Killing Time - faerieVampling - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visitor

Chapter Text

You wake up with a strong sense of unease. Astarion, your creator and husband, picks up on it immediately, of course. The two of you are so profoundly connected, your minds nestled together; he knows that you do not know the ‘why’ for these feelings.

Astarion kisses and cuddles you good morning, as he always does, but he holds you a bit longer this time, not wanting to get out of bed with his consort feeling this way. His hold on you is tight as he buries his nose in your hair.

Alas, Astarion has work to do, including ensuring the protection of his territories and assets, especially at a time like this.

The war, my darling. The war. Astarion reminds you again. You hadn’t been affected by it at all, and didn't really care. And Astarion really didn’t care that you didn’t care. He only wanted your happiness and wellbeing, and had worked hard to keep you away from it all.

But he feared that maybe you could sense it, or were beginning to. His weariness, his stress; those feelings he did his best to guard you from.

Astarion cradled you to his chest, one arm on your naked back and the other nestled in the root of your hair, giving you gentle massages as you listen to the thump of his ever-beating heart. After a while, Astarion repositions the two of you so that he may offer his neck to you. He knows this is your (second) favorite place to feed, because you can feel the beat of his heart and drink in his scent.

He also knows you’d rather like to feed from the inside of his thigh, but now was not the time for that. Well, maybe it was, but the two of you were already late for court.

As you sup of his blood, you moan with pleasure - there is nothing better to a bride than the blood of her creator, and Astarion was a very generous master.

“Your master adores you, my little darling,” Astarion whispers in your ear as you feed, his hand moving to caress the back of your head. His teasing words cause you to grind into his hips, and you can feel him beginning to get hard.

“Enough, my pet,” Astarion says as he pulls you away, detaching your fangs from his ivory skin. As he meets your gaze, the memories of your days of madness wash over him like the shock of ice cold water.

Long ago, Astarion insisted you feed on him and only him. There was danger in this, a bride feeding too much from her Master. This, Astarion knew, but his mind was shrouded with paranoia.

In another land, one of the brides of vampire master Geldon Moth was poisoned and killed. Once Astarion heard the news, he came to a quick decision.

Believing his blood to be the safest for you, you were to feed on him and only on him. After months of letting you gorge, Astarion saw the bridal madness for the first time.

Astarion is quick to push the memory away. Before he does, you catch a glimpse of the scene: you’re inconsolable, starving, horny as a bitch in heat, and as violent as ever. Astarion is crying, begging you to come back to yourself.

Astarion no longer remains your only food source. He is your primary one, indeed, but the essence of others is to be drunk from a goblet, not from lips to skin. That is reserved for you and your creator.

Thou art mine. A thought rings in your head.

You help Astarion dress, as you have for the past… so many years. Astarion dismissed his footman so long ago, preferring to do the work himself with the help of his consort. His aversion to touch, anyone’s but your own, was an ever-growing symptom of the choices the both of you made so long ago.

Astarion plants a tender kiss on your lips before he goes, and your own maid comes in to help you dress and take care of your hair. She wants to put it in an updo of some kind, so that you match with the other ladies of the court.

But you’ve been feeling rather rebellious, and Astarion sat on the throne, so you could do whatever you wanted. And so you did.

You keep it long, like a curtain, and now that Astarion had finally moved on from his insistence that you wear something low cut, you choose a dress that is modest, comfortable, but regal enough. You ditch the shoes. You’ve been alive for nearly two millenniums. You know your beauty is already unmatched, and you needn’t worry yourself with discomfort. Your feet rarely touch the floor, anyways.

But your current maid doesn’t seem to agree, and always argues with you about the f*cking shoes. Before she even begins, you hiss at her.

This maid, Bethild, is one you’ve had for a while now. First joining your service as a young woman, Bethild was now rather old and round, you think. She tuts at you for hissing before crossing her arms, ready to give you a lecture.

“It’s not befitting of a Lady in your position to be hissing,” Bethild addressed you in ways others would die for, but you rather liked her, and Astarion did too.

But before she could continue, you use your vampiric telepathy to force your way in. THE DRESS IS LONG ENOUGH. NOBODY WILL SEE. You scream this into her mind, trying to cause her a bit of pain, maybe some nausea.

Bethild knows when she’s lost a battle, and she murmurs something about your Master hearing about this as she bumbles her way out of your room.

You roll your eyes at her as she leaves. Why must we do this everyday? You reach out to your husband. But he doesn’t immediately respond, because he already knows your grief: it is simply becoming increasingly difficult for you to tolerate mortals.

We can get you a new maid, my consort. Or we can get rid of them all together. Whatever it is you want, it will be yours. Astarion reaching into your mind is always comfortable, and the contact sends a shiver to your core.

You didn’t understand how Astarion could handle it so well. So much better than you. You were thankful that he could, of course, but you just didn’t understand.

You’re perfect the way you are, my consort. You don’t need to be like me. You are mine, and I will always take care of you.

Once you’re ready, you float to your throne, making a bit of a scene because of your tardiness. Astarion doesn’t care; the subjects can wait, especially for you.

As you take your seat, Astarion holds your hand, idly (and a bit anxiously) playing with your fingers as he handles business. He likes to look at them as he mulls over the proceedings in his mind; he plays with your rings, twisting them around your fingers and sometimes switching them between digits. Every day, he looks forward to seeing what choice of jewelry you will make. It makes him feel tremendous pride to see the beauty of your soft and smooth hands, and to see the decadent jewels on your pretty fingers.

Whatever business Astarion is handling today is, frankly, totally lost on you. If something important happens, something you need to know, Astarion will tell you.

So, you lose yourself in the folds of you and your eternal lover’s mind. You always enter this vampiric trance during court. You needn’t speak, because you trust your beloved creator to speak for you.

After a few hours and a few dealings later, something briskly breaks you out of this trance. That unease.

Astarion squeezes your hand to draw your attention to him. You meet his gaze, and you see a lot there: love, need, possession, inquiry, frustration. You’re having a hard time parsing through it, but what you gather is you are making Astarion extremely uncomfortable.

We’re almost done here. After court, you will be sequestered away until I know you are safe. Is all he communicates with you.

It’s just a sense of unease, my love. Please just stay with me, you are all the protection I need. Don’t lock me away. You are practically begging at this point, but your face gives nothing away. You are dampened by your curse. Rather it be the vampiric curse or the curse of time, you aren’t sure. You are still you, but your light shines dimmer.

Astarion narrows his eyes at you. Your foresight has been right before.

You shake your head at him. Now, you’re both starting to lose your poker faces. The mortals murmur around you, but the two of you exist only with each other at this moment, and the rest of the world is diminished.

This is different. It’s just a feeling, nothing more. I’ve had no visions, Master. You call him this to soften him up; it makes Astarion’s co*ck twitch just to hear you say the word.

As Astarion’s thoughts turn lewd, a servant approaches him, informing him of the next visitor to be heard. You feel Astarion’s mind slip away from yours as he focuses on the world around him.

But the words of the servant are tumbling around in his head. Scary, strange looking elf.

What? You ask, probing into Astarion’s mind.

He looks over to you, his handsome features and lustful eyes (he’s still having some lewd thoughts) causes your breath to catch and sends your second heartbeat to race. He said the visitor knew us, and was a terrifying, strange looking elf.

A picture has already formed in Astarion’s mind of a strange green egg that was briefly in your possession during your adventuring days. Still holding each other’s gaze, you both silently acknowledge that the ‘strange elf’ is in fact, not an elf.

The two of you further slip into each other's minds, a feeling so familiar by now yet no less pleasurable. The folds of your waking mind are fondled by his, and as he is weaving through you, he finds a memory he cannot ignore: that pretty clearing. His own version of the memory rises within him, meeting yours halfway. He is focused on that first kiss, that first taste of you, your folds, the taste of your sweat…

You can’t help but smile as you hear Astarion’s heart racing. The passage of time is cruel and has taken many things from you and Astarion both. But neither of you could ever forget that first night.

Focus, my lover. You poke at him.

Astarion smirks. It must be a githyanki. We fought many of them, remember, little love?

You remember, only vaguely. Astarion’s memory was much sharper than yours, due to his ascended state.

Deciding to give it no more thought, you drift off into your trance again, and Astarion lets you. You needn’t care about this mysterious visitor; you had other things to worry about, like drinking blood, striking fear into the hearts of mortals, and how you were going to convince your darling husband to get on his knees and put his pretty lips on your glistening, swollen sex later tonight.

You glance at Astarion as he’s listening to one of the servants. You focus on his pretty lips, and how perfect they look around your nipple, or your cl*t.

You think you’ll start by wearing a low cut dress to dinner - yes, that would be the right move. He wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off the plush curve of your breasts, especially if you could manage to wear a corset. You’re also thinking you’ll skip the panties, because surely you can goad him into putting a hand up your skirts. Maybe you’ll invite him to feed on your inner thigh; he loves that tender spot so much, he likely wouldn't be able to help himself to having a taste of you —

“I see your union has stood the test of time,” The sound of the woman’s voice snaps you back into the present with a whirl. You know her voice. You know her face, even: pretty, green skin, orange hair, she even looks rather young, still.

“It is good to see you both. You look….well.” The githyanki says. She is wearing armor, and has a long sword sheathed on her back. She looks at you uneasily, but you see a fondness in her eyes and a comfortable sense of familiarity.

Lae’zel . Astarion tells you. She was once your lover. You can feel Astarion seething at the reminder that once, you were not his. You don’t really know how to respond to him, because you do remember your time with Lae’zel, but it was so long ago it is literally ancient history.

You knit your brows together as you take her in. Her coming must be that feeling of unease. And Astarion tells you as much as he converses with Lae’zel. She wants something, he tells you. Despite his broiling jealousy, Astarion keeps a cordial, straight face as he converses with Lae’zel.

She has been in the Astral Plane, a place outside of time and space, fighting a seemingly never ending war with Vlaakith. And she has come to her only living allies on the mortal plane, the Ancunins, for help.

Lae’zel and Astarion come to an agreement for a private meeting on the morrow. Astarion’s emotions are all over the place; he ends court early, deciding to sequester you to the bedchamber early.

As he marches you to the boudoir, hand on your wrist as you’re barely keeping up with him, Astarion is stopped by a servant. Whatever message Astarion receives leaves him feeling desperate - his mind was disarranged, his face twisted in grief.

Parsing through his mind, you can’t even manage to make out a few words - whatever has happened, Astarion is either hiding it from you or still trying to process it himself. Likely a bit of both, you decide.

But once the two of you reach your bed chambers, he becomes a single minded man.

Astarion grabs both of your wrists with one hand and has you bent over the bed before you can even register your own movement. With his other hand, he is pushing up your skirts, finding his way to your naked sex.

“How ignorant of me to believe all of your past lovers were dead,” His voice escapes through gritted teeth, low and raspy. Astarion maneuvers you on the bed so that you are now on your knees with your ass in the air, hands still being held behind your back. With no way to support yourself, your head rests on the bed.

So much for your plan of getting Astarion on his knees for you.

Astarion’s grip on your wrists tighten as his other hand grazes your exposed labia, caressing the lips of your c*nt with his dexterous fingers before sliding a finger inside of you until he is knuckle deep.

“Do you remember your time with her, my consort?” The sensation of his finger being dragged against your slick, spongy walls send you rolling your hips into his hand, desperate for more.

Yes , you think desperately, even though he already knows the answer. He’s surely searched your mind already, probably long ago.

“Say it. Use your words,” His tone is harsh, but his fingers gentle as he slides another into you with little resistance.

“Yes, I remember,” You say, the words feeling odd in your mouth. You realized you hadn’t spoken aloud in quite a while.

Astarion lets go of your hands and brings his arm around your front, a hand gripping your neck and bringing you upright, so that your back is to his chest. His two fingers are still buried inside you.

“I am forever yours, Astarion,” His grip on your neck is gentle, and you’re able to turn your head to look at him. His ruby eyes bore into you, such a perfect reflection of your own.

His own eyes are pleading. Tell me. Please.

You brace yourself. Not because you don’t mean it, but because you know you will never hear the reciprocation spoken aloud.

“I love you, Astarion,” You supplicate.

His eyes are wet, just for a moment, and then his lips crash into yours, his hand trailing up to grab your jaw, to guide you to him. He relinquishes you from his fingers and quickly removes his clothing, not wasting any time to put himself between your legs.

Your dress is long gone by the time Astarion lines his co*ck up with your entrance, eyes locked with yours in an intense gaze.

“Say it again. For your Master, spawn,” He growls. You knew this was merely just a part he wanted you to play sometimes, but it hurt all the same. He knew this. But he needed this from you.

“I love you eternally, Master,” You speak with a soft voice barely above a whisper as Astarion rubs his swollen tip against your puffy folds.

His ruby eyes bore into you as he pushes into you slowly; a moan escaping his pretty lips once he’s bottomed out, balls deep inside of you. He leans over and plants a kiss on your forehead before meeting your gaze again.

“You are my everything, Tav.” His voice is raw, and this is all he can manage before his lips meet yours again. You clench around his co*ck as he begins to set a slow, steady pace.

That tiny longing inside of you vanishes, and you know that you are his everything. You tangle your hand in his hair and deepen your kisses; Astarion whimpers at this, and when he quickened his pace, your c*nt is making lewd, squelching noises at the power of his thrusts.

“Gods above,“ Astarion breathes against your lips. He begins to play with you, adjusting his pace until he finds the perfect rhythm to exuberate the lewd sounds of your desperation.

Bringing himself upright, Astarion watches you; your lips are parted, showing off your beautiful fangs, which he loves so much. He admires your smooth, unmarred skin, as he was careful not to leave any scars on your body. Sure, he had wanted to permanently mark you, but he thought it cruel and pointless: you are his, and nothing will ever change that.

As Astarion slides his co*ck along your walls, you can’t help but clench around him as you eye your gorgeous husband.

Astarion’s beauty was that of literal legends; as you eye his disheveled curls, the cut of his muscles and jaw, and you know that every ballad, every poem, every story of the beauty of Astarion the Decadent, Hero of Baldur’s Gate, is true.

Astarion needs to taste you now, and he slowly pulls his co*ck out from your desperate c*nt, causing you to whimper from the loss. Astarion lowers himself between your legs before examining your sex.

“I’ve made a sloppy little mess of you, haven’t I?” Astarion smirks at you, his pupils blown with lust. With his fingers, he spreads your folds, eyeing you as your anticipation grows. He swipes his tongue from your entrance to your cl*t before he wraps his lips around your swollen, glistening cl*t and begins to suck; his tongue is so soft, so gentle, and the steady circles he is making with his tongue have you trembling beneath him.

“Perfect…” He murmurs against your sex, the vibration of his silky voice causing you to whimper. “You’re so…” He can’t even finish his sentence as he begins to devour you, and he is desperate to taste you as you come. He has you screaming his name in mere seconds, and you are putty in his hands as he brings himself back up to his knees and rams his co*ck in you.

You’re so wet, and to your surprise, Astarion inserts two fingers inside you along with his co*ck; the stretch makes you groan, and he smiles wildly as his other hand grasps your jaw, pulling your head aside to expose your neck to him.

Mine. Mine. Mine. To do with as I please. Body, blood, and soul. You’re mine to f*ck, to stretch out, to eat, to use, and you can never leave me. This scares you, but you can’t deny your increasing wetness for him. And you can’t deny the truth of his words.

Astarion slides his fangs into you, making you shudder as he moans loudly; he is so deep inside you, you can feel his swollen tip hitting your cervix, and you claw at his scalp and his back as he drinks you in.

After just a few sips, Astarion is coming undone, and his arms are around you now, holding you so tightly to him that you can’t breathe. You can feel his balls contracting against the curve of your ass as he spills his seed inside you. He trails mindless kisses on your skin as he comes down from the high of his org*sm.

He holds you to him for a while, co*ck still inside of you, and you can feel the decreasing thump of his heart against your chest. Eventually, he rolls over, and when you’re released from his co*ck, you feel his seed spilling out of you, dripping down your slick folds and pooling at your pert asshole.

“I’m going to commission a painting of you, just like this.” He says as he examines the damage. “I’d have to gouge their eyes out after, of course.”

Of course. You reach out in agreement with a smile on your face.

“Speak, my darling. I want to hear your pretty voice.” Astarion gathers you between his legs, your back to his chest as he wraps his arms around you and cradles you to him. He’s still trailing kisses wherever he can: your neck, your shoulder, your cheek, your ear.

“Sorry. Habit.” It was a habit, but nowadays, it was more of a preference.

“You needn’t apologize, lover.” Astarion rests his head on your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your skin. “I’d like for you to attend the meeting with Lae’zel with me.”

You needn’t be anywhere but right by my side. Lord Moth’s estate was attacked again. A few of his spawn were killed.

Well, that is far better than being locked in the boudoir, you think. “Of course I’ll come with you.”

After a moment, you speak again. “I can’t believe she’s still alive. I thought all our past friends were dead.”

“Me too. From what I can recall about Lae’zel, it was ignorant of us to think that woman could ever die.” The two of you giggle as you reminisce on old adventures, the ones Astarion is willing to dwell on, to enjoy.

Astarion doesn’t mention his jealous feelings about Lae’zel’s sudden reappearance, but you feel it in his actions as the two of you spend the rest of the day in bed; he takes you again, biting you in places he had never before, coming in every hole of yours that he could, until you were well and truly taken and used.

Eventually, the two of you drift off in each other's arms, as you always did. But your lasting thoughts are not on blood, fear, or Astarion’s co*ck (well maybe a little bit), but on the ‘why’ of Lae’zel’s return. Astarion shares in your anxiety, but assures you to be patient, as all will be revealed on the morrow.

Chapter 2: Decisions, Darling

Chapter Text

You stare blankly at Lae’zel as she explains, in a rather long and drawn out way, that she needed your aid. Her tale is rather boring, you think, and you nearly begin to trance again, but Astarion keeps you alert.

Try to pay attention, little love.

You swirl your glass of wine, trying to keep yourself focused on Lae’zel’s words, but you're rather hungry. You try to drown out the two beating hearts in the room, but the sound is hard to ignore: they are both so nervous.

Soon, my darling. Astarion takes your other hand, fingers idly playing with your rings. He noticed you had worn the priceless pearl ring, the one he had gotten you from Amn about a century ago. He thought it looked lovely on your finger, and he mindlessly plants a kiss to it. You had paired it with an amythest stud in one ear and a long, droopy sun on the other.

Astarion had called the droopy earring derivative.

Lae’zel describes her need for allies to further Orpheus’s cause and the diminishing power of Vlaakith. She speaks about Vlaakith for a while, too long for Astarion to reasonably expect you to pay attention.

But you try to at least pretend like you are, even though you are now wondering what Githyanki blood tastes like.

I will do my best to find some for us. You’d love it, my sweet. Astarion looks at you playfully, and you shoot him a little smile.

Your eyes lock on him and take in his decadence; his deep red and gold ensemble pair nicely with his perfect silver curls. His pretty, full lips are tilted in a half smile as his attention is split between you and Lae’zel.

You’ve always thought the color of his eyes were beautiful, and they were now a perfect reflection of your own. Not every vampire had the same shade; Astarion was surprised but incredibly pleased at the outcome. He thought it rather cute.

Just as you are bordering on a trance once again, Lae’zel finally gets to the point: she wanted the both of you to fight alongside her, just as you had at the Battle of Baldur’s Gate.

Just the thought of a battle, the bloodshed, sends a shiver of excitement through you.

As she is explaining the logistics of how she can safely get you to the Astral Sea, you lose focus once more, your mind drifting to the Elderbrain. You still remember how horrifying it was to look upon so closely.

The Netherbrain, my darling. Remember that pesky crown? You nod at Astarion as you see it in his mind’s eye. But you quickly move on from this, considering Lae’zel’s words. You cross your legs, causing your dress to hike up, showing off your bare feet. Your toes are painted a dark, blood red, and are pretty as ever.

The anklet you sport is polished silver, so as to not burn your delicate, undead skin. It is embedded with black diamonds from Calimsham and has a single obsidian charm in the shape of a bat. Even the rings on your toes are embedded with other priceless jewels garnered from across Toril.

Astarion’s eyes dart to your feet before giving you an amused look. Such a rebellious little thing. He was rather enjoying your wild streak. The ladies of the court have already begun to wear their hair long.

Today, you had fought Bethild off by hissing, once again. She really didn’t like it, and you made a note to yourself to save this tactic for later. But Astarion had gotten onto you this time: Hiss at the spawn if you must, my treasure, but not at Bethild. After so many years, Astarion appreciates a good servant. Especially one that was willing to put up with his darling.

You already decided you were still going to do it, though.

But Astarion had doubled down. I’m serious, love. You needn't have a poor reputation among the servants. Bethild’s been good to you and has served you for nearly all her life.

You had scowled at him, crossing your arms in annoyance at his sensible reasoning. Tell her to stop fussing over my hair and shoes.

Consider it done.

Lae’zel is staring at the both of you with a bewildered look on her face. You realize she’s uncomfortable. You think that maybe you have been sitting in silence for too long, by mortal standards. Or maybe she isn’t used to seeing you like this, so comfortable. So pampered.

You spent so much time sleeping in the dirt. Countless days trudging through the swamp, those cursed lands, the disgusting sewers of Baldur's Gate.

And yet, you can’t help but associate it with which you had the time of your life. You had loved the adventure, the fight, and you even fell in love. When you look over to Astarion, his look has softened, his eyes rounding when you meet his gaze.

You see him put the mask back on as he turns back to Lae’zel, his chiseled features narrowing. “I hardly like the idea of my sweet consort on the battlefield,” Astarion says, crossing his legs. You notice his foot is tapping.

Lae’zel leers at him. “She was once something more than just your bride, Astarion.”

The smile plastered on Astarion’s lovely face does nothing to hide the targeted darkness in his eyes. “I know exactly who my darling is, Lae’zel. She is the True Hero of Baldur’s Gate. She saved that wretched city and thousands of mortal lives. And yet, she asked for nor received anything in return. And now, she is my wife and I will not so willingly risk her precious life for another battle that is not hers to fight.”

But, what if?

Astarion looks at you, his harsh stare softening with inquiry. “If what?”

What if we go with her?

You can feel the growing pit in Astarion’s stomach. In his chest.

Lae’zel curses as she looks to you. “Whatever mind tricks you are playing must end. Speak.”

Astarion really doesn’t like Lae’zel commanding you, but he’s too focused on you to fantasize about inflicting some sort of violence on the gith.

“This is a discussion my consort and I need to have in private.” He speaks to Lae’zel, but his eyes have not left you.

”I would like to hear what she has to say first,” Lae’zel’s unwavering tone is low, threatening. Now, both Lae’zel and Astarion’s eyes bore into you.“Unless you are so beholden, like a slave, that you cannot speak without your Master’s consent.”

You feel the anger rise within you, because you know she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand your relationship, she doesn’t understand that you know you’re different now. But…you remember those sweet moments of adventure.

”I…” You have to find your footing. You set your now empty goblet down. “I have lived in a palace for two thousand years, Lae’zel. I haven’t fought in a long time.”

Lae’zel looks you over. “That is apparent. Lucky for you, I am an elite teacher. And you used to be strong with a sword.” Lae’zel takes a deep breath before she moves closer to you, taking your hand in hers.

Her hand is warm, so unlike your own. That was one of the few gifts that Astarion couldn’t extend to you. You can hear the quickening of Lae’zel’s heartbeat at your touch, and her breath catches. You can even smell the growing desire between her legs, her musk. Eager. Like so many mortals were in your presence.

Maybe they too, will serve. You know not if this small voice comes from Astarion or yourself.

You feel Astarion tense up beside you. For a moment, you greatly fear he will lash out and harm Lae’zel, and then put you in time out.

You feel Astarion crawling through the folds of your mind, undoubtedly searching your memories of lovemaking with Lae’zel.

You didn’t understand why he tortured himself so.

Now, you find yourself thinking of them: all the times she dominated you. The times she f*cked you so hard your entire body was sore. Astarion had noticed back then, too, but hadn’t really cared at the time.

Times change.

And thou art mine.

“Do not make a githyanki say please. But I will, if I must.” Lae’zel says, eyes darting over to Astarion.

“And what do you have to offer us in turn?” Astarion asks, his eyes meeting hers. The tension in the room could be felt by anyone who could blink. Including vampires who merely chose to, so as to not seem too creepy to mortals.

“I can only offer you my allyship in times to come, if we are successful.”

—

Before Lae’zel is even out the door, Astarion’s protests begin. He burrows in your mind, swathing you in the folds of his own; his thoughts were paranoid, muddled, scared. And you too, felt terrified.

He remembered all the times you died in battle. The agony he felt even when knowing he could revive you. It would only be exasperated now, by an unfathomable amount, because you were his bride, his treasure, and his eternity. He thought himself in circles until he nearly decided to try to lock you away again.

The Astral Sea is extremely f*cking dangerous, Tav. I can’t let you go. I won’t say yes to this.

Rarely has Astarion ever denied you. Giving you everything was the way he loved you, and his denial felt like a slap to the face. For a moment, you and Astarion both fear that Lae’zel may have been right in some regard: your shackles of love binded you to your Master, just as it binded your Master to you. You two were so intimately connected, body and mind; thus, Astarion couldn’t deny the dimming of your light. He was not so blind. He wanted you to have everything you wanted, and he wanted to be the one to give it to you.

But he was still so afraid.

You’ll protect me.

You feel his solid arms wrap around you as he presses you to his chest, planting kisses anywhere he could: your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw. His lips devoured you, pleading you to be contended.

I’ll take you anywhere else. We could take a long vacation again, explore a part of Toril we haven’t seen in a while -

Weveseenthemall. “I used to be a fighter,” You say aloud, breaking his train of thought with the sweet sound of your voice. There was a time where I once protected you. The thought is but a whisper in the well of your shared connection.

He narrows his eyes at you, bringing up a hand to rest on your collarbone, just below your neck.

“And now you are a wife,” Astarion’s voice is barely above a whisper as it rasps between his lips. His other hand grasps your waist, his fingers digging into your sides.

I would be more powerful than ever, Astarion. With my abilities as a vampire, I would be a most excellent hunter.

“I know this,” Astarion hisses. He knows you’ve thought about this before, adventuring again, but he’s simply just ignored it until it went away, like a buzzing gnat.

“But I just couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, spawn.” You scowl at his choice words, thinking them strange at this moment. You try to push him away from you, baring your fangs at him, but Astarion doesn’t release you from his firm grip.

He’s come to a decision, and you then understand.

Astarion’s fear had not subsided, not completely: but alongside it, understanding was bred. He knew why you wanted to go; why you wanted to fight again, strategize again, and relive the days of your young love.

Nonetheless, his hand moves from your neck to your jaw, where’s he firmly grasps you, forcing you to meet his gaze, where he locks into you. He is going to use his Ascendant compulsion on you, since he couldn't compel you by normal means. He had never thought this before, not to your knowledge, and you feel betrayed as he starts to draw you into him.

The pull is far too strong to defy, even though you try.

As your thoughts are subsiding, the world around you has come to a close: there is only Astarion. You see him amidst darkness, his eyes becoming wet and round as he studies you. You watch as his eyebrows knit to a scowl and the corners of his mouth pull down.

You sense many identifiable emotions at once, like his mind is clearer now that yours has gone so quiet. One that sticks out to you is a lustful shame. A sick part of Astarion wanted this: he wanted total control over you.

He thought you’d be a very pretty, mindless, little spawn. He would keep you in the boudoir, where he would drain you nearly dry, f*ck you whenever he wanted, and hold you for as long as he’d like.

Or maybe he’d keep you at his side, putting you on his lap, or perhaps under his desk, so that he could indulge whenever he desired.

He needn’t even worry to dress his toy. Or maybe he would, just to put you in something sinful. He wouldn’t have to worry about your wants, or needs, or hopes and dreams; you would be fully his.

Lucky for you, the larger part of Astarion is disgusted by this. Ashamed, even scared, of those desires.

As the world comes back to you, your thoughts once again occupy your mind. Astarion is backing away from you, a tear in his eye threatening to fall.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Astarion says, his mind racing in agony as you float further away from him, eyes vacant but your heart fuming.

His broad shoulders are hunched over, his arms stretch out to you, as if he feared he had hurt you. And suddenly, you can’t take it, and the tears begin to fall, and you’re angry he’s crossed an unspoken boundary between you two; angry he isn’t giving you what you want.

Forgive me, please. His voice is but a whisper in the well of your mind, a droplet of water amongst an ocean. You’re everything. Everything. Can’t lose you. Won’t.

You turn your back to him, but you don’t leave. You don’t want to feel this way, sharing the burden of both his and your emotions. You want to drift away, but he isn’t letting you, and neither is your own heart; because, at the very least, that light refuses to go out.

You are my light. He’s running his hands through his hair, curls misplaced, and his heartbeat is through the roof.

You turn to him. Then let me live. Let us live. No more of this. You wildly gesture around the palace, to your dress, which has become rather suffocating. With a motion so fast no mortal could comprehend, your decedent gown is in tatters on the marble floor.

You think that Astarion’s paranoia is getting to you. His fear, his own possessive love for you; but maybe, you both think, this has been boiling over for a while. You also think your bloodlust is starting to rise, and Astarion smells delicious.

You’re down to your slip and your jewelry. The necklaces that drape your pretty neck are broken and strewn across the floor with a tug. You’re still crying, but you’re having a difficult time processing this. You can’t stop thinking about blood, and it is all too much, and you need to run.

You don't remember if you’ve ever thought about running before. The look on Astarion’s face confirms you haven’t, because surely you would remember the look of such anguish.

