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fettuccinealfred0 · 4 months

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 5

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13.6k

(CW: SMUT 18+, vampire biting/blood drinking, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, handjob, mentions of past sexual assualt and trauma)

Summary:

Astarion reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself.

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you.

“But, you’re still my favorite little flower,” he says, tucking the stem behind your ear. Your eyes close at the touch of his fingers against your cheek as he pulls away. He’s struck once again by how badly he wants to kiss you. It physically pains him to step away.

But he must distance himself from you. Because love is a sickness, a weakness. Love is about trusting someone enough to offer up your very soul to them, to give them the power to own you. And Astarion wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No one would control him ever again.

Read on ao3 here.

There’s blackness.

Astarion reaches his hands out, but they hit a wall.

He reaches to the side. Another wall.

He immediately knows where he is. The dread settles into his bones. He’s back in that cursed coffin, buried beneath the earth.

He’s scratching and clawing at the wood surrounding him, throat raw from screaming, desperate and choking on his hunger. A vampire without enough blood was driven to madness and he had spent so much time down here with nothing but unending thirst.

And just when had resigned himself to that eternity, Cazador was digging him out and torturing him anew.

Astarion’s head is pounding and he can’t think straight. Has Cazador finally caught up to him? Is this punishment for escaping?

No, Cazador is dead.

Astarion is sure of that. And he’s all too sure he’s been here before.

This is a memory. One of those twisted, ugly things that claws its way out from the back of his mind and he’s helplessly forced to watch it replay.

He can’t remember what came before this. There was white?

No. It was snowing. The first snow of the season. Tainted red by blood and dead bodies. They had been ambushed by the Gur.

Your hand reaching out to him, blood dripping into his mouth.

Astarion closes his eyes and focuses on your face in his mind, filled with a sense of calm and warmth. His pretty wife welcoming him home.

The image in his brain warps.

“I have something for you,” you say, poking your head into Astarion’s study. You’re careful to hide your body behind the doorframe so Astarion can’t see what you’re holding, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. It sends a pleasant thrum through his own chest to see you like this.

“Why, do tell, darling, I can hardly stand the suspense.” Astarion hears himself say without really saying it.

This must be another memory, though his muddled mind struggles to place it.

You step through the door frame, holding an ornate vase filled to the brim with flowers.

“You need to liven this room up a little bit,” you tell him, setting the vase on an empty table. You take a moment to rearrange the flowers to your satisfaction and step back to inspect your work with your hands on your hips. “It’s not that much longer until the first frost and it feels a shame for all those pretty flowers out in the garden to go unappreciated.”

The bouquet you’ve made is stunning. Red chrysanthemums, red roses, and red asters surrounded by clumps of tiny little white flowers. Heliotropes, Astarion thinks they’re called.

Astarion is vaguely familiar with the meaning of flowers. In the back of his mind, he can hazily recall his mother telling him their meanings when he was a boy. But he must be misremembering because he’s fairly certain all these flowers you have given him mean love and undying devotion.

“I thought you’d appreciate red. I assume it’s your favorite color, what with the blood and all,” you tease, sounding entirely too proud of yourself for coming up with that little quip.

Of course you weren’t trying to indirectly communicate with him via flowers. It made much more sense that the bouquet was a joke for you to amuse yourself with. It’s still a sweet gesture. Astarion isn’t quite sure why his stomach sinks with disappointment.

“A vampire loving red. You’re very clever,” Astarion says sarcastically, coming to stand beside you and inspect the flowers more closely.

“Wrong answer.” You turn to face him, hands still on your hips and a stern look on your face. It’s cute. “This is the part where you thank your lovely wife for bringing you flowers.”

Astarion huffs, rolling his eyes. He’ll humor you today because you’ve put him in a good mood. Though, he does try to sound as annoyed as possible. “Thank you for the flowers, dearest wife. They are the highlight of my day.”

Deep down, he knows he means every word of what he just said. If anything, you were far more than the highlight of his day. The highlight of his week, of his year, of his life, more likely.

