat, smut, incest (father/daughter), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving)

summary: arrangement has been made and it seems to be working well. or at least you think it is from how your father appears to be going along with it. but he has conditions for you if you want him to keep allowing you to 'play' with Astarion and you can only hope you'll be able to fulfill them.

word count: 1,793

a/n: 🎶surprise surprise~ surprise surprise~🎶

or maybe not so much of a surprise? those who very kindly told me on my defunct sideblog that they want more are probably not as surprised. but here it is, an epilogue to the story. i always had the epilogue planned in my head, although this version is completely and utterly different from the og idea. despite the change i'm quite sure it's a good addition to the main story. enjoy <3

“He’s behaving much better now.” Cazador comments.

He’s sitting behind his elevated desk, reading a letter, one of many that have been delivered during daytime while he was resting with you in the bedroom. Now that it’s nightfall again he resumed his duties as a patriarch of his coven, but not before having his needs met by you like he does almost every evening immediately after he wakes.

You are looking outside the window, holding a heavy curtain to the side meant to keep the sunlight out during the day if your father has to be awake for any reason. Usually that reason is a very important one for him to skip his vampiric slumber.

“Who?” you snap out of your thoughts and look at Cazador curiously.

“The boy.” Cazador says and adds nothing else. He absolutely hates calling his spawn by names so now you’re left to be guessing who he means. But you have a very good idea who.

“Astarion, right?” you ask after a moment to think and Cazador glances at you with a calm expression before looking down at the letter clutched in his fingers.

“Yes, him. I’m surprised. He always had a… rebellious streak in him.” Vampire Lord pauses, then lowers his hands onto the desk and looks at you again. “Children like him don’t understand why they need to be disciplined. He doesn’t understand that his behavior is a reflection on me and our family name.”

How Cazador emphasizes certain words leaves you with no doubt – he still very much deeply despises Astarion. And yet he still continues to allow you to spend time with this spawn. Not to mention he often participates too. This is something you still cannot figure out, even after several months since all three of you came to agree on this arrangement. Why he continues to allow another man, a man he utterly hates, have you intimately? For some reason you feel that asking him directly might be a grave mistake. So you haven’t, not yet at least. But the question still deeply puzzles you.

And so does it puzzle Astarion. During times that you two spend alone, without your father’s presence, he too muses why Cazador would allow such a thing. Neither of you have an answer. Your father tends to be a mystery beyond understanding sometimes. Until he himself reveals his motives. And so far he didn’t bother to tell you all the whys and hows. But you’re sure the time will come.

“Then aren’t you glad he’s behaving now?” you let go of the curtain and walk to your father, stepping onto the elevated platform that his desk is standing on. Cazador follows you with his eyes as you approach and moves the letter he was reading to the side.

“Yes, I am. Even if his only motivation for finally behaving is you.”

“Hm.” you hum at the thought, could he be right?

Neither of you speak for now and you move closer. When Cazador leans back in his luxurious chair you step to the desk and sit on the edge of it, slipping along it to be right in front of him and your father smirks in approval. You lift your legs and place your feet on the armrests when he removes his elbows from them.

“Even if it’s me he’s behaving for, still a benefit, is it not?” you ask calmly with your eyes on Cazador’s face but he’s not looking up. His focus is now on your body, your parted legs.

Vampire Lord’s cool palms find your ankles and begin sliding up your legs, lifting your long dress as he does so and when the fabric is just over your knees his hungry eyes move to look at your cunt. Per his instruction you don’t wear underwear so you’re perfectly exposed for him. He grins.

“It is, but I don’t want other spawn to think that all they have to do to be able to sleep with you is start rebelling. The boy is only allowed into our bedroom because you wanted him.” Cazador speaks while his hands move between your legs and his fingers spread your folds apart, making you blush even if you’re only feeling, not seeing, what he’s doing. To give him a better access you lean back, pressing your palms flat against the desk’s surface behind you.

“I’m confident no one is thinking that, dad.” you say in a voice now laced with desire as his thumb traces your entrance, trying to tease out the proof of your building arousal.

“I’m not so sure about that. Maybe I should have Godey flay Astarion for a week, to show the others that he’s not special. No one is special in this palace except for you.” Cazador’s voice is lower than usual, his other thumb begins circling your clit and you bite down a moan, your legs begin to quiver. With how easily his thumb start sliding over your spread open entrance you know you’re all wet for him already.