Before you can move, he has his arms around you once more. You feel his hard co*ck pressing against you. You can’t help but want him too; but being so close to him, the beast takes over, and you cannot help but begin to ravage him.

Your fangs cut into his clothing, but Astarion doesn’t loosen his grip on you. Before you know it, you feel the coolness of wood on your back, and your slip is pushed up above your breasts, your nipples hardening from the coolness of the palace air.

Spoiled. I’ve spoiled you. He rings out to you as you realize he’s teleported you both from the foyer to his office.

Astarion quickly puts his hand between your folds, searching for the evidence of your arousal that you both know he will find. Probing at your entrance, you feel a gentle pressure as he slides his finger between your slick walls with little resistance.

Astarion’s other hand is tangled in your hair, nestling you to his neck as you feed. After pumping you a few times, Astarion stretches you with a second finger before he decides he’s done.

No more. You’re mine. You will do as I say. His voice is loud in your head, commanding.

You release your fangs from his neck when you feel the pressure of his thick member pushing between your tight walls, causing you to gasp from the stretch. He inserts his full length in you, and you to squirm from the adjustment.

You half-heartedly try to push him away, to tell him no, but your sex is so swollen from your fill of your lover's blood, and you’re so wet, Astarion cruelly laughs at your attempt as he restrains both your wrists with one hand.

His strokes are intensely deep as he uses his free hand to bring one of your thighs to a deeper spread. He’s desperate to feel the depths of your c*nt, to make you come and remember how much you want to stay with him.

He’s thinking he loves the way you look, tearstained and covered in his blood.

But that light inside of you is still fighting, and you know she won't ever stop. I’ve lived so long in our heads.

But Astarion knows; he’s been racking around your head for centuries. And when his troubled gaze meets yours, he buckles. His strokes become slower, and his stare is so intense you almost look away, but you know you shouldn’t.

His gaze is softening as he lets go of your wrists and you wrap your arms around him to draw him closer. He moans as he continues to slide his co*ck between your tight walls. Not even death could separate us, Tav.

This seems like progress.

I would tear across the planes of existence to find you. I have the means, the resources. I would get you back. No matter the cost. And you will bind yourself to me and promise that you would do the same. If something should happen to me, you must swear to come find me.

Astarion’s disheveled curls tumble down his handsome face; his lips are parted in pleasure, sweat dripping down his perfect nose. He moves to capture a nipple in his mouth, gently sucking you and making you squirm.

You won’t leave my side. And you certainly won’t be any fighter. You and I will be in the shadows, where we belong, together-

Astarion has more provisions and rules to this agreement, but his balls are clenching so hard that he cannot focus any longer, and his lips find purchase on your own as his org*sm looms over him.

Tell me. Please.

“I love you, Astarion.”

Again.

“I love you, Astarion.” The words come out as a whimper as Astarion hits that sweet spongy spot deep inside of you.

Please. Again.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,“ Your eyes wet as you say the words, which carry Astarion through his org*sm as he comes thick spurts of seed inside you.

His body trembles above you, breath ragged in your ear. You loved hearing his moans of pleasure.

After he recovers, he puts himself back together and looks to you: there was simply no putting you back together, because you were a mess. You needed a bath and a nap.

The two of you retreat to your bedchamber, where you do just that. The two of you are silent as you ease into the water.

Once you’re more relaxed, and the maids have finally left the two of you alone, you begin to mindlessly trance again, to wander in the vast space that was your mind.

Astarion eases into your thoughts, cradling you as gently as he would a newborn babe. He was feeling more centered now as his powerful Ascendant mind worked its way through the plan and its details.

You often thank whatever gods were listening that Astarion had become sharper and smarter over the years: he learnt to focus on the details, and as his competency increased, your apathy grew alongside it.

Astarion is pleased to find you’d been lost in the memory of one of your more recent vacations: Astarion had taken you to an ancient castle in Tethyr, where the two of you lived for nearly a decade.

Astarion had made love to you in the lush fields under the stars often, then. You had asked, of course. He hadn’t wanted to take you in the dirt, initially, believing it far too lowly of you both. He certainly thought his wife deserved better.

Please, Astarion. The grass is soft and plush, and the moon is full. You had said to him, before you told him how beautiful you thought him to be, inside and out.

“Those were lovely times. I, too, think about them often, my love.You looked so beautiful under the light of the full moon.”

You give him a little smile, but Astarion catches your upset. You hope he will give you even more, more of what you want.

I’m sorry, Tav. I swear to you I will never try to compel you again. But you will swear by what I asked: that we will never be separated, even in death.

“I swear it,” You speak with confidence because you know it to be true. You weren’t even really sure why he was bothering to ask: as a bride, you’d likely be compelled to do so, anyways. He knows this, but he needs to hear it.

Once you’re finished with your bath, you don’t bother with clothes once you get back into bed. You could smell the scent of his arousal, his leaking precum, through his trousers and from across the bedchamber.

I think I’ll use a sending stone to attend to business while at the crèche. Hopefully it works in the Astral Sea, too. Astarion is thinking, idly playing with your hair as you lie on his chest.

I hardly remember the crèche Lae’zel had us go to. But you did remember Karlach painting a face on the portrait of Vlaakith after having to fight about forty Githyanki.

Karlach. You say, and Astarion already knows the deal: he does his best to imagine her, what her face looked like when she smiled, but even his memory is shrouded by her death on the docks of the city.

Astarion quickly moves on from the memory. I worry about how we will feed you.

“I can eat human food,” You hesitate, because for some reason or another, you just prefer to drink blood. Food tasted the same as it always had, you were fairly sure, but you couldn’t deny your nature.

You may have to. Of course, you can nibble on me as much as you’d like. The pads of his fingers trace your bare skin, grazing the curve of your hips and the side of your breast. I’ll try to come up with a better solution, my darling. I want you to be as comfortable as possible.

He plants a kiss on the top of your head, nuzzling you closer as he goes to free his co*ck. I need you again.

***

In the night, you dream of riding atop a great Githyanki red dragon. You have the reins as Astarion sits behind you, arms around your waist. The two of you feel so dominant, so powerful, and the dream is a happy one. But as dreams often do, the moment turns to something strange.

You are alone with the dragon now, and as you feel his cool scales beneath your suddenly spread thighs, his body begins to morph and change until he is one of the Githyanki red dragons no more, but a simple red Dragonborn.

His eyes are red, and they bore into you as he fills you up completely, as you’re still riding him. The pressure of his co*ck makes you gasp in shock; his arms wrap around you, pulling you to him, and you shiver as he whispers in your ear: You will be mine.

You wake with a jolt. Before you can blink twice, Astarion heaves you across his shoulder, causing you to knock against him with a hard blow, leaving you breathless.

You try to call his name, but you can’t seem to find your voice. You didn’t need to breathe anymore, but your chest felt tight, your stomach drawn with apprehension. A reluctant arousal lingered at your core, which only added to your disarray.

Astarion is in full defensive mode. He’s running through the halls of the palace, sword in hand, and the smell of blood is overwhelming to you; you try to squirm out of his grasp, but with his hand firmly on your ass, you quickly realize you aren’t going anywhere.

You’re trying to calm yourself, but you can’t make sense of it all. The dream, the running, the blood.

Moth attacked the palace - one of the servants had become his thrall.

He doesn’t stop until he is in the foyer, where the other spawn are awaiting. Astarion effortlessly puts you on your feet and intensely sweeps his eyes over you, looking for any injuries. His hand is gripping yours, the strength of it suggesting he has no intention of letting go.

“Ten of the servants have been killed, Master, but we have swept the palace thrice. All of Lord Moth’s forces are dead.”

“Sweep it again. And you won't stop until the sun rises.” Astarion sneers at the spawn, who immediately follow the command.

Well, I guess Lae’zel has something to offer us after all.

“I will see the end of Lord Moth,” Astarion begins his evil monologue about destroying Moth, which you certainly agree with, but you really can’t focus with all the blood. Once Astarion realizes this, he is quick to sequester you as far away from it as possible, quick to offer you his neck as he carries you to sanctuary.

He’s letting you nibble on him, and as the blood of the Ascendant fills you up, you remember why you didn’t care to eat food anymore. Literally, nothing could ever be as delectable as Astarion.

My protector in the dark. You think once you finally feel satiated.

Astarion, despite his anger, can’t help but be endeared. The evening ends with hushed kisses and more gentle lovemaking. Astarion couldn't seem to keep his tongue out of your c*nt or his fangs out of your thigh: Moth’s invasion of your body compelled Astarion, as your Master, to dominate you.

You and the palace wizard had assured Astarion it wasn’t a vision or anything connected to your foresight, but magic. Moth had used a powerful spell to project himself into your dream, and thus, controlling it. A simple protection ward was all that was likely needed to prevent a further attack.

Later, as Astarion is rutting into you, you feel the wetness of his tears as he rests his forehead to the curve of your neck. They mix with the flow of your blood when he bites you; strangely, his mind is guarded, nearly silent, because he doesn’t want you to know whatever he is thinking.

Astarion plants soothing kisses to your lips when you begin to feel your anxiety rise in your chest.

Don’t worry, Tav. I’ll protect you. “Nobody will ever take you from me,” His voice is rough and low in your ear. After two centuries, you know that Astarion is good for his word.

Chapter 3: The Arrival

Chapter Text

You and Astarion had relocated to a different palace since Lord Moth’s attack on the main palace. Astarion still needed time to prepare for your journey, so he kept the two of you tucked away in a small, quiet castle somewhere in Amn.

The castle was cold, dank, and ancient, so unlike the palace you and Astarion called home, which had been built just half a century ago and kept in most pristine order.

I miss our home, too. This place is rancid. I wish we didn’t have to be here. Astarion reaches out to you, and you wonder if you’re distracting him from his work.

I can’t help but dwell on your more unpleasant thoughts. Of course it distracted me. You should be home, not hiding from Moth. Astarion’s mind swirls with anger and jealousy at the very mention of Moth. He yearns to know your body. To take what I have amassed, you along with it.

This was obvious, of course, and you worry Astarion is going to tangle his heart up again with his fears and regrets.

But here we are, my love, and we are with each other. Please don’t worry anymore, Astarion. You had been in the library, gorging on wine and erotic literature, and now you float to your creator, who highly anticipates your presence.

You know how I feel. Moth will never have me. No force is powerful enough to separate us.

On your way to Astarion’s office, you pass by several servants. Their hearts race at the sight of you and you think you dressed quite hauntingly beautiful today for this very reason.

You wore a devastatingly low cut black dress. With no straps, it was a miracle your breasts stayed unexposed. The sleeves connected to the cut of the neck and were long and flowy; Bethild had told you it made you look ethereal.

The dress had a deep slit on the side and the skirts danced around you, long enough to disturb one of the servants' own dresses, making the woman gasp at your closeness.

Yes, even just the brush of your skirt could make mortals bend to you. This woman wants you, so badly it’s pathetic. She is nearly panting and the smell of her arousal fills your senses. You let yourself look at the servant, just a look, but she isn’t much to see.

She looks like every other mortal to you, nowadays.

As you open the door of Astarion’s study, his eyes nearly pop out of his head at the sight of you. Astarion is ready to worship your body, to get on his knees for you, if need be; his mind is reeling with the thought of pushing his face into your breasts, and you’re almost surprised at his excitement.

This hadn’t been your intention, not entirely anyways. You had wanted to devastate the servants with your dark beauty, and you did want to hypnotize your husband with your body. But, most curiously, nearly all of your outfits that were taken from your palace to the castle were low cut, so it hadn’t been much of a choice. Of course, your husband was the culprit.

He gives you a naughty smile, causing you to blush, but you can’t help but notice the exhaustion in his eyes. The stress, the worry, the fear. He’d been dealing with so much recently, and you knew it was wearing him down.

Come, Astarion. You dance along the folds of his mind, sending a shiver down his spine. Take a break. You’ve been in here all day. I’m getting hungry and I miss you.

You smile as you wrap your arms around Astarion’s broad shoulders, bringing his head to rest on your supple breasts, as he’s still sitting in his armchair. You can already feel his emotions start to shift into something calmer, happier.

“I wish that I could, my love. There is just far too much to be done.” His voice is low, smooth, and you feel the pressure of his teeth and fangs as he gently bites the fat of your breast.

“One of the battalions from Neverwinter ate their horses, we were told,” He says with a laugh, because he simply thought it was amusing. “But, as I am the beloved ruler of many, I graciously signed off on increased resources and many other things I won’t bore you with, my darling.”

You needn’t worry about these things, Tav. The fighting in Faerun won’t touch us, Astarion assured you.

You really weren’t worried and hadn’t thought about it at all, so you knew that despite him addressing you, he really meant to say it to himself; that’s when it dawned on you that maybe you should be concerned about this…’war’.

“Fear not. Just let me handle everything, my sweet consort.” He mumbles to your breast. Our preparations are nearly ready, love.

Parsing through his layers, Astarion is a man of many desires: above all, he is wishing he could gorge himself on your blood and your c*nt, which you find to be no surprise. But beneath his more carnal desires, you catch a floating thought about the spawn army.

Shortly after Ascension, Astarion couldn’t stop talking about it. As he amassed power, keeping you right by his side through it all, the desire to create more spawn only grew.

Of course, the logistics of it all kept Astarion from trying to talk you into it. Even the four spawn Astarion had now were hard to feed, and you couldn’t imagine having more.

Dwelling on the spawn army brings you back to your earlier days of marriage. Astarion had been more lenient back then, letting you f*ck and feed from whomever you wanted.

“Do you miss it?” Astarion asks, his inquiry abrupt, having followed your train of thought. His intense ruby eyes peered up at you.

Not really. I like the idea, certainly, but in practice, you weren’t happy with that. You give him a sweet smile, hoping it looks right on your muted, eternally youthful but ancient face.

I do like to fantasize, though, about us with another man or woman. As for the feeding, if it was up to me, I’d drink from you and only you forever.

Astarion nearly moans at your words. “Such a sweetheart,” he teases before moving his hand to the curve of your hip. You lean against Astarion’s desk as the moment gets hotter.

He’s drinking in your body like a starving man, and his hands roam to your thighs, your breasts, and he’s thinking about how much he adores you.

Yes, you think, now is certainly the best time to bring this up. “But maybe you could allow me to use my fangs in battle, like we used to,” You suggest, trying to seem as innocent as possible.

“I don’t intend on you getting that close to the fight, my love,” Astarion’s hands don’t stop roaming, but there is a firmness in his voice.

“But?” You press as his hand begins to trail up the inside of your thigh and underneath your dress, where he is positively delighted to find you without panties.

But, if the need arises, yes. Protect your life at all costs. Astarion’s hand has wandered between the folds of your c*nt, which is already wet from his worship.

His fingers slide along your seam, starting from your entrance and trailing your juices over your throbbing bundle of nerves at the top of your mound.

“So eager,” He teases, which you find rather humorous because you both know he is the eager one. He smiles playfully into your breast before he begins to plant kisses along your skin. “Tell me, what do you like to imagine, when you think of us with another?”

You blush. You and Astarion both already know, and you’re reminded of your favorite conquest as you feel the tip of Astarion’s finger slide between the desperate walls of your c*nt.

You’re sucking him in, desperate for his contact, and he gives you an almost predatory smile.You can’t help but contract around him as he slides his knuckles deep inside.

But just as you are about to indulge with your husband in reminiscing on the memory of a lovely young man you once shared, you are interrupted by the alarm of a sending stone.

“Probably Lae’zel. I must take this.” Astarion murmurs, sighing heavily as he removes his finger from you, reluctantly releasing himself from your embrace.

Before Astarion moves for the stone, he pats his thigh, urging you to sit. You smile with muted excitement as you sit on his lap, his hands trailing to the root of your hair to nuzzle you to his neck.

Astarion can’t help but moan whenever your fangs slide into him. You can hear Lae’zel’s message in the background, but you are entirely lost in Astarion’s essence.

You even feel the shift in his mood immediately, but you can’t break away from your transic hunger.

Astarion rubs your back, signaling to you that you've fed enough. Unlatching your fangs from him is difficult, seemingly only getting harder over the years. Once you’ve come back to yourself, Astarion thumbs your chin, bringing you into a deep kiss.

He’s savoring his own blood on your tongue, and your kisses turn sloppy as Astarion has you exactly where he wants you now: drunk on him and in his lap.

But you can feel the edging of his anxiety at the border of his mind. He’s desperately trying to keep it at bay. You pull away from him, pressing your forehead against his to break those sweet, fervent kisses.

Don’t stop, Tav.

And so, you let his tongue slide between your lips as he takes his comfort in you. You hear the moan that escapes his sweet lips as the kiss deepens. You run the tips of your fingers from the back of his neck to the crown of his head, gently massaging his scalp.

“Gods,” You feel the vibration his words leave on your lips. “You complete me.”

***

Your arrival to the crèche was rather interesting, you thought. The crèche was hidden away amidst an enchanted forest located in the heart of Elysiuma, a strange continent largely untouched by civilization.

Lae’zel had told Astarion the crèche was called the Crystalline Spire, known for its dazzling tower-like appearance.

You and Astarion hadn’t yet had the pleasure of truly admiring the crèche, because the moment you walked through the portal Lae’zel had summoned, you were immediately met with swords to your throat.

You grab Astarion’s wrist before he can react in violence; he opts to transform you both into a red mist.

Despite your shock, you can’t help but notice the diamond-like walls of the crèche, rough and jagged around the edges, but quite beautiful.

You think it’s fitting for the Githyanki.

You had brought one servant and one of Astarion’s spawn with you; Cynthia, a hard-working human servant, yelped and dropped your luggage. You’d grumble at her if you weren’t in an incorporeal form.

Astarion’s spawn, Ruth, was a half-elven adventurer who often acts as a bodyguard. Each one of Astarion’s spawn had purpose, and Ruth was just an absolute maniac on the battlefield. Ruth was simply awaiting orders once he stepped through the portal, ignoring the poor screaming servant next to him.

“Tskva. Stand down,” A familiar voice rings out, and you see Lae’zel part the crowd as the astonished gith soldiers lower their weapons.

Astarion rematerializes your forms, his hand on the small of your back as he pulls you closer to him. “It’s good to see you too, Lae’zel. Now, tell me, why are your little green men pointing their sticks at me and my consort?”

The warriors are immediately ogling you, your form looking dutifully sinful in strappy and tight-fitted camp clothes. They had reminded you of what that Sharran cleric used to wear at camp, which you only know because of a memory that swims freely in your Master’s mind: Astarion remembers when Shadowheart came onto you at the tiefling party. He had been watching then, too.

Lae’zel clicks her tongue. “They won’t do so again.”

We’ll feast on them if they do, you think. Astarion agrees.

There is more prattle amongst the portal guards and Lae’zel, but you’re still adjusting to all the smells and heartbeats in the room to pay any attention. In court, you were often around mortals, just never this close to them, and certainly not around so many at once.

“We’re seriously allying with vampires?” One of the younger guards whispers to another warrior beside him. He thinks you can’t hear him. Foolish.

“Come, let us forget this and move on to most important matters,” Lae’zel turns around, beckoning you to follow.

The crèche was no longer a hatchery, Lae’zel explains as she leads you through the dazzling, tunnel-like halls, but now a battle fortress, one hidden away from Vlaakith’s warriors.

When she shows you your sleeping quarters, you and Astarion are both rather horrified. There was a queen size bed shoved in the corner and a set of bunk beds along the opposite wall.

“This is what adventurers and heroes get, my consort. A shabby little room to share with the servants and spawn.” Astarion spats. “Let’s just move on.”

Lae’zel only glares at him before continuing her tour.

Astarion is now taking note of every secluded corner, every empty cranny, because the two of you are starting to realize that your tight schedule of feeding and f*cking would be interrupted by this maze of a crèche, the hundreds of gith warriors flooding it, and the state of your shared quarters.

You begin to silently catalog today’s feedings in your head, suddenly anxious about your eating habits: you had fed on Astarion just this morning, right before stepping through the portal and before that, you had several goblets of intelligent blood.

Twice. You fed on me twice. Astarion corrects you, his eyes flickering to you. You sense his frustration. Once just after you woke up and the other right before we stepped through.

You sigh, your train of thought lost as Lae’zel is leading you into a large, elegant chamber filled with warriors in the most decadent of armor. The war room was covered in maps, invasion plans, and balance books.

It took a lot to leave you and your beloved speechless.

In the center of the room stood a rather tall, handsome Githyanki warrior; you could tell he was of the most high rank, as the jewels on his armor glimmered purple, and the crown on his head matching.

The color of his skin reminded you of a freshly plucked peach, ripe for the taking. His hair was dark, black as a raven, and his piercing blue eyes fixated on you the moment you walked into the room, his heartbeat quickening at the sight of you. He gives Astarion a significant glance before turning back to you.

“The ‘True Hero of Baldur’s Gate’ has finally come at last?” His tone was mocking, his eyes sweeping over you, pausing at your hips and breasts before meeting your gaze once more. “The legends of her beauty do not lie. Nor do your own words, Lae’zel.”

Astarion is humored by this, but he’s starting to become bothered by the gawking and the comments. Maybe the low-cut top is going out of style, darling.

You can smell the flush in Lae’zel’s cheeks. You steel yourself, trying not to focus on all the heartbeats in the room.

“I am Kith’rak Elan,” He turns to Astarion, who has a rather mean mug on his pretty face. “Oh, and ‘Astarion the Decadent’, don’t think I don’t recognize you, as well.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Kith’rak. I’m certain my lovely wife appreciates the compliments.” Astarion nearly hisses, and the hand that was once on the small of your back is now gripping your hip.

You and Lae’zel glance at each other knowingly.

Everyone knows we’re married, Astarion. You poke at him. You couldn’t even remember how long you had been legally married.

Astarion replies almost immediately. But not everyone cares, lover. In his mind’s eye, you see Lord Moth taking you, whispering to you. You then see a flicker of the hundreds of wedding rings Astarion saw long ago, before he ever met his lovely consort. But he doesn’t dwell on this thought long: he never does.

One thousand, eight hundred and twenty two years. Our first honeymoon was in Tethyr.

“A pleasure,” You nod your head, your voice low but steady.

“Enough introductions,” Lae’zel commands, and the Kith’rak and Sarth’s begin to debrief you.

You and Astarion are to train with Lae’zel and Elan before taking command of several Githyanki soldiers, essentially making you Sarth’s. Or something to that effect: the Kith’rak liked to talk, you noticed, and you tranced for a bit before Astarion snapped you out.

“King Orpheus made an exception,” The words slither out of Elan’s mouth, the disgust on his face apparent. “But only in function alone.”

You stay as alert as you can while Elan drones on. You feel Astarion checking in on you frequently, like he’s scanning your thoughts for something specific.

What are you looking for? You ask him pointedly, your eyes happening to meet his own. His ear twitches, but he doesn’t respond to you.

Don’t be annoying. Just tell me. You poke again, agitated by the situation. Your hunger was creeping up on you due to the sheer amount of living beings around you.

A mote of melancholy kisses Astarion’s heart. He was only able to minimize your vampiric hunger, not fully free you from it. Over the years, you needed less blood to satiate, but you fed more frequently.

Lae’zel steals your attention once the meeting adjourns, and she orders you and Astarion to the training area.

“Although you will be focused on archery, Tav, at the insistence of your husband,” Lae’zel spats, eyes darting over to your pale lover, “It would be ignorant and neglectful of me to not train you in hand to hand combat. Go on, then. Pick your weapon.”

You look to Astarion; he had already said you could use your fangs in combat, so surely he was fine with this.

Astarion clears his throat; he could stare a hole through her, you think. “Of course, old friend. I had already considered it.”

You roll your eyes at Astarion’s violent thoughts, busy inspecting your weapon choice: in the training room, there were dozens of racks with various types of enchanted weapons.

The great sword caught your eye, remembering how you used to wield one. It seemed too large, rather oafish, now. But you pick it up anyways, because it’s familiar.

Upon grasping the sword, it takes almost no effort for you to wield; but it feels strange, like you’re too occupied, but you can’t exactly pinpoint the feeling.

Lae’zel and Astarion are looking at you curiously.

“Hm.” Astarion mumbles.

“What?” Lae’zel asks.

“Maybe you should just try a few short swords and your fangs, my love.” Astarion purrs. It was almost as if he sensed your hesitation before you registered it, pinpointed the problem before you even knew what the problem was.

The great sword simply felt wrong in your hands, as your most instinctual movement was more cat-like than what a sword would permit. Following Astarion’s suggestion, you free up your movement and take a more aggressive stance, fitting for your nature as a vampire bride.

“Tch. I’ve never known you to dual wield.” Lae’zel says, preparing her sword as the two of you begin to spar.

Astarion, watching you delightfully but carefully from the sidelines, is ready to intervene if Lae’zel takes it too far. Or gets too close to you, for my liking.

Chapter 4: The Hunt

Chapter Text

If you weren’t a vampire, you knew you would have been sore as all hells when you woke up. But lucky for you, the only thing that was aching was your fangs and your swollen, slick c*nt. Your night with Astarion was so sweet, tender, but now you were both craving each other. Your stomach growls as you nestle further into Astarion’s arms.

“Are you ready for what the day will bring?” Astarion reaches out, gentle as ever. You knew he had bad news for you, so he would treat you tenderly.

You sigh. “Just tell me what you’ve decided on.” Your voice is but a whisper because of your still sleeping servant, Cynthia. Your internal vampire clock tells you it’s rather early in the morning, just before the rest of the crèche will awaken.

Astarion turns on his side, pushing his hardening co*ck against your abdomen, rutting into you ever so lightly. He just wanted you to know he’s interested, is all.

“We must keep the feedings to twice a day. You will eat human food between those feedings.”

You move to meet his gaze; his face is still, but his eyes are round, open, and you sense his uncertainty. You place a hand to his chest, eyes widening to a girlish stare you knew he loved.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Astarion quips at you, but his tone is hushed, tender, loving, and you know he very much does like when you beg. “I’m serious, Tav.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Then don’t be serious. Tell me you're joking."

“Be my sweet girl and don’t fight me on this, love.” Astarion pleads before pressing his lips to yours.

When he deepens the kiss, you catch his lip with your fang, lapping at the crimson that flowers from the wound before healing. Astarion grabs your jaw, his grasp firm, your cheeks between his fingers and thumb. Behind his ruby eyes is a burning furnace of passion for you. His consort. His wife. His eternal lover.

His movements are quick, his fangs gently sinking into the taunt flesh of your neck. His co*ck is begging to be freed, but Astarion can only rub it against you as he drinks you in.

He’s only sipping on you, just wanting a taste of what is his.

When he pulls away, his eyes are wild, and he swiftly re-adjusts to nestle you to his own neck, where you waste no time sinking your fangs into him. You bite down rather hard, causing Astarion to gasp, which only excites you further. Your hand has mindlessly found its way to his co*ck, and you’re stroking it through his clothing as you drink him in.With one hand settled into the root of your hair, Astarion grips the curve of your hip, nails digging into your skin.

“Be quiet.” His voice rings out so fast in your mind that you barely register it before you feel Astarion’s hand between your thighs.

Instinctively, you lift one leg, draping it over Astarion’s hip as his fingers move past the waistband of your panties, stuffing a finger inside you effortlessly. Your hand flies to cup his jaw, your senses on fire.

He inserts another finger into you on his next stroke, and your body is already vibrating at the sensation. Astarion already knows where he wants to be and reaches into your depths, behind your throbbing cl*torus, to that sweet tender spot inside you.

You mewl a bit before Astarion hushes you. When his thumb begins to circle your swollen nub, he has you creaming around him almost instantaneously, and you feel absolutely f*cking incredible between your org*sm and his blood.

As you’re seeing stars, clenching around Astarion’s handsome, dexterous fingers, his half of your shared connection envelopes you: he’s savoring your org*sm, riding along the folds of your mind as you feed and come. Sharing in your exhilaration only makes him adore you more.

“Oh, my darling…” Astarion presses his cheek into you, his hands continuing to explore your body as you gently hum against him, careful not to tear his skin with your fangs.

When you finally unlatch, you both begin to sense the stirring of the crèche.

Astarion’s imagination is going wild at all the ways he wants to f*ck you. His co*ck still rocking against you, desperate for release.

“Don’t worry about me, my love. We will find time for you to fully satiate me soon. You can count on it. I’ll be buried in your c*nt soon enough.” Astarion is teasing, still touching your sensitive folds as you try to squirm away from him, the overstimulation of your cl*t being too much.

You certainly felt better after your org*sm and feeding, but you’re still upset at the sudden reality of the prospect that you wouldn’t be able to feed whenever you wanted or sip on blood and wine all day.

You knew this would happen, of course, when you accepted Lae’zel’s quest.

But still, actually living it was different than knowing it was going to happen. There has been no real way to prepare yourself, so you do your best to gather your thoughts and stay focused.

Cynthia wakes as you are helping Astarion with his complicated camp gear, which he insisted on wearing. He looked absolutely stunning in his black, fitted ensemble that boasts his gorgeous, muscular arms. You went for something more simple, but more modest than the strappy camp clothes you arrived in. If the gith warriors were to act like that around people of different races, then you felt it was up to you to change their perspective. But you wouldn’t let them gawk any longer. No, you would dominate and evolve their perspective of your race and vampires like yourself with your raw power, talent, and dark beauty.

And, you say to yourself, wanting to continue this little pep talk, I will dominate my bloodlusts.

“You look lovely, my lady,” Cynthia says to you genuinely, and you almost smile.