And you do look so very pleased with yourself. Giving in to you was undeniably worth it, then. He adored that little look you got when you felt you had bested him. More and more often, he found himself conceding in your little verbal sparring matches just so he could see that look.

“I have another surprise for you, too, tonight! Plan for a walk in the gardens.” Your voice is so light as you beam at him. His personal ray of sunshine. He wants to keep you like that forever, fill your days with nothing but joy and laughter.

You hum as you slip down the hallway, practically skipping.

Drink, Astarion hears you say, but that doesn’t make sense. You left already.

His head hurts so bad.

Something cold is pressed against his lips. He opens his mouth and tastes the sweet, metallic tang of your blood against his tongue. His brain is too foggy to question what’s going on, so he just revels in your taste, lets it coat his mouth and dance against his taste buds.

He drinks and drinks until there’s nothing left.

It’s not enough. He could never get enough of you.

His eyes flicker open and you’re leaning over him. Something warm presses against his forehead and he recognizes that you must be wiping down his face.

This isn’t a memory, though, the corners of his vision are a bit too crisp. He can feel himself starting to squirm, an attempt to sit up and orient himself.

“Shh,” you reassure him and your soft voice is music to his ears, even if it does sound clouded and distant. “Rest. We’ll have more for you soon.”

—----------

It’s dark in Astarion’s mind. He’s walking down the streets in the city of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where are we going?” The man’s voice behind him calls and he tugs insistently on Astarion’s hand.

Astarion takes the opportunity to spin, pinning the man to the wall. He licks up the man’s neck, biting softly on his earlobe before murmuring in that practiced, seductive voice, “Come now, don’t be impatient. Are you really so desperate for me to fuck you?”

He knows the man is. He was one of the creepy ones that were easy to pick up in a seedy tavern. And Astarion can feel the hard length of the man’s cock pressing into his hip.

“Yes, take me here,” the man says breathlessly, head falling back against the wall.

“Be a good boy for me, wait just a moment longer. I have the perfect spot for us. Then, I can take my time with you,” Astarion purrs, with all the control he can muster. If he could just get him back to the castle quickly enough, he might not actually have to do anything. He might still be able to spare himself that little agony.

Astarion had been through this so many times- he knew exactly what to say, exactly what to do. His whole body felt numb as he continued his way back to Cazador’s palace, his new victim’s hand wandering and groping as they walked. Astarion laughed and pinched him back, even if he hated the feeling of the man’s hands on him.

It was easier this way, if he just let his body act out the part. If he went to that little part of his mind and hid away in there until this was over.

Once he gets the man inside the palace, it’s finished almost immediately.

Cazador makes Astarion watch as he drains the man dry. Makes him stare into those desperate, scared eyes of the man he betrayed. That part doesn’t bother Astarion. But the fact that Cazador enjoys a feast Astarion himself will never get to experience has him nearly going blind with hatred. He soothes himself by imagining he’s prying out Cazador’s fangs.

“Good job, boy. Here’s your dinner,” Cazador hurls a rat at Astarion and he drinks greedily. If he was quick enough about it, he almost couldn’t taste the gamey, bitter blood that barely kept him alive.

The man’s body creates a loud thump when Cazador drops him to the ground.

Only, when he looks again, it’s your bloody face staring back at him. Astarion’s crawling forward to you before he can even think- let Cazador unleash his worst punishments for this transgression. Astarion nearly retches at the sight of your once-beautiful eyes staring open at him, lifeless.

No, no, no- this is all wrong.

Astarion is sobbing and crying, pulling your dead body to his chest, pressing his forehead against yours. Your skin is so cold.

Astarion closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of your cold skin against his hand.

When he opens them again, you’re in the gardens, shimmering and swimming in the moonlight of his memory.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him.

“What are you going to do to me, you little minx?” He flirts and he can hear you shushing him as he shuts his eyes.

You grab one of his hands and your palm is so warm against the cool night air that stings at his skin like needles. Astarion didn’t like the cold before he was turned and after, it was as if his tolerance to weather was nonexistent.

With your finger intertwined, you lead him, giving gentle instructions on where to step. He practically runs into you when you stop and has to steady himself with his hands on your waist.

