Astarion x M!Reader

Twenty-Nine

Astarion stumbled back inside the house in a daze. The door slammed shut behind him, thunder rumbled, the walls shifted and then there was no way in or out of the house.

Safety. And yet.

The beat of his heart was so merciless that he wanted to vomit. Adrenalin rushed through his veins, his fingers trembled.

"No...", he whispered to himself and gripped his trembling fingers with his other hand.

He forced himself to calm down, or at least what he could manage, and pushed himself back to his feet. Another shiver crawled down his spine. He ignored it and stumbled forwards.

Keep going. Further and further.

He had to go back, he didn't want to be guided by the house. No, he wanted to go where he had felt safest for the past few hours. He longed for the touch of your arms.

Dead. Cazador wanted you dead. And Astarion should have your blood on his hands.

The thought alone brought tears to his eyes, made nausea grow in the pit of his stomach until he almost threw up. His fingernails clawed into the fabric of the walls.

Suddenly there was anger. Unbridled, seething rage. He wanted to kill, wanted to see blood. But not you. No, he wanted to destroy Cazador. For the first time in his undead life, he longed to harm the man who had once saved him from destruction.

No, he couldn't think like that. It hadn't been a rescue. Knowing Cazador, he had probably been lurking in the shadows, just waiting for a moment of weakness to take advantage of.

All this time he had only used him. And now he wanted exactly the same thing. He wanted to make use of Astarion.

His breath caught in his chest again. His lungs contracted. It burned and ached, felt like his heart was about to be crushed. Desperate, he fell to his knees again, gasping, pleading for his survival.

Cazador knew what he was thinking, he could feel his resistance. And he wished to destroy him. He did not want to die. He didn't want to suffer any more.

But kill you?

He couldn't imagine that. He didn't want to imagine it.

Blinded by tears, he crawled across the floor, over carpet and stone. Like a worm. Just like Cazador always called him. Worm, a lowly creature that fed on dirt and rainwater. That was all he was worth to him.

"P-Platinum...!", he gasped out of breath. "Platinum! P-please... I beg you...!"

Darkness crept into his eyes, pain drowned his mind. He hated it. He hated how weak he was.

If only he had been given one chance. Just one. Then he would use it to burn down the world and buy his own freedom.

But what would he do afterwards?

Where would he go?

Who could he turn to?

Tears ran down his cheeks. He hated the sting of salt on his skin. He hated the despair that choked his throat.

"Please...", he gasped with the last of his breath.

Blackness engulfed him. A ringing filled his ears. Then there was only pain. Nothing but pain and madness.

"Astarion.", someone was calling for him. "My darling..."

It was you. You were calling for him.

All at once, his heart pounded with joy.

Why did he feel so comfortable with you?

Even though you and Cazador had the same origin. He could never have hated you. He simply didn't want to.

"Astarion...", you gently touched his hair, letting your fingers play with his tears.

Something had robbed him of his strength. A thin thread of red ran from his nose as he lifted his head to look at you out of watery eyes.

The tips of your fingers brushed his face and he stretched his head, hoping to catch another gentle touch.

"Platinum...", a smile appeared on your lips, tired and heavy-lidded.

It was so beautiful. You could feel the warmth coursing through your undead body. As if you were struck by lightning.

"What happened, my darling?", you asked.

But he was already gone. The darkness had sunk its teeth into him. His mind was at rest. His body was still suffering. He was shivering, cold sweat drenching his clothes.

You knew these kinds of symptoms, but you knew they could only have been caused by his master. And Cazador wasn't able to set foot on this estate, you had seen to that.

You yourself would have to allow him to enter. Hell would freeze over sooner.

"By the Absolute.", with a furrowed brow, you pulled his limp body into your lap.

You wouldn't be able to warm him, you weren't made for that. You hurriedly took him in your arms and ordered the shadows to take you to a safe place.

The world distorted in the dark.

The floor briefly disappeared from under your feet, then there was wood and carpet again. Your bed stood in front of you.

A little joke of the shadows, one that took time and strained your nerves. It would have been better to put him in his own bed, but it seemed he was unable to summon the door for you and the shadows refused.

For whatever reason. Snorting, you fought down a wave of anger, flipped back the covers and tucked him into your soft sheets.

A sigh escaped your lips.

Whimpering, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter as you put the blanket round his shoulders. He squirmed in the pillows, seemingly struggling with a nightmare.

Carefully, you dared to wipe a few strands of hair from his sweaty forehead. A slight gasp escaped him at the touch.

A reddish glow had spread across his cheeks. Vampires didn't get sick, they were immune to bacteria and all kinds of plagues that could ravage mortals. And yet it looked as if he might have a fever.

No, that was a stupid thought. If you took over the mind of Lorelei or any of your spawns, it would drain their own powers enormously. This was damage caused by someone who took over.

Something had eaten away at him.

Suddenly a shiver ran down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. No, that couldn't be.

"Sleep, my darling.", you whispered and breathed a kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back soon."