“Thank you, sweet Cynthia,” She looks crestfallen at your reply, like a woman mad from her unrequited love. She dare not speak to Astarion directly, but you’re sure that she thinks him lovely as well.

You and Astarion walk to the War Room, down the twisting halls of the spire. Astarion takes your hand in his: he’s already thumbing a ring as you begin to share in the pit in his stomach.

“Why are you nervous?”

“You shouldn’t worry about it.” Astarion would say no more, which you were ultimately fine with. He always told you about the important things.

The two of you make it on time, finding seats next to each other at the rounded table in the center of the room. You swear Astarion is puffing his chest out, his broad shoulders seemingly wider than usual.

Elan began the meeting, but you could hardly focus as Astarion’s hand was gripping yours. Elan speaks for a while before addressing the two of you.

“Ancuíns, you will have the pleasure of meeting your warriors today…” Astarion’s pain begins to seep into you through your bond. Elan kept talking to the both of you, unaware of the inner turmoil. You’re now gripping Astarion’s hand back; he half-heartedly tries to tell you not to worry, but it’s hardly your fault. “…the hunt. It is a tradition of this very crèche, and its boon will allow us to properly prepare for the beginning celebrations in the coming days.”

Astarion simply nods before the two of you meet each other's gaze simultaneously. The issues of the crèche fall away as the pain suddenly subsides.You see a flicker of wetness in Astarion’s eyes. Blinking it away before anyone else could notice, Astarion confirms what was just felt: “ One of our spawn is dead. ”

The rendezvous went on for some time; Astarion kept his hand in yours, his fingers musing with your jewelry and your nails.

“So refined. So beautiful.” Astarion is trying to decide what to do. He wasn’t scared, but a silent terror was building inside you. You tucked it away, imagining that’s what Astarion would do if he felt fear: you simply don’t .

***

The gith warriors you were set to command stood before you: ten young women and men. All traditionally trained in the art of war.

“They are yours, Tav.”

You look to Lae’zel, and then to Astarion, who is standing before his own ten soldiers. Astarion considers them only for a moment before his mind shifts back to lewd thoughts of you: you, bent over just enough for him to see the sweet, pink folds of your inviting c*nt and your tight ring of muscle. He loved the way your arousal smelled, and your scent in general, which was distinctly of him .

He was a part of your very essence, your very birth, and you knew your darling will always be part of you: he had connected the two of you in the most intimate way, and had never regretted it. You were his. Your future was his to decide, and there were only two rules that you were truly beholden to, with a few minor provisions, of course.

The words Astarion first heard so long ago ring out in your shared mind matter: thou shalt not leave my side, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

There was once a time where Astarion mocked Cazador for stealing Vellioth’s rules.

“Tav, attention!” Lae’zel spats at you, breaking you out of your brief trance. You can tell a few of your warriors are trying not to smile. “They are expecting an introduction.”

Astarion is watching you, anticipating what you will say.

“I need not. They already know who I am.” You look away from Lae’zel, deciding to put on a co*ck show for your beloved. “Are there not statues of me throughout the realms? Famous poems, songs, smut ?” You’re posing a bit, a seductive smile on your face as your vampiric charm graces the room: this was the easiest way to get them to obey. The more exposed to the charms the mortal is, the weaker they become. You and Astarion called this vampire insurance.

Your warriors are young, already blushing from your charms.

“You are a natural, my love.”

“Tch. Insufferable.” Lae’zel leers, clearly well protected from your manipulations, prompting Astarion to commend her for trying to protect herself. He always found a way, if compulsion was required. “You agree to come here, to help me, and yet you refuse to take this seriously.”

“It’s ten warriors, Lae’zel. My darling can manage just fine.” Astarion said confidently, because he knew you were more likely to eat them alive than anything else.

“Just say something, Tav.” Lae’zel is practically begging you now. “Go on.”

“Alright,” You say with a sigh. You’re silent for a while. “I was never good at doing this formally. Uh, at ease, please.” You smile awkwardly at your little rhyme, but it doesn’t translate well on your terrifying face.

You poke into the mind of the young lady standing in front of you. She’s scared of you, more so than she is of Vlaakith’s army.

You take a deep breath, moving your fingers and toes as you try to animate yourself. “I’m sorry if I frighten you.” You weren’t all that sorry, because you liked it. But if Lae’zel wanted you to take this seriously, then you needed to level with them, to know them and be a team.

You realize that has never really left you: that natural leader within.

“You can call me Tav. Lae’zel will insist on Sarth Ancunín, which sounds awful to me. My husband,” You look over to your gorgeous darling standing next to you, a smile on his pretty face as he gives you his undivided attention, which you loved. “Will likely insist on calling me Lady Ancunín, at the very least. But I insist you call me Tav.”

The warriors visibly relax, but you still sense their lingering fear.

You breathe again, and also remember to blink. “We are to participate in the hunt today. I, uh, welcome any comments or questions you may have.”

“Tav,” A boy speaks from the back, behind the still trembling young lady at the front. “I am Zii’ro. They say you are thousands of years old.”

“Yes. I am.”

Zii’ro stifles a smile. You can sense he has questions, which you aren’t opposed to answering, but the look he was getting from Lae’zel ensured he kept his mouth shut.

They look so young.

“They don’t appear any older than you, my love,” Astarion muses, the thought bringing you a fair amount of pleasure. Who wouldn’t want to be young and beautiful forever?

Astarion is so glad you agree.

“Ah. No wonder so many of the gith think that I’m just your young little plaything instead of your wife.” You respond to your husband; Astarion looked nearly fifteen, maybe twenty, years your senior, a fact he did not like upon first realizing.

You had forgotten just how young you were when he turned you.

“It wasn’t long after your coming of age year, my love.” Astarion spoke, answering the question that was on everyone’s mind.

Lae’zel snorts. “Practically an eternal teenager.”

“We’re all adults here, Lae’zel. Including these little warriors,” Astarion sweeps his eyes over the twenty gith standing before you. “Don’t be fooled by her appearance. My darling is an ancient vampire. The two hundred years between us hardly mean a thing, anymore.” Astarion has a big, menacing smile on his face.

“Nothing could ever stand against us, Tav.”

It wasn’t until Lae’zel told you that the two of you would be separated when you started to feel a silent panic. Lae’zel wanted you to leave his side, to command your soldiers alone, to see your capabilities in the field.

Astarion immediately begins to protest. He quickly becomes angry with Lae’zel for even suggesting that he’d ever leave his consort alone on a strange continent with even stranger people.

“This is out of the question!” Astarion sneered. “You’ve not known me recently, Lae’zel, but do you really think I would be okay with this? Abandoning my wife?”

“It would hardly be abandonment, Astarion. The man I once knew was one who would’ve let Tav choose for herself.” Lae’zel crossed her arms, her gait wide, relaxed. She wasn’t afraid of Astarion: not in her domain, anyways.

Astarion really doesn’t like this. His eyes narrow, his stare intense as he tries to unnerve the gith woman.

But Lae’zel is looking to you. As they’ve been arguing, you’ve been squaring yourself with having to actually leave Astaron’s side. You’re scared, but you remember why you’re here.

Fear never stopped me before, you think to yourself before directing your thoughts to your pale lover. “Is this not the very reason why we have our connection, Astarion? ”

The two of you have now blocked out all others: any notion of the outside world has been lost to you. Locked in an intense stare, you can only wonder what the two of you looked like to mortals.

You go back and forth. Someone gasps when the two of you show fang at one another.

“You’re my wife. You do as I say. I know you’re strong, darling, but we can't risk it. I won’t allow that much distance between us. We’ve never been so far apart.” Astarion’s excuses were endless. You never realized how quickly Astarion’s mind would jump to isolating you in the boudoir whenever there was a disagreement between the two of you.

You hadn’t ever argued this much before.

You hiss, but Astarion has an intense look in his eyes, nearly making you cower. But you don’t back down. After what feels like a lifetime to the mortals, Astarion comes to a decision.

“You will take Ruth with you.” Astarion says, frustrated by his lack of control of the situation. He’s trying to brush it off, but it’s hard for him. Between this, and the death of the spawn that he was decidedly ignoring, Astarion was doing his best to keep it together.

You tried to comfort him, to go to him and wrap your arms around him, but now was hardly the time.

“Just come back in one piece.” Astarion’s voice is as intense as his stare.

***

The enchanted forest was beautiful, scary, and your warriors followed you into the thicket. It took you a while of hiking before you could see the crèche in its glorious entirety.

The Crystalline Spire was far more gorgeous than what you or Astarion could have imagined. Jutting from the ground, the crystal stood straight from the ground, the outside of its walls smooth and milky. It glittered and towered far beyond what even seemed natural, only adding to its ethereal nature.

“It could almost hold a flame to you, my consort.”

“It is breathtaking.” You say.

“We take great pride in its beauty,” Zii’ro replied from behind you. When you turned around, your group was admiring you, admiring the spire.

You could sense Astarion was already on the hunt: his senses greater than yours, he had a wider radius and quicker reflexes. But you aren’t so inferior to the Vampire Ascendant: you were a formidable vampire yourself.

Your senses perk up: you hear the rustling of the leaves, the faint beat of a heart, and you zip away faster than your warriors could keep up. Ruth stayed close, silently lingering behind you, eyes never leaving you.

“Hey!” You hear, already in the distance, one of them calling out to you. sh*t. You had to go back.

“We’re supposed to do this together,” Zii’ro explained.

Chae shook her head. “We can’t even hear what she’s running for.”

“Oh,” You say, having to stew on this for a little. “Well, follow me then. I’ll go slow, so you can keep up.”

They follow, and you take them running through the thicket. You can hear the rise of their heartbeats, unable to really become a plateau from a brisk jog; the forest was untamed, the ground having no clear path, and you were practically jumping. You consider taking your bat form, but that would be against the spirit of the game. You think Astarion has done this, or something similar; because if this was a contest (you weren’t even sure, you hadn’t listened or asked, realizing maybe your lack of attention was becoming a problem) Astarion was going to win.

Maybe he’d let you win, if he was feeling generous. But you decide you’re determined to get something more out of this than a win.

That light in you still remembers.

It wasn’t until you came upon your prey that your human mind, your conscious mind, was forgotten: gone is any pretense that you’re anything but a vampire. A monster. A natural hunter in the night. One of your archers, Quinel, draws the first blood. You feel yourself slip away, but it happens so quickly it makes you writhe with frustration. Your warriors engage with the monster: its large, snake-like body towered over you. You notice it has feathers, despite its reptilian appearance.

You claw, you bite, thick hot blood dripping down your chin and neck, but the monster doesn’t go down. It bites at Chae, who drops her weapon with a yelp, crying as she realizes she’s stuck in its jaws.The fear on her face makes you want to devour her next, but something about her reminds you of an old friend, an old lover, Lae’zel , and it brings you back to reality just enough to grab onto the monster's jaws.

Each hand is jutting into the teeth of the monster, your blood flowing freely in its mouth, but you don’t care; you’ll heal almost instantaneously, anyways.The monster is strong but no match for your determined strength. After a moment of you using your might, the monster's jaw is wretched apart, cracking at the joints as the monster howls in pain.Zii’ro has plunged his sword into the mouth of the creature as Chae is pulled out of its jaws. One last yelp of life is screeched from its stinking maw before it hits the ground.

You already hear another beast, and you’re back in the hunt, ready for more.

You couldn’t begin to tell Astarion and Lae’zel what the hell happened on your hunt. But you return to the spire drunk, drenched in animal blood, having gorged yourself on a variety of wildlife. The hot, sticky crimson wasn’t nearly as delicious as intelligent blood, but there was a lot of it, which you are a fan of. It drenched your leathers, your throat and jaw, even your hair.

Astarion, standing at the entrance to the spire, looked immaculate as he narrowed his eyes at you. But you can only laugh at his handsome, pouty face.

Your warriors followed you, equally covered in blood and guts. They prattle and grunt behind you, Chae hobbling along despite her injuries. You were too incapacitated to focus on what they were thinking: but half of them looked rather amused, and the other half looked angry.

You looked around yourself, realizing you didn’t even have a weapon on you. sh*t. You must have abandoned it during your frenzy.

Astarion is immediately scanning your memories, your brain, having preoccupied himself during the hunt. Looking over to where his warriors are at, you realize they brought back several animals, and your team had none.

“You clearly enjoyed your hunt. Have you not brought back any game?” Lae’zel asks tentatively. You are hardly listening to her, because you’re focused on your ambivalent husband.

You could feel his upset. You tried to weave through it, but you are still caught up in your bloodlust. You giggle when he takes you by the arms and pulls you into him, studying your face as he closes in on you.

“Don’t be mad, my darling.”

“Don’t be mad,” You repeat aloud, giving him a little smile to try to butter him up.

It wasn’t until Lae’zel and the other soldiers were out of hearing distance that Astarion spoke.

“Well…you’ve ruined that darling outfit I bought you,” He says, his voice low.

Astarion is deciding how to react to this: he doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t necessarily break any of his rules, and he thought you looked rather beautiful covered in blood.

But he decidedly did not like you drinking animal blood. “Come, my wife. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

Astarion remembers you just a few days after the defeat of the Netherbrain: writhing beneath him, utterly breathless and beautiful, even dizzy, from all the org*sms he had given you. You had fought him, only a little, before submitting and allowing him to ravish you again.

He wanted you all to himself for a little bit, before all the work began: the two of you were going on day two of the indeterminate amount of time Astarion decided you would stay at the hotel in the Upper City.

You were worried about him, which he thought was rather sweet. You were also a little afraid of him, which turned him on even more than he anticipated.

The f*cking was instinctual, animalistic. When Raphael had told him the ‘appetites of man’ would return to him, he couldn’t have ever imagined how desperate his co*ck would be for you.

With the tadpole gone, Astarion’s powers were growing dramatically. His body was changing, his strength increasing, his entire state of mind and being was changing.

He made you a part of him, now. You were his, he was yours, and he needn’t be ashamed of pleasuring himself and his darling. He could nestle himself in your body and mind, and know that it was just the two of you: him and the only person he ever loved. The thoughts of disgust and loathing were kept at bay, only when he was with you. Only you.

Astarion had you in a mating press, pushing your thighs back as far as they’d go. He had already come inside you once, and he watched as his thick white come billowed out of you.

The sight was delicious.

“This is amazing,” Astarion had laughed, pushing his co*ck into you deeply, hips banging against pelvis. His tip kissed your cervix, which is exactly where he wanted to be: as deeply nestled within you as he possibly could. “It’s never felt this f*cking good before!”

You whined and mewled beneath him, begging him to both stop and continue your torturous pleasure. But if you didn’t know what you wanted, Astarion would decide for you.

“Haha! I can’t believe this is all mine!” Astarion hadn’t been able to contain his excitement. When you flutter your sweet c*nt around him, Astarion plants a confident kiss to your lips, bringing his hand down to idly play with your swollen nub.

“The palace, the wealth, the power, even you. All mine.”

Astarion tightens his grip on your neck as he bites down on your shoulder. He doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t need to, and he wants it to hurt.

When you yelp at the pain of his bite, before descending into moans, it makes his co*ck feel so filled with blood that he only wished he could devour you further; to make you his all over again. It had been the best f*cking godsdamned feeling in the world, turning you into a vampire.

As he felt the mind numbing effects of his impending org*sm, his thrusts becoming uneven and sloppy, Astarion concluded that this was the best place to train you. You’d be an obedient little wife if he kept you f*cked out and full of his co*ck; he just knew it. It was what was best for you, anyways.

He repositions you, lifting your hips up on his thighs, where he starts to rut into you: it’s too deep, it’s too much, and he knows it.

You start to push him away, trying to close your thighs to prevent his intrusion.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion muses, capturing your wrists with one hand, using his other to force your thighs open.

“Please…“ You had begged—but in your mind, you told him to give it to you. You wanted all of him, and Astarion loved this so much, his heart swelled to proportions previously unknown to him, and he was a man maddened with lust, with love, for his sweet wife.

And there was something about making his sweet wife, the strong leader of the group, so submissive and needy for him…

With that, Astarion’s powerful mind flits to another memory; he would never forget your face when he asked you to kneel for him in front of the others.

A guilt fills Astarion’s chest, a feeling he was no stranger to, but it pissed him off. He hadn’t initially thought of it as humiliation, and had been surprised when you told him why you had stopped asking him for kisses in public.

You were so delicate, so beautiful, and it was both the reason why he was desperate to protect you and keep you by his side, and why he wanted to dominate you.

He’d especially never forget how you looked when you obeyed. He was so happy.

Now, seeing his consort covered in the blood of lesser creatures, he couldn’t ignore the shifting visions of the past that flit across his mind.

He decides the best punishment for you was to stretch you out with his co*ck and take his pleasure in you, just as he had decided two thousand years ago. He plans to leave you breathless and desperate with no intention of making you come.

He imagines withholding your org*sm from you, leaving you covered in his slick seed. Yes, my consort hates being denied . He’d command you to push his sem*n back inside your wet, sloppy entrance, pleasuring yourself while coated in his essence.

He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He loved making you come too much, but he certainly enjoyed the thought.

Astarion scrubs your skin with the washcloth, the flakes of dried blood stubborn even with hot water and soap. “ What am I to do with you, my love ?”

“I tried. I participated. I tried to be what they wanted.” Astarion senses your hurt, your confusion.

He brings a hand to your jaw, drawing you to face him. Astarion sighs before he speaks, giving you a little smile. “It’s alright, love. I don’t like it, but I’m not angry with you. It’s only your nature.”

Astarion sighs when you smile, relief washing over him as the fog of your upset dissipates from his assuring words. Once you’re clean, Astarion is next, and soon, the two of you are wrapped up in each other once more, taking the opportunity to adore each other after a long day.

Astarion wants you to be quiet, even when he finally slides his swollen, needy co*ck inside you. You’re so perfect, Astarion wants to stay here forever, just like this with you.

He keeps his co*ck in you for a while as he captures your lips with his own.

“You are my everything.”

Chapter 5: Pink

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Kith’rak Elan assigned Astarion’s group to a new training room, you were almost certain Astarion wouldn’t allow it: but he hadn’t fought the decision, thank the gods, because he was starting to embarrass you, and you don’t think you could have handled another blunder.

You hadn’t realized how annoying a doting husband could be until you arrived at the Crystalline Spire. You were used to spending a lot of time with Astarion and being adored by him, but it had been long since anyone treated you the way the gith did; it had brought out a different side of your vampire, seeing his darling with so much responsibility again.

Astarion, his anxieties steadily increasing, had become insistent on having some part of his body touching you whenever possible: this wasn’t unusual for the two of you, but he had gotten rather forceful about it.

Back home, you and Astarion subjugated all that surrounded you; Astarion handled most things, leaving you with little interaction with the ‘outside world’. Your world was your life and marriage with Astarion, and you had been happy with that arrangement for many centuries.

In turn, Astarion had relatively little experience handling his own emotions when it came to seeing you outside the safety of your home. You could sense his discomfort when you weren’t in his line of view; his anxieties would only grow into frustration from there: if you were so far Astarion couldn’t detect your scent, you were to expect his constant presence in your mind, especially after what happened on the hunt.

There was one day Astarion had interrupted your training session because he wanted to be with you. Chae and several of the others giggled when you had obeyed, earning them a wretched glare from Astarion.

“Who were they laughing at?” Astarion asked as you sat in his lap, your back pressed to his muscular form; he smoothed your hair with his free hand as his other arm was wrapped around you, wrist in your mouth as you fed on his delicious essence. He had to ask you twice to get you to answer.

“Me, mostly. Chae and Quinel laugh because they think I’m a pleasure slave to you. Marg’o giggles only because she finds you dashing. Many of them don’t realize I can read their thoughts and hear their whispers.”

Astarion had only hummed in reply before flawlessly maneuvering your weight in his hands, putting his sweet little consort whenever he needed her to be.

****

It takes Astarion far longer than you’d anticipated to explain the death of the spawn to you. After he told you not to fret over it, you decided to listen, leaving it in the back of your busy mind for another day.

But when Astarion finally tells you the dead spawn is Marwa, you understand what has happened.

“You’ve been spying back on Moth.” Your tone is accusatory, but you knew there was no other reason why Marwa could have been killed in such a way: she must have been caught, and was left out in the sun to burn.

You had already decided not to chide Astarion about refusing to grant the other spawn his gifts. You already knew that was a generally ‘off-limits’ topic for the Ancuníns.

You and Astarion sit cross legged on your bed facing each other, knee to knee. Ever since Astarion had somehow managed to have the gith find the two of you your own room, separate from your underlings, it had allowed for more open and intimate contact.

It had been good for you, because there wasn’t anything you wanted more than to be in Astarion’s arms after a long day. But it had been…not so good for Astarion, who was beginning to only crave you more, his resentment for this entire journey only increasing as the days went on. Especially when his sending stone never stopped pinging; at some point, Astarion would have to tuck it away, ignoring the messages of the empire and likely whatever communication the spawn would have with him telepathically.

You knew there was far more at play than you realized. You had just never really cared before; not for a very long time, anyways.

Astarion massages your fingers and palms. Although your vampiric regeneration would ensure no lasting injuries, it didn’t exclude you from feeling stiff: you were undead, after all, and being stiff just came with the territory.

But your use of so many unpracticed muscles in such a short amount of time had you aching in ways you had forgotten.

“You need to stretch more,” Astarion says as he stews over the Marwa discussion. He began to inspect your nails, his fingers gently tugging on your joints. “It’s a shame that you prefer to use your gorgeous hands in battle. It makes you smell more gith than I’d like.”

You roll your eyes. “Everywhere smells like gith. We're at a crèche, darling.”

Astarion narrows his eyes at you, suddenly looking focused. “What else am I to do? How else am I to gather information?” You were back to Marwa. “Maybe you don’t realize, my darling, that Marwa has been a spy for me for half a millenia. I’ve sent her on countless missions. She’s been to Moth’s estate many times.”

“And now she’s dead.” A part of you thinks about Marwa, and you realize you didn’t know anything about her beyond what her capabilities and usefulness to Astarion was. Hmm.

Astarion laughs. “You’re not wrong, but by the gods are you adorable when you worry about our little family.”

Astarion brings his head towards your palm, planting a kiss in its center before moving his way up your wrist, motioning you underneath him as his pretty lips trail their way to your neck, leaving you feeling tingly at the sensation.

You pull away, narrowing your eyes at him. “You don’t take me seriously, do you?”

“Come now, pet, why do you say that? Do you really mean to criticize how I choose to protect our family? To protect what’s mine?” Astarion playfully plants kisses on your cheek—you feel the flutter of his lashes on your temple, making you shiver from the closeness.

“No, I just…I don’t want the situation to become worse. What if he finds us here?” Your eyes are wide as he moves to meet your gaze. Astarion is scowling.

“Why are you even thinking about these things, Tav? Do you not trust me to protect you?” But Astarion stops there, because he recognizes your apprehension: a feeling similar to the unease you felt before Lae’zel’s arrival.

That unease that was connected to your psychic foresight, the one you were born with that seemingly amplified once you turned into a vampire—the very one that Astarion was now silently cursing for its uselessness.

“A spawn has never died before.” You emphasize this, that in the two millennia of your vampiric lives, firsts don’t often occur.

“Yes, and?” Astarion’s thinking he’s already handled everything and doesn’t understand your upset.

“I’m a spawn. If Moth can kill Marwa—“

Astarion places two fingers atop the plump of your lip, preventing you from speaking further. He’s shushing you, but you grab his wrist and pull his hand away, your eyes burning with frustration as you bring yourself back up to a seat, Astarion allowing you to maneuver freely.

“Don’t hush me like that, I-I don’t like that.” You think about how the other day, Joss kept interrupting you during your tracking lesson. It annoyed you to no end, and it particularly penetrated your cool exterior when Astarion did it.

Astarion blinks at you, surprised that you corrected his behavior. You often told him what you wanted, but that was about material things, like servants and dresses and invitations (once, long ago, you had to tell Astarion to stop inviting Lord Renald to your parties. That man stank to the high heavens despite all the gaudy perfume he wore.) but not often (if ever) about intimate things, such as how Astarion touched you.

Astarion was the one who decided that: by whom and how you were touched. There wasn’t any part of your body unexplored or off-limits to him.

Astarion’s eyes are dark as he rests his hand on your chest, index finger gently caressing your collarbone. “And I didn’t like the way you were speaking.”

“I am your spawn, though. You call me that often enough, you remind me often.”

Astarion brings his hand to cup your jaw, urging you to meet his gaze. “We’ve discussed this before, do we really need to go over it again? You’re my consort. My wife. You are the only one who has supped my blood.”

“But you were created for me,” Astarion directs at you as his lips find yours once again, his tongue seemingly desperate to be inside your mouth. You think maybe he just wants you to stop talking, but his hardened co*ck does make you realize his intentions aren’t all that calculated.

But Astarion, no stranger to understanding the value in communicating with his consort, reluctantly brings his lips away from the only object he truly desires. “You are mine, Tav. It doesn’t matter what you are, only that I’ve given everything I possibly could to you, since the very moment we became beholden to one another back at Moonrise Towers.”

This was entirely true, and it softens you a bit. Astarion, seeing the way your eyes open and your mouth parts, those cute little fangs he gave you peeking out from the plush pads of your pretty lips; he can no longer help himself, and decides he needs to be inside of you, because it had been far too long for the living vampire to have been without his wife in his arms.

Astarion’s lips find purchase on yours once more: they are sloppy, uncontrolled, his desire for you running to his very core. It was like it was in his very nature to love you.

“You’re far stronger than the spawn are. And you're always under my especially watchful eye, as you know. How lucky you are, I made you my bride.” Astarion is nearly lost in the bliss of your body as he pushes you on your back, bringing the hem of your nightgown up to accommodate himself between your legs.

You’re cursing yourself for being panty-less, because the moment Astarion has access to your holes, he’s searching, his fingers desperate to be inside your body.

“Then why do you call me that?” Your voice comes between your fervent, fractured kisses, which halts to a pause once you’ve asked your question. It doesn’t stop Astarion from sinking a finger between your folds, his eyes watching you as you take him.

Astarion lifts your dress above your breasts, a sight he particularly loved. He removes his finger to drink in the sight of you.

There was something about seeing his darling girl, eyes wide and cheeks flushed from his blood, with something so innocent as a modest nightgown pushed away without a care in the world, exposing you to him as if he was in a hurry. As if he was taking you like a thief in the night, desperate not to be caught.

Like you were a sweet little secret of his.

Astarion tugs at your hardening nipple, but you ease yourself up on your elbows, eyebrows knitted together in a frustrated, reluctant pleasure.

“I’m trying to say something serious, Astarion…” You say as he moves himself to your dripping c*nt, his head resting on your thigh as he gently tugs the folds of your labia, spreading them, exposing your swollen cl*t and tight entrance; only breaking eye contact to take in the sight of your open sex.

“And we’ll work it out, my love,” Astarion mewls, his racing heartbeat and dilated pupils making it apparent that this was a man, who, although his enthusiastic passion for f*cking his wife was admirable, had no real intention of addressing the problem anymore.

Lost in the sauce. An odd phrase you had heard from Zii’ro and Joss. This must be an iteration of the meaning of that phrase.

He begins to crawl up to you, but you place your foot on his chest, pushing him away as your enchanted anklets clank together, creating a little chime at your movement. This stopped him in his tracks, but he only looks even more turned on from your denial.

You realize the little foot move might’ve been a mistake. This man would likely find a way to f*ck it: if it was attached to you, he’d find a way.

Astarion swiftly frees his co*ck with one hand, the other gripping your ankle as he brings your foot down to his shaft, rubbing his length on your arch.

“You are such a freak,” you say, shaking your head, having nearly forgotten your plight as you try pulling your ankle away from him. “This is hardly ‘working it out’.”

“What is it that you want, then?” Astarion says as he grabs your other ankle, dragging your hips to him before pressing his body between your legs, both hands tangling in your hair as his hard co*ck rests on your lower belly, balls on your soaked center. “You know you need only ask, my sweet consort.”

You felt the wet lips of your c*nt nearly suckling on his skin, the friction of its increasing slickness due to the mess you were making on him sending a shiver throughout your body.

His ruby eyes glittered with lust, his curls falling down the sides of his face; his breath on you smelled so good, evident of the life inside of him, making your stomach growl at the mere thought of his crimson essence.

f*ck and feed, you think. Focus, you animal!

Lae’zel had told you to be direct with your warriors. To tell them of the expectations and goals. Why couldn’t this extend to your relationship?

“I don’t want you to call me spawn anymore,” You say as you do your best to keep your voice from wavering under his intense glare.

“You’ve a lot of interesting demands today, don’t you, my love?” Astarion speaks evenly, considering your words. “You act as though I say that anywhere but in private. As I’ve said, you aren’t just some spawn. But you are a spawn of mine: my offspring. It’s one of the countless things I adore about you. It’s what makes you so perfect to me, so perfect for me.”

You take an involuntary breath, gasping as he comes to plant his lips on yours, nipping at your skin just enough to draw blood, to taste your essence before he languidly plunges his tongue in your mouth.

You moan into him, his words inspiring something deep within you, but you still aren’t satisfied.

“Besides, you know why. It gets my co*ck hard to hear you call me ‘Master’, and you don’t seem to mind it,” He teases, his tone still playful, but his words rooted in a painful truth. “Especially when you want something. So why should I not be able to call you ‘spawn’ in turn?”

You were guilty of using the term to butter him up, that much was true. “I just don’t like it. Do I need a reason other than It hurts my feelings? That should be enough for you.”

Astarion sighs. “You know I will give you what you desire. But why now? What’s changed?”