“Oof, sorry, should have told you to stop. You can open your eyes now,” you say, but you don’t really sound too sorry. Astarion opens his eyes, but keeps his hands firmly on your waist, pulling you back against him a bit tighter.

In front of him is a new patch of white, star-shaped flowers. They’re pretty, undoubtedly. But Astarion can’t quite figure out their significance or why this surprise had mattered to you so much.

“They’re moonflowers!” You rush to explain. “They bloom at night! And they look like stars so they reminded me of you, little star.”

He can hear the nerves in your voice as you say the last part. Little star. Just like his mother used to call him. For the first time in centuries, he thinks that perhaps he can feel his heart beating in his chest, can feel the pounding pulse reverberating in his head, making him dizzy.

“I asked Gale to help me find them in the woods and then Halsin helped me plant them! I thought you deserved to have something that looked prettier at night than during the day. Something special just for you,” you continue to explain, twisting in his arms so you can study his reaction.

Astarion used his beauty as a shield, as a distraction. Keep it flirty and light and people’s minds become clouded by desire and they give you what you want.

But you watch him, study him. He can feel your shrewd eyes on him, catching every involuntary twitch and movement in his face. He can see you categorizing and sorting them away in your pretty little brain. It’s the first time in many years that he hasn’t minded someone’s gaze upon him.

But it’s endlessly frustrating how you keep poking and prodding at him in an attempt to dig deeper? Why couldn’t you just be distracted by the beauty like everyone else? Why did you make him want things that were impossible?

Astarion is speechless. You had given him these beautiful flowers, a gift just for him. Watching this memory play out before him, he’s forced to remind himself that this was just as real as the memories of Cazador. That despite all the trauma of his life as a spawn, his mind also contained these beautiful moments with you.

His hands drop from your waist as he moves forward to inspect the flowers. It’s amazing to see. Where most flowers would sleep for the night, these large white blossoms are opening up their petals to the full moon, drinking in the silvery light. Astarion misses the sunlight, desperately. He misses the warmth on his skin and the way colors used to look so bright. But the way these little flowers worship the moonlight, Astarion thinks that perhaps a life relegated to the dark might not be so bad. Not if he has you to worship.

He reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself.

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you.

And that’s not what this feeling is anyway, Astarion tries to reason with himself. He wants to kiss you because that’s what his body is trained to do. To repay. Even if he knows your kindness has no expectations attached to it, Astarion thinks that this desire is a side-effect from centuries of conditioning. Love isn’t possible after what he had experienced.

But then, that doesn’t explain why he wants to kiss you nearly every time he sees you. Or why he spends half his day thinking of silly lines he can say at dinner that will make you smile. Or why he wants to hold you so close to him that your bodies nearly fuse together. Or why he wants to flutter his eyelashes against your skin until you’re laughing and pushing him away.

It’s perverse- the soft, domestic things he wants to do to you.

“Astarion,” he hears your gentle voice coo out, though you’re growing hazy in front of him.

He’s trying to reach out to you, to keep you with him.

He opens his heavy eyes and your worried face is looking down at him. You’re so blurry.

“You need to drink more,” you say softly, and the goblet is being pressed against his lips again, the irresistible taste of your blood in his mouth.

—--------------------------------------

When Astarion wakes again, it’s night. He finds you sitting next to him, alternating between pretending to read a book and staring out the window. The curtains must have been drawn back after the sun went down. Astarion can tell that you’re worried by the little crease in your brow and the way you chew on your lip. He lets himself watch you for a couple moments before he pushes himself up to sit, finally alerting you that he’s awake.

“Here, drink.” You’re rushing a goblet to his mouth immediately and this time, he’s able to take the cup from your hands and actually raise it to his own mouth with minimal shakiness. He tilts the cup back, throat still burning with hunger as he swallows thick mouthfuls of your blood.

“You’re looking better. You’ve been pretty out of it for a while,” you say, taking the cup from him and sitting on the bed beside him.

You reach out to brush a curl away from his forehead and Astarion doesn’t miss the slight shake of your hands or how ashen your skin looks.