“Don’t, dad. I don’t want Astarion broken. It’s enough already you don’t feed him anything that’s not a pest.” you try to keep your voice leveled and even but it quivers just like your legs and you begin moaning when your father’s thumb, now dipped into your own slickness, returns to your clit and rubs it expertly, performing in exact way that you like best.

“The boy will get arrogant if he’s not reminded of his place, my dear daughter.” Cazador glances up at you and you bite your lip down, your eyes meeting his as you blush and breathe heavily, your chest heaving, your fingers pressing harder against the desk.

He doesn’t stop. Your father’s thumb still rubs electrifying circles against your swollen nub but fingers of his other hand now cease their stroking, instead he inserts two of them into you, making you moan louder, making your body tense in response to pleasure and your body being invaded.

“Don’t look away.” Cazador commands and begins pumping his fingers into your cunt. Slowly at first, but then faster and harder, making you moan louder.

“Dad, don’t punish him.” you try to continue the conversation, your eyes on the crimson of his and Cazador smirks in return.

“You really like your toy, don’t you?” he asks and you’re not sure if this is some kind of trap so you simply nod. “Well, as long as you don’t forget that you’re mine and mine only.” Vampire Lord’s fingers curl inside of you, making your back muscles taut and you have to put in all your effort not to throw your head back, close your eyes and cry out from pleasure.

No, he wants you to look at him so you obey, a good girl that you are.

“I’m yours, dad.” you whimper, gasping for air with a soft mewl every time his fingers plunge back into you, his thumb on your clit not relenting.

Cazador smirks at that and pulls out his fingers, leaving an aching absence in their wake and you let out a noise of frustration but it gets cut short when your father leans in and replaces his thumb with his tongue. You gasp loudly and close your eyes now that he’s hidden behind the fabric of your dress still draping over your thighs. You feel the tip of his tongue flick at your clit, making you yelp, then his lips press around your cunt, his tongue slips inside of you with ease and he begins moving it, making you moan, making you put all your effort into not laying on your back and just letting yourself enjoy this. But you don’t dare to move, without Cazador’s command you never move.

His hands now grip your thighs as you shiver from pleasure and strain to stay in your position but the feel of his tongue is driving you crazy, your swollen clit throbs with need and your father doesn’t ignore it. His tongue leaves your core and presses flatly against your sensitive nub, then he begins to suck, drawing out partial screams from behind your lips now.

“Dad, fuck… Oh gods!” you gasp while his tongue rubs against your clit, while he sucks on it, rushing you to your climax in a matter of seconds and making your head spin.

You feel barely prepared for when your orgasm hits you. It hits you heavily, mind-numbingly and gloriously. You can’t keep your body up and you fall onto your back on the desk and cry out again and again and again. Your fingers pull at the dress on your thighs to move it away and you grasp Cazador’s hair, gripping it with force. While you’re consumed by your bliss your father pushes his tongue into your spasming cunt once more, relishing the feeling of your body contracting from pleasure he has given you. And then it begins to fade.

With heavy gasps you remain laying still, but your grip in Vampire Lord’s hair loosens and his tongue slips out of you. He gives your seam and your throbbing clit a slow lick, making you twitch in response, everything’s so sensitive now and you hear him chuckle.

“What a good girl you are.” he praises and you manage a tired smile to that. You feel good when he praises you.

But then you sense Cazador move away from your spread legs and you open your eyes just as he leans over you. His eyes bore into yours and you expect a kiss but he doesn’t lean any lower. For some reason his expression is serious, making you feel mild concern in your dizzied mind.

“If you want to keep the boy as your plaything then you will have to be a very good girl and do everything I tell you to do.” Cazador says in a voice that means he’s not teasing, not taunting, he means every word with seriousness of a wooden stake to the heart.

“Anything, dad. I always do anything you tell me to do.” you manage to whisper between your labored breaths and his eyes narrow slightly.

“I know. That’s why I love you so.” he caresses your sweaty cheek. “Rest assured, when time comes I will let you know what needs to be done. And there’s plenty of affairs planned in near future, my dear daughter. But for now, be good.”

Cazador leans and presses his lips against yours. When you part them, letting his tongue into your mouth, you taste yourself and it makes you quietly whimper.

Still, what he said lingers in your clouded mind.

Plenty of affairs planned. And he wants you to be part of them.

You don’t dare to think what that might be.

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p.s. now that you've read (i shall assume) through the chapter i will make it clear - part 2 is coming 🎉