“I’ve never liked it, as you very well know.” You darken with these words, and it reflects in Astarion, who is feeling a pang of guilt that he doesn’t hide. “Lae’zel taunts me with it, countless of the gith categorize me as such, as if it’s a weakened state, that I’m a pitiful thing for being your spawn. And now, with Marwa dead…” Tears threaten your eyes, but you and Astarion don’t break eye contact: the two of you're locked into a state so deep, you couldn’t pull away if you tried. But you’re choked up now, and you can’t really speak.

Being able to telepathically communicate with your lover at any given time was a blessing. “I feel weak, Astarion. I know I can trust you to protect me. I just wish I commanded the same respect I once did: the same respect you have.”

Astarion props himself up, curls falling out of place as he gazes down at you, handsome as ever. His ruby eyes are wide, open and receptive, but disturbed by what you’d told him.

“If that’s truly how you feel, my love, then we can surely command their respect by slaughtering every last one of them and ending this silly war ourselves. We’d be doing Vlaakith a favor .” Astarion’s nose crinkles and twists in anger.“ They surely wouldn’t be disrespecting my wife with their last breaths. Maybe contemplating your neverending beauty. But honestly, that might not be palatable to me either.”

“No—that’s certainly not what I meant!” You exclaim (likely the most expression you've shown outside of org*smic rapture in a long time) your hand flying to Astarion’s chest, pausing over the strong beat of his heart.

“I know, Tav,” Astarion says, his tone playful and knowing as his hand wraps around his co*ck, bringing it back from its half-hardened state. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Astarion rolls onto his back, signaling you between his legs, where you begin to kiss his taut abdomen, worshiping his sculpted form with your lips and tongue. “But only if you make love to me with your mouth, my darling girl.”

****

“The celebration begins tomorrow, Ancunín,” Kith’rak Elan chides at your beloved. “Where is your wife this morning, I wonder?”

You chose not to squeak at him, despite Astarion daring you.

”Safely nestled inside my pocket, Kith’rak. Laundry day; you know how it is.” You imagine the smirk Astarion must have on his face as he pets the top of your head with the tip of his finger. You were nestled against his chest inside his pocket, not wanting to be disturbed today.

You had become mentally exhausted over the course of the two tenday you had been at the crèche; between the rigorous training, the meetings, all the interaction—it had burnt you out.

Dealing with your battalion had been a chore—no, a nightmare . There was one night where you and Astarion held each other while you scanned his memories of the gith you had met two thousand years ago. You both agreed that the gith raised under Orpehus’s banner were only slightly more tolerant of outsiders than Vlaakith’s gith, and seemingly more ignorant.

Zii’ro’s questions had been incessant, and the others had started to join in. You enjoyed answering them and telling them stories, but after a while, it was difficult for you to handle this.

You could always hear their heartbeats, and mortals have a tendency to get rather close to you when they speak, so their scent also becomes known to you. But you swallowed your darker thoughts away, focusing on the sound of their voice and their facial animations. Astarion had taught you to do this, to help you fit in, to make you look a little less feral: he had learned it so long ago, so much earlier on in his life than you, that he had long been a natural.

Watching them was the best way to learn and (one of) the best way(s) to distract yourself. The more time you spent with your warriors, the more they accepted you, even for your strange quirks: the things you couldn’t quite imitate.

“Is it hard for you to keep up with the facade of life, Tav?” Quinel had asked you one day after a long day of training; Lae’zel and Elan had helped your warriors adapt to your fighting style, and it had greatly improved how you interacted with each other in sparring. You hoped it would translate well to the battlefield.

Quinel certainly had a way with words. Not an elegant one, that’s for sure.

”You see me struggle, do you not?” You ask, a bit annoyed at the question. It was obviously difficult for you, and you didn’t understand exactly what they were asking.

”I suppose. But I want to know more about it.” Quinel had hardly spoken, so you wanted to encourage this communication, but damn were they direct.

You didn’t think there was much to tell. “If you are more comfortable around me, then I am more comfortable around you.” The less your heart races, the less I want to eat you.

“I am relieved your blinking has improved,” Chae mused as she sharpened one of her many daggers.

”Good. That’s the point.” You had given her a curt nod, signaling that the conversation was over : but that hadn’t prevented Zii’ro and Joss from asking more questions not even ten minutes later.

To no-one’s surprise, Astarion treated his group much like he treated his spawn: detached, firm, direct. They seemed to accept him well enough, and they certainly respected him. The Kith’rak was pleased with you and Astarion’s performance, despite your little hiccup during the hunt.

The Kith’rak merely hums at Astarion’s reply before continuing with whatever he would go on about. Pressing up against Astarion’s warmth, the thump of his beating heart fills your sensitive ears. You fight the urge to tear through the fabric of his clothing and plunge your little fangs in his soft skin.

****

The night before the banquet, Astarion buries his co*ck in you just because he felt he needed to be there. He was moving only every once in a while, your juices accumulating from the sensation, until you were ravenous and dripping around his wide co*ck.

You lie on top of him, straddling him, chest flush against his. He’s holding you so desperately close, you were lucky you didn’t need to breathe.

He rubs his cheek on you, leaving kisses in their wake wherever his lips could place them, hands keeping your squirming body in place to prevent your hips from rocking into him.

You were so desperate to come, you felt the lower rumble in your belly as your org*sm grew to a precipice, only for it to retreat from lack of stimulation. You groan in frustration, causing Astarion to chuckle before he captures your lips.

His tongue is soft, hot, his touches gentle with you on this night; the two of you had been pulled away from each other more and more, assigned to various duties, seminars, and training exercises: the gith were busy people.

“It’s so good to be with you again,” Astarion expertly titillated your mind with your link, causing you to clench around him. “Spending all day with these gith is becoming increasingly insufferable. After this is all over, we’ll be spending another decade in the boudoir, I think.”

Something depraved inside of you wants this: to be kept as his little toy for a while, having no responsibilities, no pain or stress, just pure enjoyment of your choosing (reading, writing, drinking blood: all of your favorite things, of course) and the most delicious org*sms you could imagine given to you by the most beautiful man in all the realms.

To go back to the way things were, really.

But you were starting to like this taste of freedom: it made these intimate moments with your husband even sweeter, even more precious, but you weren’t sure Astarion agreed.

Astarion’s hand reaches for your ass, squeezing as his other hand finds the root of your hair, bringing you into an unbreakable kiss.

“Please,” You moan, unable to return Astarion’s casuality. “I want to come, my love, please…”

He’s been selfish with you: your time, your body.

“Focus, I’m trying to be serious, here.” He’s mocking you a bit, merely in jest, and you think it would hamper your desperation, but you only clench around his co*ck as you bring your hand to his jaw, your grip firm as you bear down on him. Testing your limits, you push yourself away from him, bringing yourself up right.

Hand still gripping Astarion’s chin, you give him the most salacious, most abhorrently whorish look you can muster as you move to rock into him, and to your surprise, he lets you. He’s practically drooling at the sight of you: full lips parted, his ruby eyes bright but lowered with passion, silver curls slicked back behind his pointed ears.

You don’t last long before you’re contracting and creaming around Astarion’s co*ck, your muscles squeezing his member with fervency. You and Astarion had had every type of sex, all sorts of ways: eternity sure gives you time to explore and expand your sexual interests.

But rarely did you take control and find your own pleasure in him, and gods did he think you looked perfect writhing atop him, c*nt clenching as you whimpered his name.

“So beautiful. I adore you. I f*cking adore you Tav. Forever.” There is an intensity in his eyes, and he feels the words in his chest as he communicates them to you. It makes your heart flutter and bloom within you, and your soon c*nt follows suit, convulsing around his wide co*ck.

“I love you too,” You mewl as you’re nearing the end of your climax, his eyes softening at the words he so desperately wants to hear.

You stop f*cking him after a while, exhausted from your intense org*sm. Astarion picks up where you left off, in your poor little cummed-out state, grabbing you by the hips before continuing to rut into you.

You’ve collapsed on his chest at this point, but Astarion doesn’t stop. He cradles you into him, encouraging you to bring your knees up as far as they’d go, resting at either side of his torso. The tip of his co*ck is pushing at your depths, making you tremble in your beloved’s arms.

“Oh—my love,” Astarion whispers into your ear: you hardly register it, your brain fuzzy from both your recovering and impending org*sm.

When Astarion finally comes inside you, the warmth of his seed filling your tight hole to the brim nearly makes you crave more, but you don’t think you could if you tried.

But your husband still seemed to have some energy left in him. He lays you on your back, his hands going underneath your knees to pull your thighs up and apart, so he could see his spend inside your f*cked out hole.

Astarion’s lips parted at the sight of his thick, creamy come spilling out of you as the smell of musk, sex, and sweat lingered the room.

To you, Astarion’s natural body odor was the most exquisite perfume, other than his crimson bouquet, of course.

“You aren’t going to let me f*ck it again, are you?” Astarion asked, eyebrow raised, the corner of his lips tilted in a hint of a smile.

You shake your head, still recovering from the thorough f*cking he’d given you. Your eyes widened at the thought that Astarion wasn’t done with you.

“And lucky for me, my beautiful darling has two other serviceable holes for me,” Astarion says as he presses a finger to your ringed entrance, your c*nt contracting at the pressure.

“Oh you are so cute,” He dotes at your reaction to his prodding, preparing you for his co*ck; it isn’t long before he’s filled you once more.

Astarion cleans the both of you up before turning his back to you, grabbing your arm to pull around himself. He wants you to hold him tonight. You rest your forehead on his back, placing gentle kisses on his flesh as you wrap your body around him, one leg between his as he interlocks his fingers with your own.

You breathe in his scent, that musky, earthy smell of sex and sweat filling your nose. You lick your lips, tasting his salty fluids on your tongue. The warmth of his skin was like a sanctuary to you, and you squeezed him, holding him to you preciously.

You still had an inkling of fear tucked away; you pushed it further back to the recesses of your mind as you began drifting off into a dreamless, peaceful slumber. The sound of Astarion’s beating heart thrums in your ears like the soothing sound of the ocean, or rain on pavement, and it carries you off into the twilight dark.

Astarion wakes the both of you up early to prepare for the banquet: the Ancunín’s were to always look their best, and who better than to help you look gorgeous if not for your beloved? And your lady servant, of course.

“I think the pink is too gaudy.” Astarion says with a finger and thumb rest on his chin: he was deeply focused, on what you couldn't be sure, but it certainly wasn’t the color of the dress. He remained fairly present, so you left him to his thoughts. “Washes you out too much, dear. It’s offensive that a color is able to do that to you, my beautiful darling, but alas.”

You survey yourself in the mirror once more: you think Astarion is right, and it makes you wonder why you ever bought the dress at all.

“A themed party, love. You remember Lady Danet? Fear not, her ‘pink’ parties can’t hurt you anymore,” Astarion is smirking, thinking how funny he is. He’s remembering you, dressed in all pink, a little frown on your face as you adjust to the tight corset Lady Danet required her female guests to wear. You simply didn’t think you looked good in pink, and to no surprise, you and every other woman in the world hated wearing a f*cking corset. Except for Lady Danet, you think, the odd woman that she was. That had been some fifty years ago, and Lady Danet was long in the grave, now.

“Cynthia?” She was a servant, but you chose her for her gentle personality, obedience and competence, and her eye and honesty for styling you. She was almost as good as Bethild.

“I agree with our Lord. I think a red or a green would suit you better, my lady.” Cynthia says, pondering for a moment. “Pink is very in , which is why I chose it milady, but I hadn’t really thought about what would be fashionable for gith.”

It was still lost on you why the pink dress was even thrown into the fray: but no matter. After trying on several others, you realize Astarion is a million miles away, no longer focused on you at all.

The look on his face gradually became dire. Just as you felt like you had found ‘the one’ (a beautiful emerald silken gown that showed off your shoulders and cinched at the waist) Astarion looked at you, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed.

You realize he’s leaving the crèche before he says a word. His eyes suddenly become misty, glassy, but he doesn’t hide it from you. Cynthia immediately feels the shift in mood and swiftly makes her exit.

Astarion’s sending stone is pinging off in the distance. The two of you stay like this, words hanging between you, listening to the sending stone ping over and over and over…

Notes:

Wanting to explore Consort's psychic abilities more, so lets see where that goes...
I wanted this chapter to be really focused on Astarion and Consort's love and marriage and explore those ever-growing dynamics, even the unhealthy ones lol. also, smut, duh. Hope you guys enjoyed.
Hope you guys are liking the long chapters. I'm trying to update more frequently but man this one...I had to cut pieces from it.
More Lae'zel coming.
Also Ruth and Cynthia are totally in love and an item.
find me on Tumblr: faerievampling

Chapter 6: Blind

Chapter Text

You give yourself a look over just to ensure everything is in place: your hair was braided with such elegance it could have brought tears to your eyes, and the earrings that Astarion had suggested paired brilliantly with your dress. They were a simple diamond, likely dug out by kobolds or dwarves somewhere in Neverwinter. The gems hadn’t been particularly expensive and there was no great story behind their purchase: Astarion had simply bought them for you because he thought they would look nice on you.

You had wanted to pass on wearing a necklace; between the earrings and braids, there was just a little too ‘much’ going on with your look, but Astarion had insisted.

The necklace provided you with a gentle warding bond. The gem of the necklace twinkled when the spell activated.

“Lover, surely this isn’t needed,” You had said while Astarion nervously adjusted your ensemble, smoothing away wisps in your hair and ensuring your makeup hadn’t smudged, your lips swollen from his incessant kissing. Astarion had remarked that you should be thanking him for the natural lip plumper, which only added to your supernatural, earth-shattering beauty.

“Madame,” Cynthia says from behind you, her voice light and tentative. You couldnt stop thinking about how helpless Astarion felt before walking through the portal back to Faerún, leaving you, Ruth, and Cynthia behind at the crèche.

He will be back. Later tonight. He promised. He will be back, you thought to yourself. You could sense Astarion’s anxiety amidst his occupation. He had told you not to worry, as if that was even possible.

“Yes?” You answer, looking at Cynthia’s reflection. She also looked quite lovely, and wore a blue gown, which was lovely with her blond hair and grey eyes. She smiles at you.

“Master wants me to remind you to blink and smile. But there is a certain ‘statuesque’ beauty about you when you aren’t thinking about it.” Cynthia’s eyes dart away from yours in the mirror, afraid she has been too casual with you, but you give her a little smile, as friendly as you can muster on that ancient face of yours.

“How interesting of you to say,” You reply, your voice even and light. You try your best not to be too robotic, reminding yourself of Astarion’s suave ease at mortal communication. “Are you excited for the banquet?”

Cynthia beams behind you. “I am. Very much.” Her heart is racing. You can sense her excitement.

You turn to her, nodding your head as her eyes drink you in. “Any last adjustments?” You ask, knowing Astarion would want you to look your best. He had told you to represent your family well in his absence, and you intended to do so.

The distance almost makes you feel pain, which is unusual; but you remember something you read in a book, once, about physical manifestations of emotional pain. You wondered if that idea was applicable to vampires with telepathic bonds, too. Astarion had been nearly distraught having to leave you. But you really couldn’t dwell on that now.

Cynthia takes a moment to thoroughly inspect you. “None. Master did well to do those himself, the expert that he is.”

You nod before opening the door to your chamber(if you could call it that; your room was certainly better than the last, but nothing quite like your boudoir at home), allowing Ruth to come in. His eyes were on you first, simply because he couldn’t help it: the two of you smelled distinctly of Astarion, which would always be attractive to you simply because he was your creator.

Ruth nodded to you. “Stunning, Madame,” he says politely before turning to Cynthia, the true object of his desire, you realize. You can smell the arousal on them alike, and Cynthia’s beat has gone between her legs.

Looking at the two of them reminds of the ‘before’ times. And that reminds you that you’re about to go party with a horde of gith without your husband. You think about reaching out to him, because surely he feels your growing anxiety; you are beginning to get angry, feeling as if he’s ignoring you.

But the rational part of your brain knows your anger is misplaced. You take a deep breath, startling both Ruth and Cynthia in the process, who’ve become lost in each other's eyes.

You take the crook of Ruth’s arm as you exit your chamber, Cynthia trailing behind the two of you. This was the way of the court: since you were absent your husband, any male escort would do. Servants, like Cynthia, don’t get an escort. Simply, your royal life was far more valuable than hers.

But you aren’t in court, are you? You think before turning to Cynthia, letting go of Ruth’s arm as you wave her closer. You promptly switch places with them, choosing to walk alone as the couple strolled in front of you.

Walking down the long hallway, you quietly observe the pair; when Cynthia rests her head on Ruth’s shoulder for a moment, snuggling up to him for a quick hug, you realize how happy your underlings probably were that they had their own room now. A quick look into Cynthia’s mind confirms your theory: although their relationship was in its infancy, these two made love often, and Ruth regularly fed from his darling.

Cynthia hadn’t been the first of Ruth’s lovers. Ruth did this often: he would devote himself to one human after another, and be entirely distraught upon their death. He never asked Astarion to turn any of his lovers, because that was against the rules.

Ruth seemed to rather like Cynthia, you think, but you had never paid attention to the others, so you couldn’t really say if things were different for him and your new lady servant.

The other spawn weren’t so monogamous as Ruth. You knew Marwa had a string of lovers but never a steady relationship. Astarion’s other two spawn, Ygritte and Apholso, often tangled together. If there was ever any drama between the two, neither of you heard of it, which was another one of Astarion’s rules: the lives of the spawn needn’t ever disrupt the lives or relationship of either Astarion or his consort.

You’ve lost yourself in a memory when you nearly stumble into the pair in front of you as you reach the ballroom of the spire.

It was far grander than you had imagined: the walls were smoothed, but still a rocky crystal that seemed to illuminate on its own volition, reflecting off of the milky white floors which resembled ice.

The gith are dressed up, and much to you and Cynthia’s dismay, pink was surely in-style among the gith women. But it was no matter: the moment you walked into the room, many eyes were on the three of you.

“Tav,” A familiar voice called from beside you, and you turn to see Lae’zel, reaching her hand out towards you to take your arm. You accept, allowing her to lead you towards a more intimate corner of the hall, Ruth and Cynthia on your heels.

There was a lot of gith here. You and Ruth are already looking at each other nervously: him moreso than you, even though you had missed your second feeding. The spawn’s vampiric hunger was far greater than your own, far more painful and constant. That didn’t really change your discomfort, but it certainly made Astarion feel better about the whole ordeal.

You knew the two of you needed something to occupy yourselves; excusing yourself from your group, you grab two glasses of wine from a serving table, handing one to Ruth as you begin to nurse on your glass of red.

Ruth does the same, and Cynthia is looking at him as if she’s worried. This strikes remembrance within you, when you once worried for Astarion’s hunger.

You notice Lae’zel is wearing a rather pretty dress, one that shows off her lovely neck; Lae’zel’s cleavage peeks out of the hem slightly, and you can’t help but steal a glance. The dress is a dark chocolate color, complimenting her green skin and orange hair well. She looked so much softer than normal, and you wonder if you had ever seen her this way.

You think maybe you should compliment her, but instead you focus on your red wine and try to stop thinking about how her skin would taste on your tongue as you slide your fangs into her—

“Where is Astarion?” Lae’zel asks, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.

As your eyes sweep the room, you start to feel a disturbance, and you know something is wrong. You still for a moment, time seeming to slow down as you focus your senses on the world around you: the smell of sweat and perfume and blood beneath skin, the warm moisture in the air touching you behind your ears, beneath your breasts, the sound of the casual music and the chatter mixed with laughter. You wait.

Ruth answers Lae’zel’s question. Because you are waiting.

“My lady –“ Ruth begins, but you bring your hand to his shoulder, patting him.

“Shh.”

But nothing happens. The banquet continues on like normal and you decide to return to the others, giving them the fakest smile you can muster.

“Darling darling darling darling darling.” You’ve involuntarily reached out, feeling Astarion’s quiet presence. He acknowledges but doesn’t reply, understanding that you’re both rather antsy.

Before you know it, your warband descends on you. Ziir’o, Quinel, and Joss wear a traditional Githyanki garb, an elegant suit tailored with thread made from intelligent beings rather than cotton or silk. It was an old tradition, one that existed far before Vlaakith or Orpheus ruled, where a young warrior would skin their first kill, using its materials to create a garb in a show of honor.

You thought it was a rather vicious tradition, one you admired. The boys looked handsome, and the three of them blush when you say so.

Marg’o and Chae each wore gowns; you and Cynthia shoot each other a look after taking in Marg’o’s pink gown. Chae, despite how stern she usually was, looked rather soft and lovely in a golden gown. The other five, who weren’t so keen on you, lingered about, greeting you curtly.

“Where’s your husband, Tav?” Marg’o asks with a blush. You couldn’t blame her for having a crush on Astarion, and you thought it rather cute.

“Not far. Just handling some business. He’s never truly away from me.” This was a lie, of course, but nobody needed to know that.

“Will he arrive in time for dinner? He knows Orpheus expects him.” Lae’zel says; it would have knocked the wind out of you if you hadn’t been undead. Instead, you were merely shocked.

You think for a moment nobody told you of Orpheus’s coming, but you knew it was more likely you had heard of it and hadn’t thought it important.

“I’m not sure,” You say as you reach out to Astarion, who is feeling nothing but frustration and anxiety. You can sense how badly he wants needs to be with you.

There is more small talk, but you ignore it, holding onto your connection with your husband. You know Astarion really doesn’t give a sh*t about Orpheus at this moment: surely, he wanted to please him, for alliance purposes or whatever, but what was going on at home took precedent.

He told you not to worry about that pesky war the mortals are having. Men and women (and some children, you are told) from all over Faerún are engaged in conflicts; but you have seen many nations rise and fall, so how different could this next one be?

But maybe your wealth was being threatened. And with Lord Geldon Moth in the mix, the Ancunín power and fortune was in need of not only defense: you think you should start to fight back. Maybe Astarion should create that spawn army, gather a few Githyanki forces storm the gates of wherever the hell Moth’s estate was, kill him, his consorts, all his spawn, all his thralls, and f*ck your gorgeous husband on whatever excuse of a throne Moth sat on.

When the feast was finally called, you took Ruth by the arm, Lae’zel leading the two of you to the grand hall. There were rows of long tables filled with gith bodies as the banquet was brought to a semblance of order: in the back of the room, atop a platform, was a long, elegant table with a grand chair at its center.

The table and throne were made from wood and bone, carved magnificently; the legs of each resembling the tail of a dragon.

You take Astarion’s seat, directly next to the throne, and Ruth takes your seat next to you. Cynthia is made to stand behind you: you almost feel bad for her, but it was to be expected. The dinner felt more formal, more serious, and when everyone was largely settled, the dinner hall was hushed. There was a little quiet chatter, but hardly the assault of the ears that was the hall when you arrived.

The heartbeats of many thrummed in your ear, slamming against your eardrum amongst the quiet. You realize you’d never let go of Ruth’s arm, gripping it with such strength that you drew blood with your long nails. Ruth, equally if not more so bothered, gripped you back in kind, his hand covering yours. It takes you a moment to realize he’s trying to get your attention.

Ruth could telepathically communicate with Astarion, who could play telephone with you, if he so chose. But you could also easily read Ruth’s mind, and he knew this, so he signaled to tell you to peek inside.

‘We shouldn’t be here without Master Astarion. Too difficult, too difficult. Not enough blood. Cynthia is so delicious. Eat her whole.’ Ruth’s thoughts accidentally waved to Cynthia’s neck and breasts; ignoring his more lewd thoughts, you shake your head at him.

You try urging him to keep still, to stay calm, and to follow the rules of ‘Master’. But that feeling of apprehension in your gut hadn’t left, and you felt that little lump in your throat get bigger the more you lied to Ruth.

“It shall be alright, but we musnt make a scene. We would be punished,” You think that you would probably enjoy your punishment and Ruth decidedly wouldn’t. But the lying thing seemed to work, and Ruth was calming down.

“Think about your darling. Think about Cynthia. When I think about my husband, I do better to behave.” You’re still lying, but you know this is true for Ruth. You often did what you wanted, regardless of what Astarion thought. “You don’t want her to think you're a monster.”

Astarion didn’t care if you were a monster – as long as he could love and adore you, he would. But this wasn’t the case for Ruth. The look on his face signals understanding, and he nods with you in agreement.

“Don’t tell me something is the matter. Now is not the time,” Lae’zel rasps from beside Ruth, leaning over him. The royal procession was beginning, and everyone who had a seat stood: you and Ruth quickly followed suit after a single dirty look from Lae’zel.

You and Ruth continued to grip each other as the resplendent Orpheus was finally seen, his blue eyes fixated on you the moment he saw you.

“Orpheus is here,” You direct to Astarion, a strained reluctance in your message you knew your husband couldn’t ignore.

“I can only imagine how lovely you look right now. Haven’t stopped thinking about your perfect tit* since I arrived in Faerún. You know what to do, my love.” Sadly, this signaled the end of your correspondence, because Astarion’s attention was quickly stolen away from you again. But you had greater things to worry about, like the Githyanki King standing before you.

But you did know what to do: throw on the vampiric charm, ignore that strange inkling of your psychic abilities, and do your best not to eat anyone. You regurgitate this back to Ruth, minus the psychic thing, of course.

Orpheus nods to you as he finally takes his seat, and the rest of the room relaxes. There are no great speeches, only the clanking of classes and the sound of music playing in the background as the room was brought to life.

Your discussion with Orpheus happens in a blur. You hardly remember him, your knowledge being from Astarion’s memory of the event, but Orpheus certainly remembers you.

“Time passes differently for us in the Astral Sea. It feels like not so long ago you and Lae’zel freed me from Vlaakith.”

You smile politely, careful not to show too much fang. “I apologize for my Lord Husband’s absence. There was…business to attend to.”

“It’s quite alright. Your Lord commands the Ancunín fortune and the armies and governments of Faerún, but you were the one I was keen on seeing. You were the one who slayed a devil and a ghaik ally to free me.” You think your vampiric charm is working a little too well on Orpheus. Peeking into his mind, this King was thinking of how delicious it would be to put you on your knees and stuff his co*ck in your mouth right in front of your husband.

Despite his lewd thoughts, there was a glitter in the man’s eyes, and it was clear he still admired you greatly.

When the food arrives, everyone digs in, except for you: one of the two vampires in existence who could actually enjoy the taste of food, but you didn’t care for it. The servants and other underlings ate in the kitchen, and as the movement in the dining hall increases, you find yourself sitting next to Lae’zel, Ruth having gone to the kitchens to sit with Cynthia.

“How has your evening been, so far?” Lae’zel asks as she sips on her wine, her eyes sweeping over you in lustful praise.

“Without Astarion?” You shake your head, pushing the food around your plate. “Any event without him is a bore.”

This was simply the truth: you had nobody to gossip with, nobody to laugh at others with, nobody to bother with bratty complaints or loving touches.

I shouldn’t be surprised a spawn loves her shackles, it’s in their nature…

“Is it really so unbelievable to you that I simply love my husband? That I am happy with my arrangement?” You blurt, decidedly not caring if you were being rude or not.

Lae’zel is looking at you deeply. Thump. Thump. Thump. “Must you read my mind?”

“Must you think such terrible things of me?”

“I won’t forgive him for how he treated you. How he turned you into a spawn. How he made you kneel for him. I never –“ Lae’zel looks away, and you smell the coming of her tears. “I never would have done the things he did. I loved you. I respected you. To watch you tolerate that was your folly.”

Despite her words, Lae’zel’s thoughts were clear as day to you: ‘I still love you, Tav. I want you. I want you to still want me.’

It would be so easy to drain this one: you knew Lae’zel would be putty in your claws as you sucked her dry and caressed her lifeless body.

You blink at her, your mind feeling hot with a flash of anger. That was so long ago. Things are different now, you think, but no words come out of your mouth. You stand gracefully, turning only a few heads as you make your way out to the side of the hall, avoiding having to walk down the center of the room.

You hardly have time to process your aggravating conversation when you are overcome with a wave of nausea, your mind assaulted by a vision of utter darkness, one that is so black that it reminds you of nothingness. You only know you haven’t lost consciousness because your sense of awareness never leaves.

Taking a deep breath, you try to collect yourself, leading yourself around the corner to a secluded walkway. The smell of alcohol is pungent in your nose as you hear the shuffling of footsteps behind you: you know there is a familiar group of warriors coming down the hallway, and one is already calling out to you.

“Tav! You must try this, it’s a rare ale made in the Astral Sea –“ The smile on Ziir’o’s boyish face drops at the sight of you. “Tav?”

“Are you alright?” Joss asks, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

As the group gets closer, your mind flits to that vision of nothingness. You feel a great surge in your connection with Astarion, and you know he is already on his way to you. To protect you from whatever it is that is happening. He’s racing towards you, but…

it’s

already

upon

you

Your thoughts become fragmented as that nothiness swarms you. You hear those familiar voices call out your name as you feel a strange sensation behind you, like you are standing at the edge of a cliff and you can feel the harsh winds at your back, threatening to knock you over the edge: you are unsteady, you are uneasy, and you are alone.

Astarion is calling out to you but you can’t discern his message; you can only feel his panic, his horror as his deepest fears are realized, and you feel your cheeks wet as even your vision goes dark.

“Astarion. Astarion. Astarion!” You’re screaming out to him, but you have no idea if he can hear you, because you receive nothing in response. The words seem to bounce around your empty mind.

Nothing: there is something about the absence of existence that is instinctually frightening to a vampire. Nothing is both a feeling and a state of being that vampires try to avoid.