How much blood have you given to him? Astarion makes a mental note to ask Shadowheart to make you a special tea to help deal with any nasty side-effects of blood loss.

“What happened?” He asks, trying to piece together how long he had been unconscious.

You frown. Astarion hates when he makes you frown.

“You were staked. Not through the heart, thank the gods, but you lost so much blood. Shadowheart called it blood madness. She said that your body was returning to death,” you explain.

Blood madness. Everything starts to make sense. The weird visions and memories. Falling in and out of consciousness as his undead body struggled to stay reanimated with so little blood in his system.

Astarion’s shocked when you let out a laugh- a hysteric, sorrowful thing that sounds all wrong coming from you. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t know why I thought vampires would have less blood. But you bled so much.”

“You gave me your blood,” he says and you nod in confirmation.

“Shadowheart knew some way to drain it from my arm. It was… pretty gross.” You wrinkle your nose so sweetly and Astarion is struck by the desire to reach out and feel the way your skin creases with his thumb. “I passed out the first time she tried. We had to do it a few times so that you’d always have something to drink if you woke up.”

Your hands are folded in your lap and Astarion reaches out to cover them with one of his own. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” you scoff.

“I’m not that easy to kill, pet, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Astarion shoots you a wry grin that has you rolling your eyes before he turns serious again, giving your hands a little squeeze. “I know that your life would be easier without me. So, thank you. This was a gift. I won’t forget that.”

Your eyes are a bit teary when you look up from where his hand rests over yours in your lap and you say with a watery smile, “We’re just lucky they didn’t get you through the heart.”

You lean forward and pull Astarion into an embrace, your arms circling tightly around his torso. He grimaces, letting out an involuntary grunt of pain at the sharp throbbing in his abdomen where you had brushed against his wound. His body must still be starving for blood if his wound wasn’t healing at its normal vampiric rate.

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” you rush to apologize, drawing away from him.

“S’okay, little flower, just be gentle with me,” Astarion reassures, pulling you back against him. Your arms circle around him again and you’re careful to not put any pressure on his wound.

He’s shocked for a moment at how warm your body feels against his. Slowly, he lets one of his own arms wrap around you, tucking you tighter into his side and resting his cheek against the softness of your hair.

Astarion could live without the warmth of the sun forever, so long as he has this- his own, personal sunlight.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you say, so quietly that Astarion is sure he has mistaken your words.

You pull away too soon. Though, if it were up to him, he would hold you in his arms forever.

—-----------

You sit with Astarion and read to him while he continues to regain his strength. His wound heals quicker and quicker the more blood he gets back into his system. By the middle of the night, you finally allow him to get up out of bed and move around.

He pities any patient that would have you as a nurse. The power went straight to your head. You were far too bossy- yelling at him not to move every time he tried to get comfortable and forcing him to drink some disgusting tea Shadowheart had made to help him heal.

But Astarion won’t lie, it’s nice to have you fussing over him.

And now that you have finally deemed him safe to take a bath, he shooes you out of the room, sending you off to eat what he is sure is your first meal in days.

He calls for Gale, who arrives with a flurry of other servants and water a few minutes later. The other servants leave the room after dropping off the water, but Gale stays. He doesn’t need to- they both know that overseeing a bath is beneath his status. But Astarion thinks Gale’s probably sticking around because you asked him to.

When Astarion peels off the bandage on his abdomen, he finds that the wound has already closed and his skin is an angry red.

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic, didn’t you?” Gale jokes. Astarion knows this really means ‘glad you came back alive, you really scared us all.’

“You can’t even go on one measly trip to Emerald Grove without me or you come back half dead.” Gale pauses for a moment, to laugh at his own words. “Or, more dead than usual.”

This is the sort of light mockery that served as the basis of their friendship. Only, Gale’s wrong that he could have been of any help when the Gur attacked.

Astarion had a… complicated history with the Gur that had started with a number of key rulings against them during his days as a magistrate. He still didn’t think that warranted beating him to the brink of death in a dark alley, though, so the distaste was mutual. Add to that, the fact that Cazador had ordered Astarion to kidnap a large number of Gur children at one point and that Astarion is now a thriving and powerful member of nobility again and well, the Gur certainly weren’t pleased.