You feel the world of the créche slip away from you as you finally fall off the cliff edge, into that strange breeze that violently whips around you.

“Astarion?” You keep reaching out to your bonded mate, desperate for him to respond.

Even your nose is blind. You start to think that maybe you’re dead when you no can longer feel your body. You don’t know how long you stay like this for, in this state where only your consciousness seems to exist with itself. You don’t think about much other than Astarion, who will surely come and save you at some point, even if you are dead.

Your hearing is the first to come back to you: someone is shuffling around you, maybe even pacing. For a moment, you think maybe it’s Astarion, until your sense of smell comes back online: nothing about wherever you had been taken smells remotely like your husband.

On the contrary, it smells distinctly like another vampire. This is when you start to panic. Tears are already sliding down your cheeks once your sense of touch comes back to you, realizing that you are wrapped in the arms of another man.

His skin is cool, scaley, his large arm coiled around your body as you try to squirm away from him. You realize now that whatever spell had been placed on you was wearing off.

Your entire body is trembling, and there is a stabbing pain in your chest and your temples at the realization that you are alone in your head.

“Tch tch, my little darling. Mage, again.” The man’s voice is deep, rumbling, and you feel the flicker of a long, thin tongue lap at your cheek. You won’t forget how he loves the taste of your tears.

Chapter 7: Eternity's Promise

Summary:

Astarion is alone.

Notes:

trigger warning for descriptive panic attack in this chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Astarion believed he hadn’t forgotten what true suffering felt like: there had been too many times in his past where he was tortured, beaten, starved – no, he had certainly suffered. But the vampire lord had been out of touch with his pain for a long time, enveloped in a loving, fairy-tale-like existence with his darling consort, so perfect and submissive, for the past two thousand years.

Astarion had everything he could ever want: riches, power, eternal love.

Even when he listened to the news from the realms, on how multiple nations had evolved to civil war, the threat of societal breakdown imminent, he had you, which was enough for him. Everything else could be rebuilt, just like the Ancunín name – but you couldn’t be replaced.

“Involve the military. Whatever needs to be done, have it done,” Astarion demanded, his frustration growing immensely as he was acutely aware of his wife’s discomfort at the banquet; but he had to ignore it. Astarion had an incredibly powerful mind after his ascent, but that didn’t stop him from feeling mentally spread thin.

“The people are already marching to the capital of Amn. Neverwinter has been taken by a militia,” A man said; Astarion hardly bothered to memorize the faces of his advisors and other figureheads, anymore. It was easier to identify them by scent alone.

Astarion mindlessly twists his wedding ring, the only one he had chosen to wear. He wanted to protect the Ancunín fortune and the power he’d consolidated, if possible – and most of all, he really didn’t want to have to handle the managing of accounts during a coup.

Suddenly, Astarion senses a strange feeling – one that he is familiar with, instantly recognizing it: a vision is coming over you, and he’s already racing towards you, wasting no time excusing himself.

“Astarion, Astarion, Astarion!” Your voice rang out in his head as you called his name over and over. Your fear was imminent, your panic rising by the second.

“I’m coming, my love!” Astarion desperately responds, but your cries only continue, racking through his mind as your fear becomes his own.

“Follow,” Astarion commands Alpohso and Ygritte, who obey immediately.

Snip.

Astarion’s eyes widen. There is something bubbling inside him, deep in his chest, threatening to blossom as he digs his nails into his palm. It’s painful, making his heart physically ache. Your thoughts and feelings slip away from him, making that void between the two of you entirely empty: Astarion only hears his own thoughts reverberating in his mind.

Upon viewing the Vampire Ascendant when the cord is cut with his consort, he merely pauses, his intensity so frightening that his spawn tremble with fear, dropping to their knees, ready to serve their Master in whatever way possible. He is empty, a vassal of space that is filled with a vicious anger so feral and vile that Astarion himself fears it. He doesn’t understand what’s happened: he knows you aren’t dead, because he would just know if you were, but he can’t sense you anymore, can’t probe into your mind, and for the first time in two millennia, Astarion finds himself alone.

You are his: his first spawn, his favorite spawn, his consort, his wife, his best friend, his one and only. “Where the hells are you?”

Astarion doesn’t come back to himself until he hears the high pitched screaming of a woman in his ear. He is back at the crèche, in a grand hall he doesn’t even recognize. Astarion knows he followed your scent here, to the end of the trail.

The blonde servant is holding onto a pile of blood and guts on the floor, the gore slipping through her hands as she clutches her chest. Looking at the blood on his hands, he couldnt be sure what he’d done to the spawn, but Astarion thought the servant was surely being dramatic – Ruth would heal, he was a vampire for god's sakes, and the pain the couple felt was nothing compared to how Astarion himself felt.

Something about seeing the two lovers together makes Astarion even more angry, his fury growing steady with every passing moment of your absence. Your voice plays back in his head, your image, the memory of your tender touch…

Cynthia sobs echo through the chamber of the dining hall, even louder than the crowd of gith that hung around the corridor, as she brings her wrist to Ruth’s mouth: the vampire latches on, sucking greedily at his lover. Astarion thinks it might make him feel better if he killed Ruth’s beloved; it would be an apt punishment for the spawn, but it wouldn’t be great enough. Astarion didn’t think any punishment would. Moving towards the couple, Astarion feels a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

The hand is firm, not aggressive but assertive. The hold on him isn’t trying to keep his fist, but get his attention; Astarion turns to see Lae’zel, her makeup smudged and eyes filled with common fury.

Astarion can hear the sound of the Kith’rak attempting to clear the hall, followed by a barrage of questions from the crowd.

Astarion flinches away from her, her touch only making his skin crawl. He flits through her mind before she can even speak, gathering all the information the gith had about your disappearance. You vanished through a portal of darkness, Ziir’o had grabbed your hand, but the force was too strong, and you slipped away.

Lae’zel begins to speak, but Astarion moves past her, deciding Ziir’o should also be punished. But Astarion stops, recognizing something in the eyes of several of the gith: they, too, longed for you. It only reminded him of your absence, of that blank space in his mind that only increased, like the never ending expansion of the universe.

“You promised me forever, Tav.”

Instead of crushing the young gith’s chest and eating his heart, Astarion materializes into red mist, flitting away from the scene to scan the crèche for any sign of you. After many hours, he finds himself in the enchanted forest, zipping through the trees and murdering anything in sight.

The cavern in his chest only grows more hollow, and Astarion finds himself crying out for you with every stab, every bite, until his throat feels sore. He ran himself to the point of exhaustion, and although he would recover quickly, the wild thumping of Astarion’s heart made him feel a bit more steady. Alive, reminding him that he was still here, even if you weren’t, which means that he would just have to get you back.

Once Astarion finds his way back to your room, he numbly lays himself on your side of the bed, his nose rubbing into your pillowcase. He knows he can't waste any time, and he will only stay like this for a moment – but it’s a moment he needs, because he’s feeling your absence wash over him all over again, threatening to sweep him off his feet.

He finds himself in a daze, and there is a feeling in his heart that could only be described as frigid. Astarion brushes his fingers through his silver curls, closing his eyes as he accepts how wrong he was to think he ever understood suffering.

****

Astarion rests for only a moment before his mind is itching at him again, his thoughts on loop as his heart churns in his stomach. He felt desperate for your scent, desperate for any sign of you: he found his way to your laundry, finding the clothes you had worn to training that the servant hadn’t gotten around to washing yet.

They smelled distinctly of your sweat, your blood, and he needed your odor close to him – gods did his chest ache. Astarion would swear on his life his heart wasn’t physically beating right in his chest: he imagined it bruised and broken, fragmented, all its pieces being held by you, leaving behind a shell of a man.

Astarion lays your clothing on the bed, finding himself clutching your silk panties in his hand. They were white, perfect for one so demure and delicate as his beautiful spawn wife –

Bringing the crotch of your underclothes to his nose, he closes his eyes as he takes in your most intimate scent: but it only makes him feel a deep ache inside, his hardening co*ck only making matters worse. “I need you, Tav.”

He decides to lose himself in the moment, to escape the looming pain: freeing his member, the warmth of his hand and the fabric of your soft panties has him coming undone quicker than anticipated. His strokes are rough, fast, and he’s imagining your hot, wet mouth wrapped around the base of his co*ck, his tip reaching the back of your throat. Your eyes would always tear up, but you were such a champion for him –

Astarion lets out a strangled cry as he shoots thick spurts of come, careful not to soil your underclothes, his tears falling before he can stop them.

Astarion doesn’t understand how this has happened: doesn’t understand how he will begin to fathom that you are gone. He knows he must act soon, but his entire body is aching for you, his hands shaking. His org*sm only made him feel your absence more, and Astarion is cursing himself.

Suddenly, Astarion remembers the necklace, the warding bond, and he’s grabbing at his throat, only to find the twinkle of the gem had died. Astarion can’t help but imagine you dead, or chained up somewhere, being used – the thought makes him sick.

Moth had you. It was the only person in the world who would take you from him. Astarion had left you alone, and now you were gone, and it was entirely the worst feeling he could recall, other than when Cazador’s blade carved the symphony of the contract into his back.

Astarion really couldn’t waste anymore time, he decided. He needed to know the specifics of how you were taken and where: he knew about several of Moth’s palaces, and who knows how many more the dragonborn might have, but he may be able to narrow it down if he could get close enough to search for your scent.

Once Astarion’s recovered, he stuffs your panties into his pocket before gathering your things; he’s interrupted by a brief knock on the door before it swings open. Lae’zel enters, followed by the spawn and your warriors, all ten of them. Astarion hissed at the intrusion, not wanting any of them to muck up the smell of you that still lingered in the room.

Lae’zel immediately notices Astarion’s bloodshot eyes. She remembers something an old hero said, something about vampire lords not being able to love, only craving one thing. The state of her pale friend makes Lae’zel question if what the old hero said was anything more than plain ignorance.

Their conversation happens in a snapshot, Astarion’s tone lifeless but nonetheless frightening: “This is your fault.”

Lae’zel blinks. “You needn’t be absurd. We are here to help you, Astarion.”

Astarion doesn’t respond for some time; he is thinking about your smile, his deplorable thoughts twisting this precious image to one of your fangs piercing the throat of a dragonborn. Astarion had heard Moth was known for his exotic beauty, and he is seething at the very thought of you caressing scaled skin.

It was worse if he was taking you by force, if you weren’t enjoying it – that is only the cruelest torture, and Astarion is prepared to tear across realms to prevent this from happening. But if Astarion was being honest with himself, it hurt him more to imagine that you were enjoying your time with this other man. This other vampire…this other lord. ‘ He will be her new Master .’ The thought has Astarion crawling in his flesh. He had to have you back, either way. And he was not so proud to deny help, not when it came to you.

“A wizard. We need a good one.” Astarion looked around the room, his hand involuntarily grabbing at the fabric in his pocket, almost as if to check they were still there. He would have to find something else to track you, something of yours that he was willing to part with: your adorable white panties were not one of them.

The gith nod at his request, Lae’zel sending one of the young ones to fetch a shirt of yours.There is something about Astarion’s aura that clears the room, leaving only Lae’zel and the spawn behind, who kneel whenever Astarion is idle. It deeply unsettles Lae’zel, but something about this entire situation felt off to her.

“Is it not strange, to you, that this lord betrays the nature of vampires by taking a spawn he didn’t create?” Lae’zel asks, wiping away a smudge of makeup with a finger. Drenched in sweat and a few tears, It had been a long night for her. Handling Orpheus and the Kith’rak’s reaction to the situation had her reeling: Orpehus was more apt to help, but Elan wanted the vampires gone. Lae’zel and Orpehus had the final say, of course, and she was permitted to continue doing what she was doing: gathering her fighters and spreading her cause in whichever way needed to happen. She couldn’t leave Astarion like this and knew this was the next part of her strange journey.

“It’s not that strange if you consider the fact that this lord is utterly insane.” Astarion also thought it was rather strange how the Crystalline Spire had no windows, and it made him feel even more closed in. “And I am the only vampire alive who matches him in power. It was only a matter of time before he attempted to take me down.”

“He is a red dragonborn, correct?”

“Yes.”

“It is in their nature to hoard. You’re sure his first name is Geldon? Geldon Moth, the red dragonborn?” Lae’zel’s quizzical tone was beginning to irritate Astarion.

Astarion looked to his spawn. “Up. Gather.” Lae’zel watches uneasily as the two spawn begin to collect the rest of your things. “What do you mean to say?”

“He can’t be much older than you, Astarion. Dragonborn had only been in Toril for hardly two hundred years when you and Tav met.”

“Don’t say her name,” Astarion’s voice was a force that barreled through Lae’zel’s mind, causing her to grab the sides of her head in anguish. The corner of Astarion’s mouth twitches, relishing in the way her heart flutters with fear.

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Lae’zel?” Astarion’s heart is filled with fury, with grief, and Lae’zel backs up to brace herself for a fight. His knees are bent, and he’s nearly crouched, like a predator. “He is only a hundred years older than me. He was named and raised by humans after his parents were slaughtered, and he was created by a vampire far greater than I.”

Astarion pauses, his face softer than Lae’zel had seen before. “Lae’zel. Moth has resources beyond what I’ve amassed. He has a harem of spawn who fight for him, and even more thralls. If I could find the bastard, I could probably take him down myself, but he’s well protected. And he has what is most precious to me. I have to be careful…I have to think.”

But Astarion was having a hard time thinking of anything but you.

Lae’zel steeled herself, clearly shaken by the situation.”And you have a hoard of gith. And the daylight. And me, of course.” She gave him a weak smile, but it was one Astarion oddly appreciated. He doesn’t return it, but stares at her for what feels like an eternity to Lae’zel before the spawn are kneeling before him once more, prepared for their next task.

“I must do whatever to get her back. At any cost.”

Lae’zel pauses. There is something she doesn’t understand, something she’s missing: the empty look in Astarion’s eyes gives it away. But she retreats, knowing when to choose her battles.

“We’re returning home for the time being. Ring me once your witch doctor is done with his tricks.” With that, Lae’zel watches as Astarion turns the corner, disheveled silver curls disappearing at the bend.

“Wait!” Lae’zel runs after him. “Let me come with you, Astarion.”

Astarion turns to her, unable to hide the glassy look in his eyes. He flits through her mind with ease.“You think you still love her. And what you feel for her, Lae’zel, is so very little compared to the bond I share with my wife.”

Lae’zel’s cheeks flush. “My feelings matter not, Astarion. Our friend, Tav , is missing –“ Astarion turns around, but Lae’zel continues, sensing that despite his actions, he was still listening. “I wouldn’t ever leave her behind. Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll…none of us would ever have let harm come to her. It will be that way all my life, as it was for theirs.”

Astarion hardly reacts, already leagues away. “Do whatever you want. You know how to find me.”

****

Astarion isn’t surprised when Lae’zel shows up with five githyanki fighters on her heels; Astarion immediately knows it’s your warriors, the ones whose scents tended to linger on you longer than the others. He meets them in the portal room of your palace, the one the Ancunín’s called home.

“Our mages have yet to find any trace of her on Toril,” Lae’zel’s words inspire only frustration within Astarion. “Astarion, tell me why you cannot sense her on your own.”

Astarion turns, his back to Lae’zel and the others. Silently commanding his spawn to escort the gith out, Lae’zel and Astarion are left alone in his office. He turns to a large painting of you, noticing it having caught Lae’zel’s eye.

In the picture, you’re looking over your bare shoulder, your long hair cascading down your back. The expression on your face is soft, your plush lips parted in a way that made you look girlish. Your red eyes seemed to follow Lae’zel, who decided she much preferred your old eye color.

“I’ve had many of her done over the years. That one is my favorite.” This wasn’t true, but Lae’zel didn’t need to know about the collection of lewd paintings Astarion had of you hanging in the boudoir.

“When was this painting of her done? It’s lovely.” She asks, her tone as steady as her arm.

“Around eight centuries ago.”

“It’s difficult to fathom that much time has passed,” Lae’zel takes a breath in. “You know, I still remember how she reacted on the docks when the tadpole died.”

Astarion flinches at the thought. When the tadpole died, your vampirism became fully actualized; your hunger had become immediately apparent, uncomfortable. Your senses had drastically sharpened, the smell of blood and guts and the sound of beating hearts hitting you all at once. Your eyes widened, filling with tears as your hunger pains wrecked you. Astarion had felt it, your pain, because your vampiric connection had solidified in that moment: it was beautiful, terrifying, and it was then Astarion knew he would always be a slave to you.

Astarion had to take you away from the others, feeding you from his own wrist while doing his best to restrain you until you got your fill. If you were full, your hunger was easy to control – and a vampire’s hunger is everlasting, even if the vampire has special abilities.

“She didn’t suffer for long that day. I’ve taken care of her from the moment I made her mine,” Astarion narrows his eyes at her, raising his voice as he feels his anger rising. “Why do you bring up the past? What relevance does this have to finding her?”

“You must know where I stand with you, Astarion. I still cannot bring myself to forgive you for turning her into a vampire. For stealing her life, which you so happily did.”

Astarion grimaces before flashing his fangs at her. He hadn’t really the energy to spare. He sighs before he speaks. “I can easily read your mind, Lae’zel. All your pointless words amount to nothing, to me, because I really don’t give a sh*t. The only thing I care about is getting my wife back. Hats off to you for saying it to my face, I suppose.”

“She was different after that.”

“Still on about that, are we? We both made sacrifices so that we could spend eternity together. That was my promise to her, and I intend to keep it. Let's not waste anymore time.”

****

After a long day of traversing portals across Toril, handling a divide of a once united world, and dealing with the attitude on Lae’zel, Astarion wanted nothing more than to be alone at the end of the day. He had worked through most of the night before Bethild suggested the lord should rest. He had reluctantly agreed.

“Bring me a glass of red, would you?” Astarion didn’t bother to clean his desk: he would be back in just a few hours.

Bethild hesitated for only a moment. “Of course, my Lord.” The request was an odd one coming from Astarion, but Bethild was good and never questioned him.

Astarion was met with your favorite red wine by the time he arrived at the boudoir. He thought it far too strong and bitter to be drunk before bed, but it did taste like you: right at the fall of night, before you washed away the doings of the day. He swished the wine in his mouth, savoring its sour flavor before he swallowed.

Astarion can’t help but dwell on what Lae’zel said: how you were different after your turning. This was undeniably true, Astarion himself having experienced it: you were overall less emotional, but more prone to violence, and you enjoyed combat far more than you ever did. But these things had only made Astarion love you more, and your feelings for him only grew, as well. Astarion would know, because he was always watching his darling.

Astarion hadn’t bothered changing since you vanished, and he realized he was still in the extravagant, elegant clothing he had been in at that stupid meeting about the mortal wars. Studying his ensemble, Astarion feels tight all of a sudden, like he buttoned his clothing too tight, or his chest was being crushed, or like he was underwater – drowning. His breathing quickened until the tips of his fingers went numb, and he was surely dying.

But Astarion reasonably knew that he couldn’t actually die like this: but something inside told him he simply wasn’t safe. Astarion grabs at his collar, yanking the buttons free as he easily tears through the fabric, and he doesn’t stop until he’s on his knees, shredded cloth at his feet. Sitting back on his heels, he brings his ring to his lips before losing all composure. His tears are hot and salty, streaming down his cheeks as his arms move to wrap around his waist. When his fingers brush the scar tissue on his back, he flinches away, not even feeling safe in his own body.

Bringing his hand back to his mouth, Astarion bites his wedding ring, bringing his tongue to the metal, savoring the metallic flavor as he takes a deep breath. He stays like this for some time before gathering himself up. He was a mess, and as he walked to the bathroom to wash up, he caught a glimpse of himself in a vanity mirror.

He wasn’t surprised at his puffy eyes and disheveled hair. Astarion typically gazed into any mirror he could: he adored his reflection, and yours, which had been a triumph of his as a vampire. He was able to give you something that was so cruelly taken from him, and you never had to forget your gorgeous face.

Astarion gazed heavily into his own eyes, which were the same shade of deep crimson as yours. ‘ How rare. How sweet .’

Every thought of you burned him, like a double edged sword: to try not thinking of you hurt just as much. Astarion narrows his eyes at himself – even after two millennia of being able to see his reflection, he never got tired of it, but there was something in his expression that was just off . If he looks close enough, if he focuses only on his eyes, he can see you in him…

“I love you, Tav.” But it doesn’t fill the growing void in his chest. The words weren’t a magic spell, even if they felt like it when spoken from your lips. Astarion returns to the bed he once shared with you, your clothes littering the mattress as your beloved vampire desperately tore through your belongings, grabbing anything and everything that smelled like you.

He should have told you that more. How much he adored you – how much he loved you. How his heart beat only for you, and everything he had in this world was nothing without you. How he felt that even with his ascension, even with everything he’s given you, he still hadn’t given enough.

Astarion stays in reverie while he can – at least until the sun comes up. For now, Astarion simply wants to live in memories of you: your smile, your laugh, your smooth, flawless skin, the pitch of your voice…

Astarion’s tongue was between your lips, your kisses languid and sloppy as the two of you lay naked in bed, silken sheets resting at your hips. Astarion has you on your back; he is perched on his elbow, curls falling out of place as he’s forgotten the world around him.

His tongue sucked and stroked your own, a trail of saliva connecting your lips when he pulled away to look at you. “My treasure…”

Astarion twitches. This had been right before Lae’zel showed up and ruined it all. Astarion goes back further, to a more lewd memory:

Your c*nt was sucking his co*ck in, taking him so relentlessly that he felt like you wouldn’t ever let him go. His hands roamed your body, his fingers stopping to tug at your nipple, the hardening bud sensitive enough to make your back arch just from his touch.

He softly ruts into you, causing a whimper to escape your lips. “Tell me again, my favorite spawn.” Before you could respond, Astarion grasped your jaw with his hand, meeting your eyes to his. “Obey me.”

“I love you, Master Astarion.”

“Tav…” the elf moans, his mind already involuntarily flickering to another memory.

Astarion is perched at a window. He swiftly breaks the lock, entering the house silently, crouching as he approaches a sleeping man.

The man was tall, muscular, his curly red hair and copper skin immediately having an effect on you. Astarion thought the man rather attractive himself, and permitted you to ask him to bed. He had been invited back to the Ancunín estate many times.

Astarion thinks about the way you cried out the man’s name the last time the three of you were together as he slid the dagger into his throat. The way you run your fingers through the hair on the man’s chest and groin flashes before Astarion’s eyes when the man tries to ask why.

“I won’t share in her heart.”

Astarion opens his eyes, cursing at the wretched memory. He didn't understand why he was dwelling on such things, but the pit in his stomach spoke tenfold: he had never told you the truth about the man’s death, even when you cried after hearing the news of it. He hid the information away from you, one of the few secrets he kept, and it only made his stomach churn to think about it. Astarion shakes these thoughts away as he eases out of the bed and makes his way to the balcony. He breathes in the cool night air, the stars shining bright in the sky as he looks off into the abyss of the city below.

In the coming days, Astarion would be in agony: he wouldn’t rest, his mind flitting to you every second as his thoughts became single minded, obsessive, like he was on a loop that is purely you . Astarion has music playing in the halls continuously, because he began hearing an echo of your voice throughout the palace, and he really thought himself going mad.

He would create many more spawn, sending them out into the night to scout for your scent. Astarion himself would do so for days, even returning to the crèche to ensure he hadn’t missed any information, but all roads lead to nowhere.

On the mantle of the fireplace in the grand boudoir, a painting hangs: you lie on your back, your breasts exposed, the expression in your eyes is hungry, wanting, and your lips are parted just enough to see the tip of your fangs. Your arms are overhead, as if you are lounging in a stretch. Your thighs are together, and when Astarion looks at the painting, he imagines spreading them, taking your folds in his mouth and pleasuring you until you’ve come undone around his tongue. Astarion has thousands of memories of you like this, desperate and whimpering for him, and something about knowing he’s f*cked you, his eternal bride, far more times than his body count brings comfort to him.

But no amount of memories could replace you. Tears were unbecoming of a vampire lord, and yet they began to feel like second nature to Astarion.

Notes:

I pray I did this chapter justice, and I hope you enjoyed. This one was difficult and I had so many ideas, but alas, Astarion will continued to be explored.
I listened to 'Oil (feat. Stevie Nicks)' by the Gorillaz on repeat while I edited this lol
Chapter 8 already has substantial work, and I have a 4 day weekend next week (mini vacation!) so I will be focusing on getting that out. Sorry for the mild cliffhanger last chapter and I'm sorry for our sad, anxious, vampire husband this chapter. We will be back with Consort next week!

Chapter 8: Draconic Bindings

Notes:

TW for this chapter: Dub-con, Non-Con. Depictions of SA. (None of these between Astarion and Tav)

Chapter Text

All living beings have an intrinsic desire to survive, and this was nonetheless true for the undead, such as yourself. You haven’t a clue what’s happened, only that something with a wet nose and a beating heart is close to you.

You managed to open your eyes despite the heavy haze you had existed in for…well, you couldn’t be sure, but you were absolutely starving, and that alone told you it had been at least a day. You feel drained, heavy, fatigued in a way you hadn’t known since your creation: a feeling you imagined you would only recognize if you could only remember what it felt like to be alive.

The first thing you see is a pink nose, rather dull green eyes (you’re sure this is due to your injury rather than the animal’s beauty) and silky white fur, long and fluffy. A pang of sadness fills your heart and your head, but your survival instincts are much stronger, and you move to reach for the cat – if you can grab it, eat it, that would give you enough energy to move more, and possibly heal faster.

Rolling onto your side, you swing your arm towards the cat: but you’re too slow, and the movement causes a burning sensation to spread throughout your arm. The cat darts away. ‘Pitiful,’ you think before your arm goes slack in front of you: your hands are bare, you realize, and all but a simple silver band remains on your wrist. Looking at your other hand, your heart drops at its bareness: your wedding rings are gone, only an identical band on your wrist remains.

You look down to find your charmed anklet had been replaced, burning even when you wiggled your toes. You close your eyes, burying your face into a strange smelling pillow as you weep.

“Only obedient women get fed. You must learn.” A voice comes from behind you’re on your side, having curled into a fetal position in hopes that would help with the pain. You feel something heavy, cool and smooth, dancing across your body. You’re naked, you realize, and what’s grazing you is a large claw, it’s hand scaled red, talons long and black. His hand is huge, covering nearly half your torso.

You can’t really move, especially with him pinning you down, so you merely hiss at him; the man chuckles. His voice is deep, gravelly, fitting for a lord of his size and race.

“You have been like this for days. Thrashing about. Being a bad pet. Attacking anyone who comes near, even a cat. Fighting my fangs and co*ck away when I take you. Refusing to take my blood.” His face was pressed against yours now, his arms wrapped around you as he drew you in. His thin, reptilian tongue was cold and wet on your cheek, lapping at your tears. Your body burned from the movement, but the man seemed entirely unaffected: you take note that the outside of the silver could be touched without pain; only the inside had been conveniently left untreated.

You knew the Lord Geldon Moth had you, you needn’t be a scholar to figure that one out.

His tongue retreats, and you brace yourself for his devilish voice. “You know, I am a very big fan of yours, Tav Ancunín.” Moth brings his arms underneath you, bringing you into his lap, holding you like a babe. You close your eyes, willing yourself away. He just smelled wrong. “The True Hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

”You are smaller than I imagined,” His voice was low, and you felt the flicker of his long tongue on your breast, teasing your nipple. Settling you on his lap, you can’t help but focus on that distant heartbeat, the one still thumping about somewhere in the room. You’re so hungry, and the pain is really getting to you. You open your eyes involuntarily, using all your might to try to squirm from this lord’s grasp.

Moth grabs your chin, thrusting your head to him. For the first time, you make eye contact with him, studying the image of his face with such ferocity that you knew you’d never forget it: he was handsome, that much was true. He was angled in the right places, his red scales glittering in the candlelight. His iris was red, as all vampires and many Dragonborn have; but the space around his eyes was black, reminding you of the empty void inside of you.

His pale, long digits slip the large diamond ring onto your finger. It paired beautifully with the wedding band and the two other gem-embedded rings, all of which had been among the wedding gifts Astarion got you. You look up at him, meeting his gaze –

“Do not fight. You are far too weak. Obey and I will relieve you of your pain, my dove,” The two of you held eye contact until you ceased your thrashing. You were too exhausted, hungry…mostly hungry. You try to avoid the thoughts of your husband’s face flashing in your mind.

Moth’s hand moved from your jaw down to your breasts, his large hand swallowing them as he touched you: it was somewhere between a caress and a grope, a strange movement for a man so large.

“All you must do is bite me. I know how hungry you are, little one,” Moth cooed, his words making you feel dirty. “You will not heal correctly if you continue to refuse to feed, because the silver will remain until you do.”

You have a distinct feeling that you shouldn’t bite him. He smelled wrong, the blood in his veins dead, incomparable to that of your living darling. You were also quite unsure what would happen if you did: you had squared yourself with the fact that Astarion was gone, but you didn’t know what it meant. Was he still your Master? If he wasn’t, then what kind of vampire did that make you? If you bite Lord Moth, a vampire that should be equal or lesser to you, would you be enthralled by him?

Two thousand years and you never quite understood your condition. It simply hadn’t mattered to you before. But now, these thoughts frantically swim about your mind, interrupted and nearly discarded by your hunger pains.

But…you hiss at him, turning your head away, refusing the man with all the defiance you could muster.

Moth scowls at you before slinging you over his shoulder, teleporting the two of you to somewhere dark, wet, and deep in the earth. Despite your dampened senses, you immediately sense the life around you, hearing their heartbeats, their little chatters and the scattering of nails on stone.

Moth slings you down, your skull violently bouncing on the floor at his discard. Your ears ring as blood slowly drips down your forehead, filling your vision with red. Moth bends over to quickly grab a squirming vermin by the tail, dangling it over you.

“If you refuse to obey, Tav, and be mine, then you shall rule the cellars as the Rat-Catcher Queen. A title befitting for one so distinguished as yourself. Think of it as an ode to your old Master.” With that, Moth disappears, and you are alone.

ratcatcherturnedlord.ratcatcherturnedlord.ratcatcherrurnedlord. The words feel like a brand inside your skull, burning and tearing and eating at your mind. You lap up your own blood from your body after all life in the cellar had been extinguished.

You come back to yourself after a while. Your night vision is impeccable, and you can easily find your way around: you can even see your pained reflection in the pools of blood on the floor, your pride preventing you from consuming the spilled crimson. The rat blood had been sufficient enough to clear your mind, but it couldn’t fix your heart – you curl up, putting your head between your knees as you wrap your arms around yourself, wishing for the warm embrace of your husband.

Your husband. Your Master. You loved Astarion with your entire being, and you had since your creation: Astarion held your heart carefully in his palm, and he had ever since he made you his. You felt safe here, comfortable, your affection being met nearly at every point. Astarion generally knew how to keep you happy.

You have to get back to him: you’re a married woman, a day-walking vampire, a fighter, a Sarth, a friend, a leader – you wouldn't let yourself become a slave to one such as Moth. But you knew fighting him would prove fruitless in your condition: your head injury had yet to heal, the silver proving far more detrimental to you than your hunger.

“You’re just going to have to forgive me, Astarion. Because I won’t break my promise to you. I will come back to you. But I will have to break rules to get there.” Your message merely bounces around your vast mind.

You have to get these f*cking bands off of you. Silver is out of season, anyway.

****

You don’t know how long you’re in the cellar, your best guess being a few days before Moth comes to fetch you.

“I’ll do it,” Is all you say upon his return. Flashing a shark-like grin at you, Moth gently picks you up, carrying you back to the comforts of the boudoir. You can’t deny the soft sheets and plush mattress that was being provided to you, but there was something about the Moth estate (the little of it you had seen, being a single bedroom and the cellar) that felt unclean. There was a constant stench of blood and death, one you and Astarion worked very hard to absolve in your own home.

The room was kept very dark, often only lit by a few candles: the blood-red drapes were enchanted to prevent any light coming in the room, and the door to the balcony was entirely foreign to you, large and black and menacing. Moth’s tastes were gaudy and ill-fitting. But this had meant that you wouldn’t be seeing the daylight until you were saved, which was starting to feel like a more distant prospect with each growing hour.

No. You wouldn’t allow yourself such negative thoughts.

The Dragonborn bathes you, an action that reminds you far too much of Astarion, and you flinch away at Moth’s every touch. He isn’t gentle, seemingly unsure of how to handle you.

You tentatively look over to him, avoiding eye contact. “I can do this myself…” Your voice nearly wavers. Nearly.

“I want to bathe you. But you slip through my fingers.” His hand, wet and soapy, moved between your legs, between your folds. You gasp, closing your eyes as you feel your core heat up. “So soft. Like velvet.”

You have to steel yourself as your fangs slip beneath cool, scaled skin, tasting the thick, metallic crimson of another undead on your tongue. There were so many things wrong with this: biting another vampire wasn’t particularly appetizing to you, them being dead and all, and you weren’t accustomed to actually biting your prey. And, of course, you weren't sure what would happen after this – only that this felt like the only option.

Once he’s satisfied with your meal, he grabs the back of your hair, breaking you from your sanguine embrace, bringing you into a powerful kiss before removing the bands on both your wrists. It was a spell, one spoken in Draconic, which made the silver disappear into thin air. The skin beneath was burned and torn, and Moth had servants wash and bandage you with care before bringing in a trembling elven male. The bands on your ankles still remained, but you already felt substantially better.

“I discovered many things about you, Tav. Your preferences, your eating habits,” His large hand grabs you by the back of your neck, bringing you to face the man.

“I want you to bite him and drain him until only a sliver of life remains,” Moth drawls on, the bass in his voice making your ears prickle.

“Why? Astarion, why is he doing this? Why aren’t you here? Why haven’t you f*cking saved me yet?” You can hear the blood pumping through the veins of the man. His smell – his type, his blood, well, you just need it.

Moth orders you to drink, and you do so, draining the elf of all life, leaving his limp body at your feet without any care for its regard. This was the easy part – you are a predator, and living beings are prey. It was only instinctual for you to enjoy this.

“Is it not lovely, drinking straight from your meal? A delight your old Master deprived you of, little vampire,” Moth mocks as he lays you on your back, his eyes never leaving you as he removes his clothing, exposing his exquisite form, making you swallow. “Your old Master was no good for you. Not good enough for the Hero.”

Moth’s shoulders are wide, his chest and abdomen strong, and the rest of his body was to match. His co*ck was long, thick, far bigger than any lover you’ve known before; it was fully hard, the color a lighter red than the rest of his body, veiny and intimidating, the tip of it already leaking pre-cum. His eyes were cold, and they bore into you so sharply it made you tremble.

His head moves between your thighs; his tongue is practiced, and you squirm at his touch. You continue to look at him when you take his co*ck in your hand, lining him up with your entrance, but your mind is elsewhere.

“You are eager,” Moth whispers. “Does the blood of men excite you?”

You strangely find yourself thinking about the last time you had held a masquerade: it had been to promote conservation in Toril, and for that reason, the masks were animal inspired. Astarion had chosen a mask that resembled something of a sleek peaco*ck, even though you hadn’t thought that ever possible, but he pulled it off. You had chosen something more simple: a black wolf (you insisted on it being black, because you had a gorgeous dress to pair it with).

“…a living legend. A wonder of the world. All mine.” The man says, and you realize he must be doing his best to make you org*sm, because the build-up in your lower belly was becoming unbearable. You whimper, causing Moth to chuckle before you release around him, your juices flowing down his shaft.

“It drives me mad to think of all the parts of you I have yet to explore.” To think he would ever have true access to you, to your depths, your mind – you decided you would rather die, and Astarion would just have to come find your soul himself.

“I will make it so you have nowhere else to go, but my arms. You will not belong anywhere but by my side,” He spoke into your ear. You knew where you belonged, and it wasn’t in the arms of a Dragonborn. “I will be your reason to live. And I will make it so that you will never want to live without me. So that it will bring you agony to be without me.”

Don’t think. Don’t feel.

“You know, you clench around me everytime I thrust deeply into you, woman.”

****

You awake from a light slumber with a start as your mind rumbles with energy. A thread, one so singular, connecting you to a man. Immediately, you sense everything you need to know about this new addition: he is a half-elf, only thirty years old, and incredibly scared. His mind is yours, you know, and so is his body – he is awaiting your command, begging you to save him. You can almost feel the sensation of the dirt under his nails as he crawls his way to the surface.

‘Why the hells had he risen so early?’ You think to yourself before you’re interrupted by a sharp pain in your chest. You imagine silver curls covered in dirt, the only part of his body clean being the lines on his face from his trail of tears. You shake the image away.

“Come.” You will your spawn to you, to test the connection in your brain: it was far different than what you and Astarion had, but it was enough to give you hope. And when he meets the sun, and he begins to slowly burn, his senses overwhelm him. He panics, becoming incapacitated in some way, but he’s too frightened to communicate anything with you except: HELP.

You dart out of bed, overcome with a sense of worry for your spawn. You wanted to save him – you had to try. He was yours, and if he could help you, then you were going to use him. But something stops you before you can try: a cold hand on your wrist, pulling you back into bed, back into his large, frigid arms. The fledgling screams for a long time. You listen until it fades to nothing.

The body of your spawn was still on fire, blazing right outside your window, as Moth finally began to stir. You could sense the heat and smell the burning flesh. You were surprised at how long it took for a fresh body to be reduced to ash. You felt a strange sadness at the loss of your spawn, but you knew something that you hadn’t been sure of before: you certainly could create offspring, and the only thing in your way was a little bit of freedom.

Moth opens the balcony door, the key (presumably) being his command. He takes your hand, bringing you outside for the first time since you arrived. The two of you stare at the ash in the courtyard. It was clear Moth had simply dumped your vampire into a shallow grave, clearly an experiment to test the blessings Astarion had bestowed on you.

“He survived far longer than most spawn would,” Moth grumbles.

“He screamed for hours,” Your voice came out hollow; it hardly even sounded like you. Moth leads you back into the boudoir, locking the doors behind him.

“You could have compelled him to stop.” Moth’s face is still as stone. You missed Astarion’s lively reactions, the way he would express himself, the way he would talk with his hands…

You felt Moth’s tongue in your mouth before you could prepare yourself, his teeth hitting your own, fangs cutting into your lip. You opened your mouth further, inviting him in, causing him to moan into your mouth. The Dragonborn liked it when you kissed him back; he liked it even more when your nails dug into his chest as you rode him, drawing blood from his muscular form. He picks you up, lifting you by the thighs as he drills into you before placing you on your knees.

Afterwards, Moth held you in his arms.“Now, tell me about Baldur's Gate. What was the ancient city like? I never did get to visit before it was reduced to rubble.”

You pause, your mind flitting back to the burning spawn, thinking about how horrific it felt to be afraid of something so vital to life as the sun. “I hardly remember.”

“Humor me, woman.” His claws trailed along your arm, making you shiver. You fight the urge to run.

You try to think back, but all you see is Astarion’s pretty face. You feel you’ve willingly disrespected your marriage at every turn, and this starts to well up inside you, starting at your belly, rising to your chest and throat. Everything feels tight, and you feel disgusted in your own body.

“Tav,” His hand reaches the base of your throat, his fingertips slightly squeezing into you, the tip of his nails breaking skin. “You are expected to conversate after I have conquered your body. You will obey.”

You feel his cold tongue on the shell of your ear. You mindfully flush your system of that dread and disgust, because now wasn’t the time to think about that. It would be easy to humor him, if you can get yourself together. You take only a few moments to dial yourself back. “Baldur’s Gate was lively. There were once many people who lived there. I remember…large mechanical beings. Created by children, oddly enough.”

“You speak of Lord Enver Gortash’s Steel Watch. Built not by children, but by a race of small people, a kind that has not been seen in Toril for centuries.”

You didn’t know what the hell he was on about and you didn’t care. “Mm,” you hum in reply as you fall back to that numb state that was far more comfortable than any other.

Moth raises an eyebrow at you. “Your own history does not amuse you, my concubine?”

“I suppose not.”

“I likely have the biggest collection of the history of Baldur’s Gate, specifically on the occurrence of the Netherbrain.”

“A maid once told me I had the largest shoe collection in Toril.” Even Moth’s stone face couldn't conceal his distaste for your retort.

“You are immature. Uncultured,” Bringing your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, he squeezes you, causing you to yelp. “Poorly trained. Unsurprising of Cazador’s brood. But I expected more from a hero.”

You brush his hand off, but he only clutches you further, the meat of your bottom stinging from claws pressed to flesh. You push him away again, sitting up in the bed.

“I’m not the person I once was. It was so long ago I don’t remember the details. When I read the history, or hear a song, or a poem about my own legendary actions, I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. Only my –“ Your voice chokes at the thought, tears pricking your eyes as your mask slips again.

“Continue your words.”

“Only my husband remembers such things.” When the words come out, you know you’ve angered him, and he means to grab you, but you move out of his grasp just as he swings his arm at you. His middle finger, the tip a black pointed claw, catches your cheekbone, drawing across your nose to the other side of your face, creating a thin, red line that fills your vision. You yell, attempting to turn into a bat but only managing to flutter away before returning to your body, harshly dropping to the floor as your hands fly to your face.

You hold back further cries, refusing to make a sound as Moth comes at you again, picking you up by your neck before throwing you back on the bed. He was already between your legs, having grabbed both your wrists with his hand. You were entirely restrained, bleeding, afraid, and you already feared the scar from the incident in the cellar – was this Lord truly so keen on damaging his property?

“You have no husband. You are mine. You shall refer to Astarion Ancunín as your old Master, or I will punish you further.”

“Yes,” Your voice is merely a whisper. It was good enough for Moth, who rubs your slit with the pads of his fingers, which he comments is quite generous of him, before entering you again.

****

You spent your days alone, desperately trying to sleep. But with the Dragonborn next to you, it was impossible. During the nights, Moth would take you at various times, whenever his need arose. You were far stronger now that you hadn’t so much silver and you were fed, but you weren’t nearly in any shape to take him on directly. You had to be smart: at this point, you were biding your time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

“You know, I can smell the daylight on your skin. You are warmer to the touch than my other pets,” Moth brought his nose behind your ear, breathing in at the spot behind your earlobe at the base of your skull: you shiver, trying your best not to think about the way your body was reacting.

Now that you were back of sound mind, you knew you had been with Moth for nearly a month, maybe two. The wounds on your body began to heal, earning you a legion of new scars.

“You have been so good to me. So good for me,” Moth says to you as you smooth the dress on your form: he had granted you an allowance of clothing for your presentation to the other concubines. This had been the first time getting a good look at yourself since your capture, and the sight of your newly scarred body made you burst into tears.

The scar that cut across your cheekbones and nose was thin, luckily, but the scar tissue thicker on the bridge of your nose. The skin was shiny, sensitive to the touch, but it was none so bad as the one on your forehead, which required stitches. You couldn’t bear to look too long at the ones on your breasts or your thighs. You could only imagine how ugly Astarion would find you, once you finally got out of here…what if he didn’t want you anymore? Looking at yourself, you couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. You hardly looked like yourself.

You bring your hands to your face, crying in your palms to shield yourself away from this reality. Moth watches you for a beat, his face entirely emotionless, before bringing you into his arms. He takes your wrists with one hand, retching them away from your face as his other hand grabs your jaw, squeezing so hard you think your bones will crack. His cold tongue slithers on your cheeks, his breath smelling

of death, the trail of his saliva cooling on your flesh.

“Being marked by me, my greatest lover, only makes you far more beautiful. Had I known you when I was alive, I would have chosen you to hold and birth my seed,” He grumbles before bringing you into a deep, tongue entangling kiss. Giving in, the lord wipes your tears away as he licks the pad of your lips.

‘What an odd thing for a vampire to say,’ You think before bracing yourself. Meeting the other concubines was a very good sign, a semblance that more freedom was coming your way.

Just hold on.

****

Astarion had to stop this, this utter abuse of his own body: several times a day, he would steal away from wherever he was to lose himself in a memory of his wife while he fists his co*ck, rubbing himself until he feels any sort of bliss, losing himself to you.

The longer you are gone, the more this continues. Astarion can’t even conceive of doing anything different: he didn’t want anyone to touch his body except for you. But you weren’t here, and the delicate skin of his co*ck felt nearly raw, but he healed so quickly it didn’t matter. He hardly rested anymore, his schedule being so wild that he often found himself up all day and all night.

Lae’zel saw Astarion losing it. Despite her frustrations and her anger with him, she tried to comfort her old friend, but he couldn’t take it; rather, he was inconsolable.

“I can’t stop imagining what she’s doing, Lae’zel. Sometimes I think I feel her, her pain, her…pleasure,” The word came out of Astarion’s mouth like a curse, vile and rude. “I don’t even know if I’m imagining it or not.”

“I have no doubts she’s making her way back to you. I don’t think she would so easily forget about you for a stranger who kidnapped her.”

Astarion feels his barriers coming down, and it pisses him off. He felt weak, the very walls he had built up for so long with the outside world, everyone except you, were beginning to falter. That old guilt – that one he felt from the very beginning, about all the seduction, the sacrifice, you, everything wrong he had ever done to his one beloved…

“It makes me want to...die.” Astarion almost meant this. But he would find a way to bring you back to him before that ever happened – Lae’zel knew this too, thinking Astarion dramatic.

“Astarion,” Lae’zel says, tentatively reaching out to touch the shoulder of the man you loved so much. He didn’t move away, and Lae’zel made no further motions: she knew this was as close as she would ever get (as she would ever want to get, because to be honest, Astarion had given her the creeps ever since he had performed the Black Mass) to the Ascendant.

“I haven’t always been a good husband. I’ve taken from her, time and time again, to feed my own desires.”

Lae’zel didn’t really need Astarion to tell her this. She figured this would be the case, long ago. But he’s already said too much, his aura changing entirely in just a split second. Lae’zel takes her hand off of Astarion’s shoulder, taking several steps back. “I need to be alone,” He mutters, and Lae’zel doesn’t hesitate in leaving Astarion’s office.

In the span of a few weeks, Astarion had grown his spawn army to nearly fifty. His three remaining spawn bring him a victim each night if they can, and Astarion simply bites them after putting them under a sleep spell. Then, the spawn bury the victim. The next evening, they rise as a vampire, and would be immediately compelled to do the bidding of their new Master.

Chapter 9: Power

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Seven concubines, each unique in their own way: three dragonborn, a tiefling, two humans, and a drow. The others were hardly remarkable, but the drow caught your eye in particular: a male. You hadn’t seen a male drow in many years, and you had forgotten their beauty: his skin was the color of moonlight, his hair white and long, pooling around his taut waist. He was rather tall for an elf, his shoulders wide and hairless.

Each of the concubines were dressed in a similar fashion as you, only the men had their chests exposed. Each concubine was as gorgeous as the last, but the years of being a toy for an evil master was apparent on their bodies: many of them had visible scars. The drow had taken the most damage, yet his beauty far surpassed the rest.

“These are my favorites. The others are kept elsewhere,” Moth looks over to you, his hand draped around the back of your neck, pushing your head down only slightly. You understood why he called you ‘little one’ now, despite your old age: you were clearly the shortest and smallest one here, given that most of his favorites were rather tall men, the only other women in the group being two of the three dragonborn.

“Women have too much…mental constitution. Men are easier,” Moth vaguely explains to you.“There is power in taking another man. But women are too smart, too small. You are the exception.”

Creep. Also, you think he may have been calling you stupid.

“The drow will join us later. Come now, they are restless from your lingering odor. You still don’t quite smell like us.” You never would. There was no way this lord didn’t know that. “Let me show you my collection, Tav.”

Moth guides you out of the day room, down to a staircase that takes you down towards the inner chambers, where the favored and the other spawn lie. The museum was just across the hall from another stairway descent, and you wondered how far down the palace actually went. Moth kept the entire estate dark and damp, its tackiness could never amount to the decadence and good sensibilities of the Ancunín estates.

“There are a certain number of cursed objects down here, unsavory things. Do not touch anything.”

The room is large: filled with various objects, statues, some encased in glass. As you inch closer to the first table you see, you feel your stomach flop down to your core, and you’re already baring your fangs. The relics of the past were here to haunt you. A statue of you, even your old armor. A circular relic with jagged edges and so many books. One in particular catches your eye, you are gravitating to it because of its scent…the musk. The faint smell of bergamot even after so many years.

You bring your face close to the pages, gathering as much of Astarion’s scent as you could. The artifacts outside glass had been magically protected since their discovery, Moth tells you, and the spell book must have been found shortly after the fall of the brain, because your husband’s scent is strong, almost fresh. It makes your eyes water, your gut twist and turn, your dead heart nearly thumping in your chest – it almost feels biological, your body craving him, a spawn desperate for the touch of her Master. You think maybe Astarion was right to have called you spawn…it’s what you are, isn’t it?

You close your eyes. Your thoughts turn ever to the dark, but you don’t know how to remedy this. Astarion did everything for you; your husband fixed any problem you ever had. He wasn’t here now to ease your pain or uplift you. But instead of making you feel empowered, you just feel so lonely.

Knowing that you are a spawn so far from her beloved Master, reminds you, once again, that being around this other lord is wrong. He smells wrong, he is wrong, like his body is inherently incompatible with your own. Why doesn’t he sense it? Even the other concubines had.

You touch the pages, thinking about how Astarion’s hands had once held this book, had once held you. You can’t read the words anymore. Written in a language that had changed a lot in two millennia, and you could hardly remember the symbols of centuries past. They looked like strange characters, prompting you to gingerly trace them with your fingers. Astarion loved reading all sorts of genres, and you wondered what this one was about. Was it something he was studying? Maybe something for pleasure? A mystery? A romance? Smut?

“I have collected for a very long time, as you can see,” Moth says as he admires a plate of what was labeled as ‘infernal iron’. You think you could stay nestled in the scent of Astarion forever, the only comfort your weary mind has found in months. But you move on–you can cry later, in the daylight, when you are safe. Keep your head high.

You wander the expansive museum, finding your way to the statue of yourself located in the center of the room. You can’t help but think how much Astarion and Lae’zel would hate this: some insane vampire lord hoarding the things from your party, your adventure. It was like a creepy shrine with you in the center: and everything was beginning to make a little more sense.

‘It’s simple. He’s insane, has no true consort, and treats his spawn like slaves.’ You say this to your inner voice, the one inside your head that contains your inner monster, the one that threatened to lunge at Moth with every movement he made.

You study the statue of yourself; your expression the artist gave the statue was curious to you, not what you expected, but you can’t pinpoint it. What is it? Confidence? Heroics? Maybe your outfit just looked really good on you, which was certainly true.

A thump of a heartbeat approaches. Silky fur moves through your legs, the cat’s tail wrapping around your calf as it already saunters away. You look back at the statue, admiring yourself in some sort of jealous awe. Was this statue commissioned before you were turned? Maybe that slightly dumb, arrogant expression of yours was that of humanity. Whatever the artist saw in you was something you didn’t see in yourself – you wonder if you ever really had.

Walking your way through the large room, you spot a collection of scrolls. They have a lovely scent, one familiar to you but you can’t quite pin down the owner. Your eyes sweep over the scrolls as you lock in on one in particular: arcane lock. You swipe it, stuffing it in your robes as Moth admires his collection; he is swept up in the history, in his interest, nearly forgetting about you, the most priceless relic of all.

You continue to make your way throughout the room, gawking at the various instruments encased. There is a long silence before Moth’s cold, deep voice breaks through the stale air.

“You know, Tav,” Your name on his lips was grating. You grit your teeth. “There are several details and events that have been lost to time. But one in particular has been on my mind for two thousand years.”

He has your attention now.

“Did you know that there are almost no records about the disappearance of the Szarr family?”

You have to take a minute to absorb his question. “…Cazador. You’re talking about Cazador.”

“Yes. You really should try to keep up.” Moth grumbles. “Tell me how you did it. How you killed him.”

You huff, your posture challenging as you bring your arms down to your side from where they had once clasped together. “Tell me how you got all this stuff.” The artifacts in here were yours: Lae’zel’s stuff. Your old friends' stuff – your husband’s possessions. These didn’t belong to this mad lord.

A long silence. “I stole it. Bought it. Found it. Bargained for it. Your turn.”

You gather what you can from your own distant memory, and anything else Astarion had told you about the event.

“We sacrificed him. But before that, my party and I…” You think Lae’zel had been with you, but part of you thinks your mind is creating this memory with Lae’zel, because she was at the forefront. Wasn’t that large wood elf with you? Who was the one who begged you and Astarion to stop? “We snuck up on him. His spawn was incapacitated so we only had to fight his wolves and ghouls.”

“Hmm. And do you happen to know why Mephistopheles refuses to enter into another deal like the one he had with Cazador and Astarion?” His question is cold, calculated. Your gut twisted at the sound of your husband’s name on Moth’s lips. Before you can answer, he chuckles as he walks up to you, his large hand snaking around your neck. His hold on you is forceful, far tighter than a lover should ever hold their other.

“You do not know much of anything, do you? Maybe I should have taken Astarion instead,” He pauses after this, long enough to make you shutter. “He is more my type. But you were the one I wanted, despite that small, stupid little brain of yours, my doll.”

His hold on you relaxes, allowing you to speak. Your voice comes out weakly. “Surely you can’t remember everything that’s happened in two millennia. Only my…” my husband. “...my old master can do that. There isn’t another vampire out there who can remember their whole lives.”

“You have settled for something so close to greatness, you and Astarion both,”Moth rasps; you stifle a whimper at hearing his name again. You know he only does this to hurt you.

Moth releases you, and you are a bit dramatic with the way you clutch your throat; seeing your pain made him smile, and he might be keen to hurt you less later on.

The conversation ends here, but the way Moth looks at you confirms that he has far more secrets than he lets on. To your surprise, he doesn’t notice the missing scroll, leading you back to the boudoir in silence. You carefully place it in your wardrobe, deep within the clothes that you were hardly allowed to wear, and you begged to the gods that he wouldn’t find it.

Astarion has you in his arms. He’s standing up, the back of your knees resting in the crook of his arms as hands support your back, f*cking up into you with such ferocity that you’re jelly in his arms. The tip of his co*ck bullies your gummy walls, reaching deep within you to meet your delicious g-spot. Every thrust, slick, hot and squelching as skin slaps skin, sends you into utter ecstasy. Your husband knew your body so flawlessly, every in and out of your holes, your tender spots. He nipped at your neck, drawing blood as he tasted you. There are no words between the two of you, caught up entirely in each other's passion – your beautiful connection ensured you knew his every move, all his pleasure, what he felt in his heart. You are both entirely known to each other.

You hold the man’s cheeks between your palms: his kisses are light, far more gentle than Moth’s. His lips are soft, tender, and it almost feels good the way his hands roam your body. If Moth wasn’t watching you, you think you could have lost yourself in the drow.

As your hand slides down his hairless chest, you can’t help but note his soft skin– there is something familiar about it, trudging up thoughts of silver curls and elegant ears. The drow looks surprised when you pull away from him, inspecting his face for just a moment. He doesn’t look like Astarion, not really; but the way he carries himself, his strong, lean body, and his white hair reminds you of your amour.

Geldon Moth sat in a chair, fully clothed in a resplendent white and gold garb. He stares coldly at you as you shift away from the man on the bed.

“What is it, woman? Was this not the one you wanted?” Moth asks; he may have been surprised, you think, but his face didn’t show it.

“I-it’s nothing,” You say, gritting your teeth as you carefully prepare your next words. “Why must I share a bed with anyone but you, Master?”

“It is simple, little one. You are mine to be shared. I shall do what I want with you, and I want to watch you be ravaged.” Moth sits back, his hands resting on his knees. “I expect you will lie with all my concubines after some time, maybe the other spawn too. The pretty ones, anyway. You really are my special one.” A shift in his eyes, a turn in your gut; you feel the lips of the drow on you as he puts his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You turn your attention back to the drow, bodies joining as you try to keep your composure: you know Moth only means to degrade you, and crying would only make it worse. Moth joined the fray only after the two of you reached your climax. The way the drow’s co*ck responds to Moth’s touch makes you realize just how much control Moth maintains over his spawn.

The drow hadn’t spoken at all, muttering only half-hearted praises, hardly letting whimpers escape his pretty lips. And the way his body became aroused by his Master was clearly unnatural. When the drow looks over at you, his hand reaching for your ankle, his broken spirit is all you see. Haunted by years of torment, abuse, perversion – a shell of a man. They ignore you when tears start to leak from your eyes: it was involuntary, almost, and you want to go home so desperately.

Afterwards, you lie between the two men, their arms wrapped around you, caging the animal that you know you are, you try your best to relax. There was something comforting about the drow’s touch, and you find yourself mindlessly running your fingers through his hair. Moth sits up, crossing his legs on the bed as he watches the two of you lay in each other's arms.

“Moments that I live for…” Moth says, which surprises you: his tone is surprisingly tender. “I knew you would like him. I promise I won’t take him from you. I will not be so cruel as Astarion.”

The hairs on your neck prick up, a shiver of anxiety and general distaste filling your gut; you can even taste it on your tongue. “What are you talking about?”

You push your way off the drow, bringing yourself to a seat, your attention on the dragonborn. He’s smiling at you. “Do not tell me you have forgotten the lovers you and your Master once shared. There were several who met rather tragic, untimely, strange demises. Do you not remember them? Maybe one in particular sticks out to you.”

You gulp. You can't recall his name any longer, but you know in your heart and mind who he was. “Why would I ever want to think of him when the two of you are right here, in front of me?” Your words are like knives in your own heart.

Moth smile fades as he moves toward you, his body shifting atop of you as his tongue crashes between your lips, meaning to take you again. What happens next is hardly important, the lewd sounds of squelching and breathless whispers, your mind moving so far away from yourself as you focus solely on the pleasure of your body: it was all you could do except silently beg for your husband’s forgiveness, knowing that your pleas went unheard and unanswered.

Your freedom hadn’t been earned. You were nothing more than an object to use and parade around, kept naked and hungry in the boudoir.

There is one evening where Moth is particularly rough with you, leaving you covered in bites and bruises. You felt quite broken this evening, your memories of your husband and the friends you made at the Crystalline Spire filling your memory despite your feeble attempts at pushing them away. You missed Lae’zel, and Ziir’o, Marg’o and Quinel, Joss, even Chae and the others. You even found yourself thinking of the pretty Kith’rak Elan, the one with the skin like a peach, and King Orpheus, in his resplendent garb and brutally elegant mannerisms.

You thought about the Astral Sea, your dreams being filled with images of you and Astarion riding a dragon, Lae’zel and your other Githyanki friends next to you atop their own. Astarion had reminded you of your time in the Astral Plane, and you wondered about the expanded universe, what was beyond that small pocket you had experienced.

You wipe away Moth’s seed and blood from your chin as his cruel voice breaks the silence in the boudoir.

“I will be leaving for a few days.” Moth states as he dresses himself. “I shall leave this evening, while the night is still young.”