And there were just so many of them during the ambush.

Karlach is a masterful fighter and Astarion certainly knows how to hold his own and is quick enough to dodge most blows, but it had been a losing battle from the start. They never had a chance. Not when all the Gur seemed to have their eyes trained on Astarion. Not when they all had stakes and seemed content to die so long as they attempted to land a killing blow to him.

Perhaps if Lae’zel or Wyll had been there, it might have made a difference, but they were off searching another spot. Gale would have just gotten in the way and likely found himself killed in the crossfire. He always did seem to have a knack for getting himself injured in the stupidest of ways back when Astarion had first hired everyone in Baldur’s Gate.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gale.” Astarion says, instead, rolling his eyes as he steps into the bath. The warm water feels glorious against his skin, his internal temperature still a mess from the blood madness. “The only thing you could have done was bore the Gur to death by talking in Latin.”

“I’ll remember you said that the next time you need me to translate something,” Gale narrows his eyes, moving a pitcher of water over the fire to warm it, knowing that the cold radiating from Astarion’s body will seep into the bath water all too quickly.

“And you’ll translate it anyway because you can’t resist showing off to everyone about how smart you are.”

They settle into silence after that. Gale continues to tend to the fire and Astarion begins washing himself with a bar of soap.

“Lady Ancunin was really worried about you,” Gale says, completely changing the subject. It causes Astarion to pause for a moment, the bar of soap slipping out of his hands into the water. Gale pretends he doesn’t notice as Astarion scrambles to catch the slippery thing at the bottom of the tub. “She spent the whole time you were gone pacing like some sort of caged animal. And when you were injured, Shadowheart had to practically chain her to the bed to get her to sleep.”

Gale laughs a bit, but Astarion doesn’t find it amusing. He hates himself for causing you distress.

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Astarion asks, suspicious of why Gale would bring you up.

“Ye of so little faith,” Gale feigns offense.

“Perhaps I just know how much you like to talk.”

“Careful, Astarion, or I might think you’re being mean.” Gale says with a tone of warning. They’ve known each other for years now. They know each other’s tells. And they both know that Astarion can grow volatile and catty when he’s defensive.

“But no, my lips are sealed.” Gale makes a motion like he’s zipping up his lips and throwing away a key. “None of us have said anything about…” he trails off, dropping his voice to a loud whisper, “C-a-z-a-d-o-r or R-a-p-h-”

“I’m being serious, Gale,” Astarion interrupts. “And she knows how to spell, idiot, so that was a useless code.”

Gale laughs, pouring the final pitcher of warmed water into the tub and dumping the last bit directly over Astarion’s head. Astarion couldn’t be too mad because his hair was a mess from his days of bedrest and definitely needs to be washed, but it’s about the principle of the thing.

Astarion pushes the wet hair out of his eyes and glares at Gale, who looks entirely too pleased with himself. They’re silent again for a few minutes as Gale starts tidying up and Astarion washes his hair.

“She’s a smart one, your wife.” Gale says, always trusted to break the silence. “And loves to read. Might be a big help doing research if we just give her an idea of what we’re looking for.”

Your wife.

It has that jealous, possessive part burning within him. Yes, he thinks, she is mine- and it’d serve you right to remember that.

But he doesn’t like the rest of what Gale’s saying, hates the idea of involving you in the plot that he’s been so careful to keep you out of. At first, he had been so secretive because he didn’t trust you. But now…

“That’s a slippery slope.” Astarion says, trying to keep his tone careful and not betray the panic that he feels rising in him at the idea. “First, we let her read a few books and then she’ll start getting ideas about coming with us on trips.”

And then she’ll be hurt and I won’t be able to live with myself, Astarion thinks.

He sighs, “And then it’s only a matter of time before someone mentions Cazador. And you know how she is when she gets something in her head. She’ll torture us all with questions until someone breaks.”

And Astarion knows there is no way you will ever love or respect him if you know who he truly is. No, it was best for you to only know him as the man he is now- not the weak, worthless spawn he once was.

“You’re just as stubborn as she is,” Gale responds.

It makes his heart beam with pride to be compared to you, even if Gale did mean it as an insult.

Astarion steps out of the tub and dries off, pulling on the clothes that had been set out for him- white shirt and comfortable trousers. His fingers run comfortingly along the words embroidered on the hem of the shirt before he tucks it in. His secret poem, his constant reminder.

“Thank you, Gale,” Astarion says, dismissing him.

“I’ll let her know you’re finished,” Gale nods in acknowledgement as he leaves the room.

It’s like he can smell you as you come down the hallway. Gods, how could he possibly want you more now that he’s tasted your blood. It’s pathetic.

When you knock at the door, Astarion can hear your heart beating so fast, like a little bird.

“How was your dinner, darling?” He asks, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe. “Devastatingly dull without my company, I assume.”

You completely ignore his teasing, which has Astarion worried immediately. You never passed up the opportunity for a good battle of wits. Instead, you brush past him into the room, wringing your hands together nervously.

“What’s wrong, little flower?”

“You’re doing better now, but you still need blood. You can drink from me, if you need,” you offer, words coming out in a rush.

It’s everything he ever dreamed of- here you stand, offering yourself up to him. And he does need blood.

He’s practically tripping over himself to accept. Only a fool would say no.

“How do you want me?” you ask and it’s sweet how nervous you are underneath your poor attempt at a calm, unbothered demeanor.

“In every way imaginable, darling. But let’s start on the bed.” Astarion says, shamelessly. He can hear your heart quicken at the words, how the breath gets caught in your throat. This is exactly why he loves teasing you- the involuntary reactions you always have that let him know his flirting is working, your unconscious admission that he has at least some effect over you.

Astarion reaches out for your hand gently and leads you over to his bed, sitting on the edge of it and patting the spot next to him. “Come on, pet, I don’t bite. Not until you ask nicely.”

“Oh, you were serious about the bed,” you say, looking at him with nervous, wide eyes.

“In case you get lightheaded. I don’t want you to hurt yourself if you pass out again,” he explains, reassuring you with a light smile.

Astarion guides you down so you’re resting comfortably against a pillow. Selfishly, he’d really rather have this experience be a pleasurable one for you so you’re more likely to let him do this again.

“And it saves us time when you’re unable to resist me after this and demand I ravish you,” he adds when you’ve finally settled next to him on the bed because he can never pass up the opportunity to tease you. The playful elbow you ‘accidentally’ poke into his stomach has him laughing.

His lips are almost on your neck when he hears your voice, barely a whisper, “Will it hurt?”

“Just for a moment, like you’re pricking your finger on a thorn.” Astarion runs the back of his fingers against the soft skin of your neck, soothingly. “Then it won’t feel like much of anything.”

You nod, but he still feels you moving restlessly. Frankly, it’s a bit distracting to have you rubbing against him like that when his pelvis is pressed so snugly against your skirts.

“Relax,” he breathes, as he gently moves your hair away from your neck.

Astarion takes a moment to savor the smell of your blood rushing through your veins, to feel your pulse fluttering so sweetly underneath your skin before he sinks his teeth in.

The little whimper you let out at his bite has lightning running through his veins straight to his cock. Astarion had seen every sort of depraved, erotic display a person could imagine- had participated, even. Had he really fallen so far from his former grace that just a breathy little sound from you had him half-hard?

You taste just as good as he can remember, perhaps even better, because this time he’s fully conscious and can fully appreciate the rich, savory flavor of your blood. He could buy every expensive wine in the world and he would still be chasing after your full-bodied tang.

Your head falls back against his own and your hand moves up behind you to curl in his hair, pulling him closer. He feels you shiver with delight, feels the gentle thud of your heartbeat ringing in his own ears. He drinks as slowly as he can manage in his half-feral state- he wants this to last, wants to drag this out as long as he can since he’s unsure when you’ll allow this again.

Tearing himself away from you is perhaps the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life.

He preens at the little puncture marks on your neck.

Mine, he thinks.

He leans down to lick up the drops of blood forming on the surface of the wounds and the gasp you let out has him nearly out of his mind with how badly he wants to fuck you, just to see what other pretty little sounds he could conjure up from you.