You didn’t ask any questions. You didn’t have it in you tonight, and Moth didn’t seem to care if you answered or not. You merely stare at the floor until you hear the click of the door. You had been left alone in this room many times, often bumbling around in the daylight, searching for a way out.

“But there isn’t one, is there?” A soft, eerily sweet voice came from behind you, making you jump, twisting around in the bed to identify the intruder. You bare your fangs, but the entity merely laughs.

It is a man, so beautiful, his facial features chiseled and angular. His almond shaped eyes gleamed a gorgeous gold, his hair black as night, silky and pushed behind his ears. His body is muscular, built and large, his skin lightly tanned, almost a cream color. He’s taller than you, his nakedness entirely exposed. He has beautiful wings, white and elegant, and you know he must be an Aasimir: an angel. He was glowing.

“Tav Ancunín! How are ya?” He smiled, his teeth so white it nearly blinds you. “That’s right. I’m here to save you, girl.”

Your eyes are wide when he comes to you, arms outstretched, pulling you into a bear hug. You can hardly flinch away, your eyes still adjusting to his bright aura. His energy is warm, so light and fluffy, and it makes you feel some level of hope.

“Ugh, you’re even prettier in person,” He drawls, his voice almost tender.

“Who are you?” You ask, your hands moving to the angel’s shoulders to push yourself away.

He relents, smiling as he speaks. “Someone who is here to help you. So long as you help me.”

You sit up now, not bothering to cover your own nakedness. You quickly notice this man has no heartbeat, no scent, nothing that would cause a vampire to notice them, other than their otherworldly presence, of course.

“Yeah, I can hide those things. Wouldn’t want to be attacked by some monster, would I?” His smile doesn’t falter, never leaving his eyes. He can read your undead thoughts – rare, you think, and very annoying. “Let’s cut to the chase, beautiful. You’re in very dire straits. I can get one of those silver bands off of you. I predict it would give you just enough advantage to escape this awful place. Enter into a contract with me and I’ll remove a band, give you some new powers and a boost to that little ‘psychic’ ability you have.”

You blink, mulling this over in your head. This was a lot to take in, especially without Astarion’s guided hand. Your husband was the one who dealt with the money, the dealings, all of that – you knew nothing of this.

“Gah, vampires take so long to decide. So patient. It’s annoying~” His voice nearly twinkles.

“Well, hold on!” You exclaim, your voice more desperate than you ever wished to hear. “I just don’t know…I don’t know what to ask.” You shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts. “What in the hells are you proposing in return? What do you want from me?”

He flashes his perfect teeth. “I’ll be your patron. So…I’ll have you do things for me, sometimes.”

You frown. “I hardly want to be bound to you for eternity.”

“But you need to get back to your Master.”

“My husband. I need to get back to my family.” You can’t think of all the things you need to say. You know you’re missing something.

“Haha! Whatever~”Angel puts his hands on his hips, his abdomen flexing slightly.

“And you’re only offering to get one band off. Why? And what could I possibly give you anyways? I’m a vampire, my soul is already claimed.”

“I only have the power right now to get one off! Duh. That’s why I need your help, beautiful.” Angel takes your hands, joining you on the bed as you are bathed in a warmth that feels like the sun. It’s so lovely, you want to cry. “I just need your service. Don’t you want out of here?”

You do. So badly. “Yes. I miss the sun. I miss feeling beautiful. I miss my husband. Gods, I miss him so much.” You sob. Angel brings you into his chest, patting your head as you cry. His flesh is warm, and he smells like fresh grass and an ocean breeze.

“We can put that in the contract, girl. I’ll get you back to your man. I’ll do what I can to help you escape, but I need you to serve me. I won’t ask you to do anything that will harm you or those you care for. But I have enemies, and Moth is one of them. I’ll just have you do some favors for me, that’s all. Normal patron and payee stuff, you know. And I promise I’ll treat you really good. I’ll only f*ck you if you ask~”

Well, you couldn’t help but be relieved about that last bit. Still, there are so many questions left unanswered. “What kind of favors?”

“Killing Geldon Moth, for starters. I’m bound to an item in this very palace, you see, and I can’t leave. So that’ll be your first mission. Besides, if you plan on going to the Astral Sea, you need all the help you can get.”

You close your eyes for a moment; just how deep was he able to go in your head? “Tell me who you are.”

Angel’s smile doesn't waver, but there is a new wrinkle in his brow. “Ugh. I’m the son of Lastai, the goddess of modest enjoyment of pleasure or whatever. You don’t need to know my name for now. I liked to play too much, that’s why I’m here in Toril. What I want doesn’t matter: what you need does.”

He was right, maybe it didn’t matter anymore; what truly mattered was being free. Your rational mind is leaving you the longer you think about eating Moth’s heart.

“Alright. What must I do?” You hoped this wouldn’t be a mistake.

Angel’s smile somehow gets even brighter. He was so lovely. “Amazing, wonderful. I already know you’re going to be my favorite girl.”

With two fingers, Angel gently tilts your chin up to him. Your noses are almost touching, his lips so close to yours. Everything around you becomes white, and it nearly blinds you. You’re wrapped in his wings.

“All you gotta do is kiss me. I promise to get you back to your husband and I promise not to bother you too much!”

You pause, knowing it’s far too late to back down now. “I know there’s things you aren’t telling me. It can’t be this easy.”

Angel chuckles, his voice uplifting your spirit with every note.

“Kiss me, Mrs. Ancunín, and find out.” You can’t wait any longer, and so you do. Wanting to take your own agency in your hands, even though it was entirely faux, you bring your lips to his. The moment of impact, you feel a burst of light searing through your left eye, causing you to wince, but Angel only draws you in deeper to him, slipping his tongue between your lips. Just as quickly as the pain came, it leaves, and you sigh a breath of relief as you feel yourself slip back to reality.

Angel is already gone, and you think it was some sort of psychosis induced dream, but you note how different your body feels: you’re stronger, more rejuvenated. Your body still aches, but you certainly feel better than before: looking down at your ankles, seeing your left leg free of any silver, you confirm to yourself that this was real.

This is it. Moth would certainly notice the band gone. Hurriedly, you run to the basin to splash yourself with water, to steel yourself for whatever is to come, before catching your reflection in the mirror: the first thing you notice is your bright golden eye, having replaced your left one. That searing pain…that lying f*cking Angel. What the f*ck did he do to me?

“What in the hells, Angel!?” You say aloud, nearly hoping for a response, but there is none. You can’t wait around for too long – the sun is approaching, meaning that all the other vampires in the castle would be resting, going into an undead slumber to waste away the day. How many could you kill in their sleep? How big was the palace? How many servants would be running around? There were too many unknowns, and you only hoped whatever the hell you agreed to would be worth it. There was no turning back now, unless you want to be the Rat-Catcher Queen for the rest of eternity.

You feel yourself glance to the door, something nudging your sight over it. The door to the boudoir functioned similarly to the balcony door, and you find yourself using a scroll of arcane lock, the door creaking open.

You slide out of the boudoir, finding yourself at the level of the house you had seen when you met the other concubines. You run down the hallway, as fast as you can go, and the moment you catch a whiff of a mortal, they are beneath you, your fangs ripping into their skin as you feast on their blood. You think nothing of reason, humanity, nothing of life and the value of it. You aren’t even alive, because you feel like an empty vessel of bloodlust and desire for carnage.

You want to shroud the world in darkness.

Your rational mind comes back to you once the servant is far beyond saving. This would do no good – this vessel wouldn’t be fit to fight alongside you. You move on, finding yourself drawn to a door, which opens to the lavish garden. Crashing through it, you soak up the sun. It feels so good, you laugh as you raise your arms above your head, bringing your palms up to face the star. You enjoy this for only a moment before you sense someone near.

You need to make sure this one will be fit enough to suit your needs.

This one is a woman; you cover her mouth with your palm as you drink from her, her thrashes beneath you being no different than wrestling a calf. When she is close to death, you carry her bridal style, running around the garden until you find a suitable place to bury her.

You claw your way through the dirt, digging as fast as you can, making a shallow grave to toss her in. You think twice about this, placing her gently in the dirt.

“I’m…I’m only a little sorry. If I’m taking you away from someone you love, then I guess I’ll be even more sorry. Lae’zel would want me to be sorry. My other friends would want me to be sorry. But you’re mine now, because my husband is more important.” You don’t even know why you announce this, maybe to feel something, maybe to evoke something within you that reminds you that you’re still human, because you simply feel like a monster. Even hearing your own voice helped you recognize the human inside because you didn’t think you even looked like one anymore. You are scarred, mismatched, covered in blood with only a nightgown to cover your body. You were barefoot, your hair is wild, already tangled from your motions.

“So f*cking unfair…” You say to your feet, no longer focused on the woman gasping in her grave. Others are coming, and they are only subject to the same treatment as the last woman. But the others only alert everyone else, and it becomes something of a bloodbath, leveling the estates servants in just a few minutes. You bury four of them before losing your patience, your bloodlust overwhelming you as you gorged yourself on their life essence.

You know your spawn would rise sometime mid-afternoon, before the sun set, but the moment you killed any of Moth’s concubines, he would be aroused to suspicion, and you had to make sure your spawn were ready by that point. Once you’ve had your fill, you scope out the entire palace, ensuring there were no others around: everyone else had retired to the crypts below, which was precisely where you were to go next.

Your eye is influencing your vision over towards the door to the museum in the palace. This must be where Angel is bound.

When you open the door, you can’t help but flit back to the book, your nose so close to the pages that you can feel the parchment. Taking in Astarion’s scent one last time, because part of you thinks you might actually die, but the other part of you begs to differ.

“I love you, Star.”

You turn, looking around until your eyes focus on a strange object in the corner. When you approach the object, you feel desperate to flee, but you don’t. You aren’t too keen on breaking that contract.

With a swift motion, you smash the case, removing the container inside. It’s a wooden box, square and delicate, fitting in your palm. Something is telling you to open it, and you can’t tear your eyes away. With your index finger and thumb, you slowly pry the lid open. A swirl of light comes from the box, procuring Angel behind you, who merely smiles. “Thanks, girl! Okay, bye!✩”

“Wait, are you really–“

“Yep, gotta bounce. Got sh*t to do. Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from me. Later, beautiful.” And with that, Angel was gone once more, teleported away to who knows where. You hadn’t exactly expected him to stay and help once he was freed, but you thought he’d do more than this.

Thinking about the seven favorites and gods only knows how many other spawn, you’re starting to think maybe four spawn wasn’t enough. You didn’t even really know much about fledgling vampires, it had been so long since you were around them. You know they need direction and blood.

You take your time cleaning yourself off, brushing your hair, throwing it in a braid for the fight to come. You find the most secure dress you could find, even finding some cotton panties to wear underneath them. You wished you had some shoes, simply because of your right foot, which still burned with every movement. If you got injured running around, it would probably take longer to heal on that side, you suspect.

You’re absolutely buzzing. You’re filled with energy, bloodlust, and you highly anticipate the rising…they are screaming. They are screaming for you. But you are ready.

‘You will not scream. You will not think. You will think nothing but of me. Rise, hide from the sun, rejuvenate, and join me in battle.’

The spawn are silent apart from the slight sizzling of their skin. One woman and three men: all merely the most convenient choices at the time. They don’t really need to eat, and you think they’ll probably be killed by the favored, but they would buy you enough time. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

You can almost hear Astarion’s voice in your head: Hurry up, my love, and come to me. I need you.

You haven’t felt this awake in a while. Something was rising within you, something that you’ve been missing. ‘Follow.’ The five of you flit down, tearing at the walls and the doors to the favored spawn quarters, where the seven peacefully slept. The first one to go was the one closest to you, who takes a simple plummet to the head, the smell of blood and spinal fluid filling your senses, invigorating you further, and you seemingly forget why you’re here at all. Your body flies around the room, tearing and thrashing body parts around as you destroy Moth’s precious spawn just as he’s destroyed you. Your spawn are ravenous and terrified, attacking randomly and relentlessly, feeding off the sheer energy of terror and violence their Master imposed on them; but they are strong, far stronger than you anticipated, and you find they fare well in battle.

”Hahaha!” Your laugh rings out as you slice into a man’s jugular, blood pooling down your chin, puddles on the carpet. “I invented talent, beauty, and the art of warfare, you know!”

You can hear the slapping of your feet on the ancient wood, slick with blood and other gore, their bodies becoming indistinguishable to you as even more spawn pour into the room. Your mind almost goes quiet, you drown out the sounds of screams, struggles, hisses and cries; even the burning in your leg has subsided, and all you know is bloodshed.

All you know is bloodshed. Should you make more spawn? It feels really good to control so many bodies at once. “I am so f*cking awesome. I am the most powerful vampire in the f*cking world. f*ck you!”

One of your spawn knows magic: “Ha. Throw some fireballs, stupid spawn.” Your stomach is roiling in excitement as you hear ‘ignis’ repeated over and over. You transform into a bat, squeaking over the screams, stumbling as you transform back. One of the female dragonborn grabs at your dress, tearing it as she pulls you to you. Your arm goes through her chest, your muscles numb to whatever damage they are taking.

A rumble behind you. Something is coming. Wolves, ghouls, Moth himself, you know. You turn, “Goodmorning!”, but as you lay eyes on this man, the one that has raped you and assaulted you and ruined you, you suddenly aren’t enjoying yourself anymore. You’re angry, so f*cking angry.

Your spawn are fast, but not fast enough: but you are. One by one, you tear through his defenses, before he comes to you, grabbing your throat and throwing you across the room. You jump, your fangs bared and hissing, and he dodges away before running back to you as he grabs you again, slamming you to the ground. Your bones crack, but you can’t even yelp, your hand clutching at his jaw, and using all your strength, you dislocate it, causing a loud crack sound to reverberate throughout the hall. Moth jumps back, screaming as he clutches his face, and you jump stop him, your fists pummeling him into the ground, his face becoming broken and beaten with every swing.

”Arrr, kaaahhh-hnng,“ You had clearly damaged his brain, his words coming out a stutter. His eye widened in panic, and it was delicious to you. His face was crushed in, one of his eyes was dislocated, and the sight would be rather horrifying to you if you had this been a different situation. But seeing him broken and beaten beneath you makes you feel big again.

“Did someone go a bit stupid?” You laugh at him, but you realize that tears are streaming down your face. They fall into the Dragonborn’s mouth, and he licks his lips; and you just start screaming. You scream so loud your throat hurts, your fists beating down on the man’s large chest. With every pound, Moth starts to scream along with you, and you think it’s less from the pain and more from your maniacal cries, which are all Moth can hear: you’re sure of it.

His co*ck is hard beneath you. Whether that be from something biological, as he is on the fringes of death, or if he truly was that much of a sad*st and masoch*st, you would never know, but in this moment, it disgusts you more than anything he had ever done to you. Tearing through his throat, the dragonborn’s screams devolve to gurgles as your hand reaches for his vocal cords, tearing them out with such tremendous ferocity that they scrape together, creating a sound so unnatural you know you won’t ever forget it.

You haven’t stopped screaming even after you wretch off his head, your battle cries still no match for that sweet sound of his last whimper, your fingers in the meat of his stupid neck stump as you bring it up to your own, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your teeth violently chatter against themselves.

“Now, Geldon Moth, you are mine.”

But that’s the last of whatever you had left in you. The palace war was still raging on, but with the Master dead, the other spawn would surely run off or stop fighting if they could. You take a deep breath, Moth’s head still in your hand. You make your way back down to the museum, and you grab two things: Astarion’s book and that old githyanki relic. They are now bloodied, the pages of the book now stained, the metal on the contraption slick with crimson.

You don't care. You wander around the palace for a while until you find the portal room, which has all been discontinued due to Moth’s death. You merely stare before turning around, walking towards the front door of the palace. The moment you open the door, you spot the silky cat dart out of the palace, running off into the wilderness.

You walk out rather slowly into the sun. Your spawn follow in toe, and as you keep walking into the expanse of a forest, they fall one by one, commanded not to speak or think. You walk until the sun sets, and you’re finally in the dark, alone in the woods. You’re covered in dried blood and dirt, your fingers are stiff from clutching the head of Moth, and you drop to your knees.

It’s over. The pain and suffering. Your capture. But right now, you hardly feel anything at all. You can smell the smoke and charred flesh as the Moth estate goes up in flames, creating a vibrant light through the trees. You focus on it, your vision blurry, your stomach rumbling, your eyes still wet and puffy. You didn’t know it was possible for a vampire to have so many tears.

You hear the whirring of something behind you, the light breeze feeling nice on your skin. Your tears haven't stopped, and as you turn around, you gasp as you see silver curls and crimson eyes step out of a portal, eyes red and teary. You hold out your hand, the one with Moth’s head.

“I-I brought this for you, love,” Your words come out shaky, your voice trembling, and you can barely hold yourself up. Astarion is already crying, and he’s on his knees in front of you, taking the head from your grasp and throwing it off into the woods. His strong arms coil around your waist, his forehead resting between your breasts as his sobs ring out through the dead of night. There is a buzzing in your head, and you can’t hear his words, but you know he speaks of love as you collapse in his arms.

Notes:

I hope the word count was okay with y'all...I almost split it up into two chapters, but it didn't feel right splitting this part of the story up. I really hope I did Tav/Consort justice, and I apologize for how graphic it is: I read too much manga.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and are excited for what's to come...I know I am :) I plan for about 12-15 chapters, but I will adjust accordingly. I love writing for these two, and I can't wait for them to be together again...
Chapter 10 has substantial work and I am going to get that one out to y'all in a few days. Thank you so much for reading, your comments inspire me.

Chapter 10: A Radiant Reunion

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You surrendered yourself to his arms: it was the only tangible thing to you in this moment, the only place where you knew you belonged. You want his blood, so badly, but a larger part of you just wants him to hold you. You’ve already begun trembling, evolving into violently shakes as your husband dashes through the portal. You don’t know if it’s adrenaline, trauma, shock, what-have-you, but your body just won’t stop.

You are home. The overwhelming scent of your territory envelops you, but it only makes you more frantic, your hold on your husband tighter than you had ever held him. You hadn’t remembered feeling this level of emotion, the intensity of the feeling of finally being safe just makes you…

You can smell Astarion’s musk when you’ve entered the master bedroom: the two of you collapse to the floor. Your head remained nestled in Astarion’s chest, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms caging his neck, fingers gripping the root of his curls.

The motion between you is strange, so familiar and yet so new. His body felt good on yours, easing some sort of heated pain that felt like it coated your skin – but maybe that was just the dried blood. Astarion means to pull away from you, just so he can adjust so you would be most comfortable, but you don’t care about that. You only want him .

Astarion calls various healers into the room; but the moment they enter, you perceive them as intruders, hissing and growling at them over your husband’s shoulder. You can’t calm down, your irritation only rising as your reality dawns on you: the rape, the abuse, the scars, the obsession, the dead lover, the angel, the cat. Why am I thinking about the cat? And your husband is right here: he’s right here, so why do you feel so explosive? Your logical mind tows away from you.

“Stay away – he’s mine, mine, mine, mine, mine…” You growl, you and Astarion’s motion turning more into a wrestling match as you attempt to lunge at the help. You’re like this for a while, ignoring Astarion’s desperate pleas for you to calm down.

“Why can’t I feel you? I thought–” But you’re breathless, your voice coming out in near whispers. You continue, your words soon devolving to babbles as you reach exhaustion, your sobs wracking through your body as you flail about. There is so much you want to say, so much you need to say, but your mouth won’t move the way you want it to, unable to communicate anything but simultaneous suffering and relief.

Astarion tries to wrangle you in his arms. He doesn’t understand why he can’t feel you, why the two of you aren’t connected anymore. Both the gith and the palace wizards believed physical reunion and/or the death of Geldon Moth would bring back the mental connection between him and his consort: but his mind is silent. He quickly realizes you’re frustrated, like a child who can’t communicate, panicking and flailing about for him.

You were still undeniably filthy; Astarion hadn’t really paid any mind at first, because his only worry was being with you again, but he couldn’t stand the lingering state you were in. It strangles him, your desperate cries, the way you tangle yourself within him, represented in the way you reach for his hands, threading your fingers with his own for just a moment before he brings you into his lap, straddling him.

He hadn’t intended on placing you right on his hardened co*ck, but the moment you grind on him, reciprocating his need, Astarion’s hand flies to his trousers. His fingers stumble as he unlaces them before bringing his hand between your legs. He’s met with the cloth of your panties. Suddenly quite bothered by the smell of the clothing you wore, Astarion tears at the bloodied dress on your body, letting its rags fall to the floor. This frightens you, he knows, but he can’t help himself: your panties become the next victim of his rage.

Astarion can smell the others on you, and all he can think is that he must take you. It was indignant, offensive, ludicrous for Geldon Moth to have been the last man inside you. Astarion really can’t stand it anymore.

Lining himself up with your entrance, Astarion plunges into you; you take half of his length, the state of you meaning nothing between you as the warmth of his co*ck spreads through your core. It causes heat to reverberate throughout your body, feeling its tender rise in your fingertips. The tip of Astarion’s co*ck begs for more, pushing past your tight, gummy walls as your lover shifts you to the floor. You’re on your back now, Astarion bringing your thighs to a mating press as he pushes his full length into you.

Astarion knows exactly where to put it; knowing your body seamlessly, he’s already reaching for that sweet spot inside of you. The pressure of him feels delicious, and you cry out, savoring yet fighting against every thrust before you feel the contraction of his release; Astarion lasts for only a few seconds, but it doesn’t end your frenzy..

Astarion’s starts crying again, too. He can’t watch you like this anymore.

****

Astarion’s entire body sears with something in between excitement and pain, or maybe a mix of both: he finally has you back, your delicate form being treated so gently in his hands after you had finally passed out.

You fell under the spell faster than Astarion thought you would, your body being in a far weaker state than he first realized. The end of your fit brings him tremendous relief, but only for a moment as your husband starts to study the state of your body, his eyes sweeping over you. You were filthy, caked in mud and blood and guts. Astarion tries to keep his mind sound when he sees the evidence of violation on your body.

Your left breast has deep incision marks, likely where Moth had repeatedly fed from you. These same marks were all over you: your shoulder, your thigh…seeing how close Moth fed to your sex made Astarion grit his teeth. He had even bitten you on the curve of your ass, your arm, your calf. The dragonborn’s fangs were large, biting you down beyond his incisors, just as Cazador had done to him. A careless bite, one that was meant to scar and brand.

He feels far away as he takes off his own clothes: he needs to be close to you, to feel you against him, lest he go mad. He also thought it would be easier to clean you and more comfortable for you both. And he was glad he decided to join you, because your long hair required several washings to get fully clean, and even still, you smell like battle.

And other men. Several other men, by what Astarion could tell: it made his gut churn, causing bile to rise in his throat. Astarion realized he’s gripping you a bit too hard once you shift away from him, slurring words in your slumber.

“So sorry, darling...I’m so sorry,” Astarion whispered, knowing he would have to be far more mindful of himself.

You slur something incomprehensible, your voice coming out a hushed whisper as Astarion feels your cool breath on his chest, making him shiver. Every sign of life you gave him invigorates him. He is silent as his hands wash your body, not lingering too long at your intimate areas, feeling a bit guilty for taking you so ravenously earlier.

Astarion dries the two of you off once he feels satisfied with your bath, slipping a nightgown over your head before cleaning your teeth.

When the two of you are finally ready for bed, Astarion finds himself unable to look away from you. With your face clean, he studies the new additions: the thin scar, a line trailing from cheekbone to cheekbone: it’s rather straight, and Astarion can’t help but gently touch the end of it, the place where your beautiful flesh had only lightly been slightly marred.

Caressing your cheekbone, Astarion brings his lips to yours, lightly brushing them together. His thumb finds your lower lip, pulling down to expose a fang; so cute . So ceaselessly beautiful . He gently brushes his lips to yours again without making you stir. Drawing his thumb into your mouth, the pad moving along your teeth, Astarion felt oddly compelled to touch you somewhere intimate, somewhere nobody else could. He had inspected your teeth earlier, ensuring everything was still in good order: but even still, he can’t stop obsessing over your possible injuries.

Astarion isn't surprised when you bite down, breaking through skin as you begin to suck, drawing your lips around his thumb in a way that’s lewd. Astarion can hear his own heartbeat gradually increase as he feels the pleasure buildup in his body, his balls tightening as his blood pulsates to his co*ck, which is hard pressed against your thigh.

Doing his best to ignore his throbbing member, he let you feed until you released. Thumb still in your mouth, Astarion can’t help but kiss you so fervently, slipping his tongue between your lips to taste you; your lips and tongue and saliva, the hint of his coppery essence coating your mouth, and it was delicious to him – he wanted it all. The kisses were sloppy, his tongue fully exploring your lips and your mouth, causing you to stir.

You lazily return his languid smooch, your palms resting on his bare chest before nuzzling your face into his shoulder. You curl into him, bringing your knees to your chest, your shins pressed against his torso. “So warm…”

You feel his hardness against you. You only hold him closer.

“I plan to keep you in these warm arms as long as you’ll bear it,” Astarion whispers, pressing his lips to your hairline. He has so many questions to ask you. So many things left uncertain, but that would come in the morning, after you had properly rested and fed.

****

Your husband watches you sleep throughout the night. You’re more fitful than anyone under a sleep spell should be, your chin tossing and your fingers twitching. Astarion hasn’t let you go, but fury fills his chest at his helplessness. He caresses your face, runs his fingers through your hair; he can’t help but touch your body more.

When Astarion turns out the lights, extinguishing the roaring fireplace, the two of you are left in the dark of the night. You become more fitful, and Astarion can’t stand it; once the lights of the master bedroom shine again, your body calms down, becoming gooey in his arms.

Astarion begins to lose himself to the promises of rest. He finally has you in his arms, and the two of you are in your palace, in your bed. He can’t be happier. But sometime in the night, his eyes flutter open to see the image of a large, winged man standing over you, his hand wrapped around your ankle. He has a smile on his face, and he looks like he’s petting you with his other hand. Before Astarion can respond to the intruder (your husband is rather fast, too) the apparition disappears.

Astarion darts out of bed, scanning the master bedroom, swiftly commanding his spawn to do a quick sweep of the estate. But there is no trace of anyone, and Astarion decides to find solace by pressing up against your soft, perfect body.

****

Your eyes open just as the sun breaks dawn, and Astarion can’t help but smile. “Goodmorning, my treasured wife.”

You know you’re where you belong. When you look at your husband, he is so exquisite it makes your heart jump: his eyes are tired, his curls tousled in a way that was daringly sexy but indicative of his stress. The lines on his face looked deeper, somehow, and his eyes were already wet. Your hands fly to the sides of his face, your action more forceful than you had intended. Your hands land on his cheeks with a light smack, and you’re running your hands over him desperately, pulling his face to yours to smell him, to kiss him, to bite him.

Your leg burns, reminding you that you aren’t quite safe. Astarion allows you to climb atop him, your body quick and strong as you cage him beneath you. His blood was so sweet, thick like honey and as intoxicating as wine. You pull at his hair, his ears, your nails are digging into his shoulder, and you don’t know how long this goes on before Astarion’s pinned you beneath him, hand gently but firmly on your jaw.

“–I told you that was enough, Tav!” Astarion isn’t yelling, but his voice raised to get your attention. He had begged you to release your fangs after draining his lifeblood faster and deeper than ever before; but you hardly know the difference in his tone, your face twisting in shock and fear at your perception of his aggression.

“Tav, it’s okay, Tav,” He’s released your jaw, but you’re still pinned beneath him as tears break your lashes. “Please don’t cry, my love, I’m not mad, I promise I’m not mad at you, I never could be –“

But he should be, you think. He should be, because you had defiled your marriage bed thrice over, broken every single rule of your master and spawn relationship, and ruined the gift of beauty bestowed on you.

“G-get off me,” Your words are a demand, but your voice comes out like a question, as if you’re asking permission to be let go.

“Don’t make me let you go.” His words hurt you.

“Please…” You beg, looking away from him.

Astarion closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he moves away from you. Astarion can sense your panic, and he doesn’t know what to do as he watches as you dart over to the full length mirror.

Once you had been in his arms again, Astarion desperately planned how he would react to these things: he tried to conceive of what you had likely been through, and decided on the most loving and spousal route he could go, knowing that he must concede and pamper you.

You study your reflection closely: one ruby and one golden eye stare back at you, that thin scar across your face looking fairly clean and straight in the daylight: the scar on your forehead was another story, thick and jagged, rather ugly.

“You look amazing.” Astarion’s voice is smooth and soft. You see him walk up behind you, attempting to put his arms around you, but you shy away, walking over to the fireplace. Your hand grasps the wooden frame of a lounger, your nails scratching the finish.

Astarion can’t stand the way you resisted his touch. He comes to you, his long digits slinking up the back of your nightgown, his touch becoming more assertive as his hands rest on your abdomen, pulling your body flush with his own. You turn, placing your hands on his chest.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Astarion’s voice comes out harsher than intended. His touch becomes firm, more rough as he looks deeply into your eyes. The challenge in your eyes makes him want to dominate, to fully make you one with him again.

“I’ve been so lonely without you,” Is all Astarion manages to say before his lips crash into yours, his fangs cutting into your lip as his pushes his warm tongue between your teeth. His muscle swirls around your own, his hands exploring your body, thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple as you push him away again.

“Why do you bother? I’m scarred, hideous, I’ve been defiled…” Your voice cracks, and Astarion really can’t take this. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking. Pressing his forehead to yours as if he’s trying to meld your mind, Astarion’s touch only gets needier.

He needs you. He needs his wife. He needs to be enveloped in your sweet, tight c*nt, to taste your blood and your come and whatever else of you he could manage to taste.

“No, that’s not right, Tav,” Astarion devolves before your eyes, dropping to his knees again. His exhaustion is apparent now, and you wonder how many days he’d been awake. “Please. Please just hold me. Don’t deny me, I can’t take it.”

Astarion didn’t beg like this, especially out loud.

You don’t think you have ever seen your husband on his knees before you, so desperate for your touch. He had certainly been on his knees for you for pleasurable things but this was different: a display of submission.

But every time you meet his eye, you know he’s looking at your ruined face. You look away again.

“Look at me, Tav,” He pleads, giving you only a moment to respond before reaching up and grabbing you by the chin, bringing you to meet his eye. “I love you.”

Something in his tone makes you quiver. You still don’t want him to look at you, but the way he stares deeply into your eyes makes you melt. You really do just want to be in his arms again.

“Let’s go back to bed. Please, my love. Please…”

“Okay,” You relent, your hands on Astarion’s forearms as you help him up before bringing you both back to bed. You guided him, his hands never leaving your body. Once in bed, Astarion pulls you under the covers, tucking himself into you as he lies his head on your chest. You put your arms around him, running your hands over his broad shoulders. You hardly realize he’s begun to cry until his body starts to shake, unable to hide his sobs.

You run your fingers through his hair, peppering gentle kisses on the top of his head. Pressing your nose to him, you deeply inhale his scent. Not the one that Astarion puts on, but the smell of his living body: his natural odor. He smells so good, and your bedsheets are silky smooth, soft against your bare legs, relief washing over you.

Astarion’s tears dry after a while, leaving the two of you laying in silence, only the crackle from the fireplace and the gentle thrum of Astarion’s heartbeat to fill the gap. Astarion starts to mindlessly massage you, his hands roaming your figure as his thumb swipes little circles into your skin.

“I missed you,” You say; you’re at a loss for words. You didn’t know where to begin.

And Astarion didn’t either. “I missed you so much. I still miss you.”

You frown, understanding his meaning: you, too, missed being nestled in his mind. Astarion touches your left hand, threading his fingers through yours.

“I think maybe it was time for a new set of diamonds, anyways. We’ll find you something even more dazzling, my sweet,” Astarion tries to put on a good humored attitude, but his melancholy is apparent in his tone.

You had nearly forgotten about your wedding rings. “He took my anklet, too.”

Astarion is quiet for some time. So long that you start to think he’s fallen asleep.

“I made him scream for a long time.” You still remembered the sound of his tearing vocal cords. “But I was screaming too. I screamed more than he did, definitely.”

“But you’re alive, and he’s not,” Astarion says, bringing himself to his elbow to meet your eyes. You fight the urge to hide your face.

“Only because I got lucky,” You say as you sit up, bringing your right leg out in front of you, surveying the silver band that still remains. It burns with every movement, but it wasn’t entirely incapacitating. Astarion is quick to find himself a comfortable position to adjust to yours, bringing your back to his chest as he rests on the headboard of the bed. His own legs are on either side of your hips, his hard co*ck resting between his abdomen and your back. It feels good just to have it pressed to you, and Astarion is pleased with this.

“They were on all my limbs,” You look at your wrists, swallowing your disgust for your scars.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, my love,” Astarion whispers in your ear, his arms briefly squeezing you, giving you a little hug.”You have eternity to open up…and I have many working on the cure to our little condition.”

Astarion’s finger moved under your chin, guiding your eyes to his. “We will be one again, soon, my sweet wife.”

Astarion places a gentle kiss on your lips, making you feel a jump deep within your core. He begins to nibble at your neck, leaving a trail of kisses beforelovingly nipping at your earlobe. His affections have you feeling fuzzy, all your emotional and physical pain being eased by just the feeling of his plush lips against your skin. “Why don’t I have them bring us something filling, and maybe some wine?”

That sounding f*cking amazing, and you excitedly turn to him, nodding at him as he smiles back at you. The servants are quick, and before you know it, the two of you are tasting the sweet and sour mixture on each other's tongues.

“Sweet…your skin tastes so sweet, my love,” Astarion whispers through excited moans. His tongue worked its way from your lips, to your cheek and jaw, your neck, before settling kisses at your temple and ear. His hand rests beneath your nightgown, cupping your breast as his thumb gently rubs across your nipple.

Astarion was careful not to touch the scar tissue on your body: he knew all too well how sensitive the skin was, even for a vampire. His hand moved slowly down your abdomen, his warmth making you shiver.

“I think I ruined every panty you had left in the palace,” Astarion says as the two of you giggle, drunk on wine and each other.

“Will you tell me again?” You whisper, and Astarion tenderly kisses your cheek.

“About how much I love you?” Astarion teases, his hand trailing down your side body, resting at your hip. “Tav, you are the only thing I love.”

****

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Astarion asks, briefly glancing up at you before focusing on the ties of your shoes. You sit on your bed, your foot resting on Astarion’s knee as he prepares you to meet with Lae’zel and your gith warriors. You wanted to see them despite Astarion’s protests that they should be coming to you.

“Yes. I promise,” You say as you give him a little smile, trying to animate yourself a little more so he knows you mean it. “I want to see them.”

After a pause. “Do you think I’ll frighten them?”

Astarion frowns, pulling your other foot onto his knee, beginning his work. “It will be your undeath that frightens them, not the way you look. You’re far too lovely, Tav. And your appearance is not so different, despite what you may think.”

“You speak as though I can’t see it,” You say, thinking about how jealous Moth was of this gift of yours.

Astarion puts both of his hands on your shoulders, squaring himself to you. But just as he’s about to speak, Astarion eyes go wide as he looks over your shoulder. Throwing you behind him, Astarion is silently telling you to turn into a bat and fly away, having briefly forgotten about the lack of your telepathy.

“Woah! No need to be like that, handsome,” Angel says with a smile, his hands on his hips as he stands in the middle of your bedroom. His wings are immaculate, beautiful and white, his smile brilliantly showing off perfect teeth.

Notes:

Chapter 11 will be out by the end of the week.
Hope you guys enjoyed this one :)

Chapter 11: Stargirl

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Angel’s sudden appearance causes quite the commotion, especially considering the second thing Angel said was regarding the lewd painting of you hanging on the wall; Astarion’s demanding you tell him who this strange, naked thing was in your bedroom, all while Angel plays with his hair, carelessly twirling a black strand around his finger.

“Oh yeah, I totally saved your girl!”Angel exclaims, his scarlet and golden eye twinkling, mirroring your own. You think Astarion is too stunned to speak. Angel wasn’t particularly threatening, but married men do not often take kindly to seeing other naked men so close to their marital bed, unless invited, of course.

You curl your hand around Astarion’s bicep, shamelessly taking a second to admire the hardness and shape of it before stepping in front of him, squaring yourself up to your patron. Your admiration of your husband’s body has you briefly ruminating on that drow, that shell of a man that you enjoyed. You can’t recall how he died.

“You tore off his jaw and ripped out his tongue, and then your spawn dismembered him and set him on fire!” Angel explains with excitement. “You were really screaming at that one, too, that pretty one. But I got outta there after a while. You sounded like a banshee! It was horrible~”

“He’s my patron. Not a very useful one,” You explain as Astarion grabs your hand, prompting you to swivel your head, meeting his gaze. You see the desperation in your husband’s eyes, his desire to know what all has happened to his beloved. “He removed the silver on one of my legs, and I freed him from some box in Geldon Moth’s weird museum before I attacked.”

“I unlocked the doors for you, didn’t I?” Angel replies, reaching for your hand before you can wretch it away from his grasp.

You hadn’t even noticed the doors beyond the first one that you had to use a scroll to open. “You promised to get me back to Astarion! I don’t even know how many vampires I had to kill with my bare f*cking hands. And I was walking in the woods for hours!”

“Don’t be mad, girl. I knew you’d be okay. A master always finds his pet, and with all those ancient draconic magical barriers the dude had up, when he died, I knew your husband would find you. And he did, and you’re fine now, hurray!” Angel brings your hand to his lips, planting a kiss in your palm, causing Astarion to growl next to you.

“Don’t kiss my wife,” Astarion demands, baring his fangs as he gently tugs you to him, but Angel still holds onto your wrist, his grip only becoming more firm.

“Don’t be married to my favorite payee! Aha~” Angel smiles at Astarion, only making your vampire scowl deeper. “Listen, beautiful,” Angel looks to you.

“No-no, you listen –“ You start, but before you can continue, Angel interrupts.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about our little eye exchange! Please forgive me, Mrs. Ancunín,” Angel says, finding the intent of your words in your head, seemingly thinking it was a waste of breath. He doesn’t wait for you to respond before continuing.

“Anyways, I’ve got two things for you: a new task and a new pact boon, so c’mere,” Angel says as he tugs you closer, breaking you away from Astarion’s grasp. Angel’s touch feels like the first time you met him: warm, inviting…almost safe. His hands move to either side of your face, and you realize he’s about to kiss you.

Astarion lunges at him, but Angel is unaffected, having teleported across the room in the blink of an eye. Whatever form Angel has taken was rather powerful, and he simply raises an eyebrow at the two of you as Astarion pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you defensively.

“I’ve held my tongue and my arm because you clearly have some dealings with my wife, but you certainly won’t be kissing her, you mongrel,” Astarion’s voice comes out a deep growl, guttural, and you can’t remember the last time you heard him sound that way. “Keep your hands to yourself!”

“Your faces are just too pretty to be so stinky. Cheer up!” Angel practically twinkles, his radiance making you feel some sort of kinship for his light, deep inside of you. “I’m not gonna hurt her. I love Tav! I need her!”

“Don’t say you love my wife, either.”

“How could I not love her? I’m her God,” Angel’s arms fold, his almond eyes devastating you even from across the room. He has an air of eroticism about him, something that deeply stirs you and Astarion both. It has some particular effect on you, but you hardly understand it.

Despite this, you cling to Astarion, practically begging him not to attack Angel again: it just felt like a really really bad idea, and your gut churned at the thought.

“What do you need me to do?” You sound measured, leveled, your stomach still bubbling with anxiety.

“Well, okay, see – there’s this relic I need you to get. It’s actually a sword, or a spear, and I just so happen to know exactly where it is!” Angel’s stare is fixated on you. “Go on. Ask me where it is.”

You grit your teeth. “Where is it?”

“The ruins of Baldur’s Gate!” Angel brings out his hands, allowing this to ruminate, but you and Astarion hardly react. “Oh, come on. That’s the old stomping grounds, right? I hear most of the statues of the six heroes and several of Grand Duke Ravengard still stand today.”

“Were you even alive when we lived in Baldur’s Gate? Were you even alive when it fell ?” Astarion asks, his frustration apparent.

“Does it really matter? I need this weapon, and Tav is going to get it for me,” Angel’s composure falls for just a moment; you think he’s annoyed, maybe tired, but he hardly shows it. When he’s put the mask back on, the look in his eyes is one of desire.

“And now for the boon.” Angel slowly walks over to you, his hand outstretched towards you. You find yourself looking deeply into his eyes, the warm gold and the decadent crimson bringing you a sense of familiarity. You feel comfortable and seen, and you’re tempted to take his hand.

“What is this, Tav?” Astarion asks you angrily, his voice rasping in your ear.

“I think…I think I know,” You say, stepping out of Astarion’s arms. Astarion doesn’t hold you back, but he scowls deeper than ever, his eyes watering in anger and jealousy. A kiss must be part of the pact .

“You do know. The part of me that’s in you knows,” Angel says as his hand meets yours. “And the part of you that’s in me wants it. It’s just a little kiss…think of it as a team building exercise; although, there are more intimate ways we could do that.”

“You dare –“ Astarion begins.

“Astarion,” You interrupt, breaking your once locked-in gaze with Angel, turning to your lover. Astarion’s ears almost flatten as you look at him, his eyes rounding at you. You can tell how difficult this is for him: for you both.

“Don’t, Tav,” Astarion pleads. The desperation in his voice devastates you. He brings his voice to a whisper: “Please.”

You step back towards Astarion, away from Angel.

“She kinda doesn’t have a choice, if that makes you feel better!” Angel exclaims, his smile ceaseless. “Besides, what was the point of all of this if you won’t accept my full power? I know you want it, girl.”

You fight to hold your tongue at this last part; the tension in the room was already so thick with Astarion fuming next to you, you think arguing with Angel will only make it worse.

Astarion puffs his chest. “She won’t be doing anything until I’ve reviewed her contract terms.”

Angel is uncharacteristically silent. Astarion looks at you, and your face says it all. “Darling, do not tell me. Don’t you dare say that you don’t know.” Astarion’s face darkens, a shadow crossing over his eyes as he glares at you.

“I don’t know them.” You look at your feet as you say this. Your husband used to be a magistrate: he was educated in law and politics, oversaw many aspects of government in Toril, and to be very clear, was very very knowledgeable on contracts. The fact that his own wife didn’t think to ask about the terms simply angers him.

“I didn’t know what else to do. I was so desperate,” You explain, feeling something white and hot rise within you. “Must I explain myself to you?”

Astarion’s eyes widen at your irritation, but Angel hardly gives him time to speak.

“She was so desperate! So eager,” Angel says, twirling his hair with a finger. “Geldon Moth likes to break his toys. You’re lucky she’s even alive. Thanks to me, of course.”

The truth of his words slice through you. The sheer emotion Astarion puts off is cold, harsh, and you feel yourself tense up further, your nails digging into your palm. Angel doesn’t really seem to notice or care.

“Give them to me, now .” Astarion is a force to be reckoned with when angered, and you can tell he’s trying to be measured here.

“Tav, close your left eye. It’s been there the whole time!” Angel explains. “You just gotta, like, think about it and focus on it.” Angel takes a breath before muttering, “I think.”

“What in the hells do you mean by ‘I think’? Are you using my woman–“

“Your wife , Astarion, I’m your wife,” You interject.

“That you are. And you are my very life, Tav,” Astarion amends before turning to Angel. “My wife is your first warlock, isn’t she?”

Angel smiles, giving Astarion a wink.

You curse him under your breath as you cover your left eye with your hand, trying to focus on Angel and what he provided you. But on the inside, you don’t feel any different. Still coming to terms with the separation of your mind from Astarion’s, it was hard to feel anything but his absence.

But still, Angel didn’t lie. The words of the terms begin to appear before your eyes, glittering in cursive gold behind your lid.

“I can’t lie, you know,” Angel’s smile turns into a smirk, and it is almost smug – almost.

“That’s a myth.” Astarion crosses his arms. “Don’t you spin tales to my wife like that. I won't let her hear it. And don’t –“

“Before you say that next part, I can’t help reading minds. It’s something that never stops!”

“What in the hells, Angel,” You turn, interrupting the men’s banter, the churning in your gut making you feel sick.

---

Covenant of the Pleasurable Exchange

This document serves as a binding agreement between [True Name], hereinafter referred to as “The Patron,” a being of celestial descent and terrestrial fall, and Tav Ancunín, hereinafter referred to as “Mrs. Ancunín,” an ancient being of vampiric origin.

I. Granting of the Boon: The Patron hereby agrees to bestow upon Mrs. Ancunín a boon of significant power, the nature of which shall be determined by the needs and the will of The Patron.

II. The Sacred Exchange: The granting of the aforementioned boon is contingent upon the completion of a Sacred Exchange, to be carried out in two parts, detailed as follows:

The Twilight Kiss: Mrs. Ancunín shall bestow upon The Patron a kiss, symbolizing the merging of life and undeath. This act shall also initiate the transfer of energies between the two parties, allowing The Patron to feed off the sexual energy of Mrs. Ancunín, in a manner that sustains The Patron’s existence within the mortal realm.

The Aetherial Gaze: Mrs. Ancunín and The Patron shall exchange one eye each, symbolizing a deep understanding and shared vision between the realms of life and undeath. Other parts of the body may be exchanged with the mutual consent of The Patron and Mrs. Ancunín, the powers of which to be determined at the time of exchange.

III. Conditions and Responsibilities

Sustenance of The Patron: Mrs. Ancunín acknowledges the necessity for The Patron to feed off her sexual energy as part of the Sacred Exchange. This sustenance is limited to the energy produced through the act of the Twilight Kiss and any subsequent acts agreed upon by both parties, respecting the boundaries of consent and willingness. Other sexual acts may be performed to provide sustenance to The Patron.

Protection of the Shared Vision: Upon the exchange of eyes, both The Patron and Mrs. Ancunín are bound to protect the new vision granted by this covenant. The Patron and Mrs. Ancunín acknowledge the permanency of the exchange of eyes and all other bodily exchanges.

Secrecy and Discretion: The terms of this covenant, along with the powers and insights gained from it, shall remain a closely guarded secret, shared only between The Patron and Mrs. Ancunín.

IV. Termination: This covenant may be dissolved under conditions mutually agreed upon by both parties. However, the insights and powers gained shall remain.

V. Signatures

This covenant is sealed with a kiss, paid for by Mrs. Ancunín to The Patron on the date of 19 Ches, 3502 D.R.

---

“What the f*ck. This isn’t okay,” Your words coming hurling from your lips as you bare your fangs at Angel. Sexual energy? Sustenance? The exchange of body parts? Secrecy?

“What? What does it say?” Astarion asks, his voice frantic as he puts his hands on you again, grabbing at your waist.

Angel smiles at you. “This is a fairly common contract, girl. And the secrecy clause is the only part of the contract you can talk about. Now that I’m free, I really do need that kiss.” Angel pouts, his eyebrows knitting together. “And you’ll really need the boon for your task, I promise you. One little kiss is all I need, and you’ll have your power. You’ll have to complete the task either way, ha~”

The white hot rage within you wells up to your chest. It hurts, tightening your muscles and making your bones ache, so much that it makes you want to scream, or maybe cry, you aren’t sure which.

“Get out of my face,” You sneer, your fangs bared. You’ve put yourself in front of Astarion. You felt so empty inside, you’re grasping at something to connect you back to yourself, the only thing yearning inside of you is the desire to offensively protect. “Get off my territory. Begone, son of Lastai!”

Angel tilts his head down, his eyes looking sharp. His pretty lips still hold his hallmark smile. “I can see you’re upset, Mrs. Ancunín. I’ll come back later.”

The moment he’s gone, you’ve given yourself over to Astarion, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him into a close hug. He immediately reciprocates, his arms firmly around you.“I promise I will get you out of this,” Astarion whispers. He plants a wet kiss to the scar on your forehead, pressing the tip of his nose to your skin as he speaks.“We did it for Wyll all those years ago.” Astarion pulls away from you, so that he can meet your far off gaze. His eyes are rounded, his eyebrows turned down with worry. “Remember him, my love?”

But your eyes are wild, because you can’t stop thinking that all of this is your fault. Astarion cups your cheeks, his thumbs gently rubbing at your temples.

“I don’t know what to do, Tav…” Astarion begins, but his words are failing him. “I love you. Nothing that occurred during your captivity could ever make me love you any less.” Astarion’s voice cracks, and you know he’s (trying not to) thinking of his own past.

“Love…” You say, as you too are at a loss for words. All you can do is gently caress his jaw as you bring his lips to yours, rubbing the tip of your nose to his after you’ve released yourself from a passionate embrace.

****

When you arrive at Astarion’s office, hand in hand with your forever love, Lae’zel keeps her face straight. Your appearance doesn’t frighten her, but fills her heart with sorrow. Your eye, your scars – Lae’zel can’t help but notice the long sleeves you wore and the marks that marred your neck. You were still beautiful, and the longer Lae’zel studied you, the more powerful and bright your aura became: you are more stunning to her than you’d ever been. And by the obvious way Astarion can’t take his eyes off you, Lae’zel knew he felt the same.

“I’m very relieved to see you, Tav.” Lae’zel smiles, her tone sweeter than usual. She brings you into an awkward hug, which you accept, patting her on the back. You really do mean it, this hug, and you’re relieved to see your old friend: but a touch that wasn’t Astarion’s was a touch that may not be safe. You briefly wonder if even your husband’s touch was safe.

You also wonder if Lae’zel’ blood is as thick and sweet as it smells…“I’m glad to see you too. Did you get that thing I grabbed for you?”

“I did. That was…” Lae’zel wasn’t about to hurt your feelings. You had grabbed Orpheus’s prison for her, which was something Lae’zel hadn’t particularly wanted, but she had a feeling you knew not what it was. “Thank you. I was glad to see some items from our adventure still remain.”

“It had githyanki letters on it. And it smelled like you, and I remember you being really concerned about it. I was concerned about it too, I’m sure. So I grabbed it.”

Astarion and Lae’zel look at each other, and you see the gith is trying to restrain her laughter. When you study your husband closer, you realize he too is trying not to laugh.

Stupid. You’re stupid. They also think you’re stupid. You frown, your eyebrows knitting together as you look at the two of them. “What? You both laugh because I can’t remember?”

Your question comes out sounding more angry than you intend. Lae’zel and Astarion look surprised at your outburst. Astarion has his hands on you immediately, softly petting and cooing at you to calm down, that they meant nothing by it.

“My love, you used to throw this relic around camp, kicking it into the dirt, cursing at the damned thing to open. You and Lae’zel would…” Astarion looks to Lae’zel expectantly.

“Smack talk. sh*t talk, if you will,” Lae’zel adds with a light smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“The two would decimate this thing with your words,” Astarion explains. “And once we discovered the tentacled freak inside, you didn’t stop.”

“Thank you for bringing it to me, Tav. This symbolizes the very reason why we fight this war with Vlaakith,” Lae’zel speaks softly, offering you a smile. “I think Orpheus will find this very interesting.”

You take a deep breath, but you can’t shake your thoughts of the red dragonborn. “He called me stupid a lot. Because I couldn’t remember.”

Astarion’s shoulders tense, but he says nothing.

“But he could?” Lae’zel asks.

“Yes.”

Lae’zel pauses, having to find her words. “His estate is in ash. We attempted to scout the area as much as possible, but the underground part of the palace is completely inaccessible.”

“You’re saying everything is gone?”

Lae’zel nods. “It’s hardly safe for anyone to go down there.”

You let your memories mull within you, trying to decide whether you should share. The past is so painful, and you knew it would hurt if you started to talk about it.

“He had so much stuff down there. He had been collecting for a long time,” You say as you walk over to lounge on Astarion’s daybed. It was luxurious and comfortable, but it was apparent it hadn’t been lived in. Astarion sat at your feet, putting your bottom half in his lap. You think this position may be a little intimate to be doing in front of Lae’zel, but you know Astarion only means to hold you in some way. He sighs as he unlaces your shoes (annoyed after having just laced them for you), revealing your freshly polished toes, one hand resting at the arch of your foot, the other wrapped around your calf.

Astarion had given you the pedicure himself. The job wasn’t quite perfect, but he thought you looked pretty regardless. “You’re so perfect.”

Lae’zel sits at Astarion’s desk, crossing her arms, getting down to business. If she didn’t stop this sappy love fest, it would never end. “We will have more time for a reunion later. The others who remained at the crèche have already made their way to Fort Lash’ki, a city nestled deep in the Astral.”

“We won’t be returning to the Crystalline Spire?” You ask as you lightly kick at Astarion, who has run his finger up your foot teasingly, trying to make you smile again. When you finally relent, flashing him your fangs as you laugh, Lae’zel is relieved to see Astarion’s own smile. But it made her realize that Astarion truly doesn’t see anyone but you, and you hardly would see anyone but him, reminding her of the past: of when she first realized you were no longer hers.

Lae’zel glares at Astarion for failing to tell you. She expected this, but it irritates her just the same. “No. The plan was to fly to the Astral after the banquet, and there have been many moons since then.”

“But –“ Astarion begins.

“ But you demand that we cannot leave until we find some solution for the silver, I know.”

“And there’s also another little kink in our plan,” Astarion’s smirk nearly fails him.

Your eyes are shifting to your right leg. Angel’s influence has you staring at it. Is this an offer ? Before Astarion can continue, you blurt,“I think we should ask Angel to remove it.”

Lae’zel releases the greatest sigh known to man. “Explain.”

****

The meeting with Lae’zel took more out of you than you were willing to admit, but Astarion notices, pushing back your reunion with your warriors, the two of you retreating to your bedroom once more.

“My leg burns,” You say; you can’t help but look at Astarion expectantly, as if he has the magic key to your freedom from pain. “It hurts.”

“I know, my love. I’m sorry,” Astarion lays you down, bringing you some wine to take off the edge. “You’ve moved it a lot today. Just try to rest for now.”

Astarion gathers you in his arms, which you joyously accept, the warmth of his body sending shivers down your spine. The two of you are like puzzle pieces, fitting together perfectly as you both reach a level of comfort that could only be achieved with one another. You sit in silence for a while; Astarion hums a tune to you, your eyes beginning to close as you nearly drift off.

But your mind remains disturbed. “I’ve never felt more physical pain in my life than when I woke up with one on each limb.” But after just a beat, your courage fails you : “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Your voice comes out weak as Astarion brushes through your hair with his fingers, his nails lightly trailing against your skin.

“That’s alright,” Astarion replies, his voice smooth and soft.

You turn over, facing him. The two of you lie down on your side, where you gaze deeply into his eyes for some time. You’re trying to read each other, to see into one another’s soul.

“I love you, Star.” You say, remembering how you spoke those words aloud before you fought Moth, not knowing if you would ever see your husband again. Astarion doesn’t try to hide the tears in his eyes, and you swipe a thumb across his cheek before popping it into your mouth, tasting the salt of his tears.

As you rest, Astarion finds himself unable to stop staring at the remaining silver band on your body. He tries to busy himself, massaging you or reading to you throughout the day, but it bothers him to no end. One hand idly rubbing the arch of your foot, Astarion inspects the band closer, whispering a few spells to try to pinpoint the magic – nothing he and dozens of practiced wizards and healers hadn’t already tried before.

Later, after a quiet dinner, Astarion reads to you before you fall back to sleep. The sensation of the constant burning is exhausting to you, and you were sleeping far more than a vampire should.

Astarion has laid out his studies on the floor of your bedroom, a couch cushion as a seat as he sorts through his best knowledge bases. He runs his hands through his hair, trying to focus on the task at hand: gathering what information he could on celestial contracts.

The kiss is part of the contract. Astarion knows that is fairly common, especially for a celestial hailing from the pleasure domain. Angel must get something from the kiss, Astarion knows. But the exchange of eyes. That can’t be common: self sacrifice is, but an exchange?

The last of Astarion’s focus leaves him as you murmur something incoherent in your sleep, rolling over onto your back. Astarion jumps up from his cross legged position, sitting at the edge of your bed as he studies you.

You had wanted to cover up during your visit with Lae’zel despite Astarion’s assurance of your beauty. But now, as Astarion watches you sleep, he was never more sure about your exquisite appearance.

You slept in just panties and one of Astarion’s old linen shirts. You had one leg out straight while the other was bent, resembling a ballerina. Adorable. Your hands were thrown above your head, having long abandoned your pillow.Astarion can’t help but slide his hand beneath your shirt, feeling your soft, supple skin, doing his best not to wake you. He pushes his nose into your hair, breathing in deeply, taking your scent in. He wants to taste your blood: he’s craving it, so deeply it makes his mouth water and his fangs ache with anticipation.

You stir, nuzzling into him further. Excited by your reciprocation, Astarion begins to pepper kisses on your face, careful not to bother, while also feeding that desire within him to make you his once again. Just knowing you were here to freely touch, to kiss, to hold. His co*ck is so hard it’s almost painful, and he wants to be enveloped in your wet, gummy walls. He knows you’d be so tight, so delicious, and he’s already imagining the smell of your arousal.

But it had only been a few days since your triumph, still weak from the silver and the fright of it all. Astarion taking you during the heat of your arrival was one thing, but he knew this was another. Trying to take you now would be wrong of him…wouldn’t it?

Astarion fights his intrusive thoughts, the one that wants to open you up, force his way through to you. He imagines you fighting a great red beast away, only to be overpowered and taken. The other intrusive thought, the one where you are moaning, whimpering, coming for a handsome man, one far larger than Astarion himself, cuts into him almost just as deep.

His desire to dominate fills his entire being. Astarion blames his nature as your master as his hand comes to rest at the base of your throat, his other hand tangling in your hair. “I miss you, my love.”

His words are meant to rouse you, to wake you so that he could conquer your body. But when your eyes open, you’ve grabbed him, the two of you flying across the room as you bring him to the ground, your legs straddling his torso. Astarion hadn’t anticipated your movement but tried to protect you as much as he could, his own body hitting the ground with a loud thump. Your knees knocked into the marble, but Astarion saw no signs of pain in your eyes, only fury.

No. That isn’t right . Because he can see the sadness and pain within you, and it foamed so close to the edge that it was spilling over. Astarion begins using his words to calm you, because he was good at it, and he didn’t know how else to comfort you if you wouldn’t accept his touch or his co*ck.

“It’s me, you’re alright, I’m sorry I woke you, please calm down–”

You bare your fangs as you back away from him, your eyes darting wildly around the bedroom before you swiftly turn into a bat. You fly towards the open balcony, Astarion following you in tow.

Notes:

hope you guys enjoy this one :) Its very dialogue heavy but I hope I did everyone justice. There are so many things unspoken between these two...
I can't believe we're at nearly 55k words, and all I can say is: so much for my 12-15 chapter goal lol. Ya'll are going to get more content and you're going to like it!
this story has become quite personal me and I hope yall enjoy the little piece of my own heart I've put into this, especially these last few chapters.
I'm planning on updating every Sunday from here on out :)