“That’s enough for tonight, I think,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss next to the mark on your neck. He turns so he can shuffle around on his nightstand and find one of the bandages Shadowheart had left for his own wound, pressing the cloth carefully against your skin.

You settle your head back against his chest and let out a hum of thanks. Astarion gives himself this moment, lets himself pull you closer and begin carding his fingers through your hair.

Oh, the heavens must have blessed him tonight, indeed, because you let out one more content little sigh as your heavy eyes fall closed. Astarion knows you haven’t slept soundly in days, that the last time you slept longer than a couple hours was probably before he left.

But, Astarion is also sure that you don’t want to spend the night in his bed, so when your breaths become even and your heartbeat slows, he wraps you in his arms and carries you softly back to your own room. You stir a bit as he pulls the blankets up around you, eyes dreamy and unfocused as you pull Astarion down to press a kiss to his cheek.

Thank gods your eyes have fallen shut again because Astarion is sure his face is bright red. In his own room, his hand immediately moves to hold his cheek, as if that will somehow allow him to revive the sensation of your warm lips against his skin.

Astarion practically crawls on his hands and knees to your room the next night, unable to stay away. From you? Your blood? Both? He doesn’t think about it too hard. All he knows is that he asks and you offer up your neck to him so sweetly that he wants to cut himself open for you and let you dig around inside his chest.

He comes begging to you the next night and the next night and the next. Had he lost all sense of humility? And did he really even care how weak and foolish he was acting right now?

Every night, he allows himself to press his lips against your throat in a parting kiss. He allows himself to hold you against him as you fall asleep before he carries you back to your room.

Until one night, your hand clutches behind you blindly, reaching out for any part of him you can catch onto. He thinks you’re going to yell at him, chastise him for taking too much blood, tell him never to come back to your room. But instead, you call out for him to stay.

Astarion is given a new gift that night as you turn around to curl against him, tucking your head underneath his chin and moving one of your arms to wrap around his torso. Your breath is soft against his collarbones and the two of you are so wrapped up in one that Astarion can hardly fathom how he was able to rest before this.

It starts to become a sweet little ritual. You, reading aloud to Astarion as he fights to pay attention and not be distracted by how lovely your voice is. You, pressing against him, sweeping your hair to the side and offering up your throat in sacrifice. Him, worshiping at the altar of your neck. The safety of holding you, or being held by you, as you sleep.

Astarion is pleasantly surprised one night when he’s wrapped around you, pressing soft kisses near his bite mark after he’s fed, when one of your hands comes up to curl around his own and guide him nervously under your chemise.

Astarion hesitates.

He’s more than a bit worried about how present you really are, worried that your mind has gone fuzzy from a lack of blood. He shifts a bit, so he’s able to see your face, able to see the way your eyes are boring into his with a desperation that’s so uncharacteristic of you.

You, his sharp, guarded little heart, who always pretends to be so strong. You, his little wife who hardly ever asks for anything. And here you are, presenting yourself to him like a feast.

And Astarion wants this, he thinks. For the first time in a long time, he wants something sweet and innocent, a moment that belongs just to him. He aches to make you feel good. Perhaps in part to repay you for the blood, but mostly because you’ve made him feel so impossibly happy these past few weeks. He hopes that this will make you become as dependent on him as he is on you. Then, you would never dream of leaving him.

He lets his fingers trace against the warm, smooth skin of your inner thigh and feels you shiver against him.

It had been so long since Astarion had felt this desire to discover someone else, since he had felt genuine curiosity at the reactions of his partner. And right now, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from your face as he lets his hand press feather light, teasing touches right next to where you need him most.

A cruel part of his mind almost wants him to make you beg for it, to make you pay for all the times he’s so willingly fallen at your feet in submission.

“I had no idea you needed me this badly, pet. You’re so wet you’re practically dripping,” the voice that comes out of Astarion is breathless and full of astonishment, so far away from the low, seductive tone he had mastered long ago.

“Astarion,” you whimper and he feels your hips shifting slightly towards him, chasing after more. The way his name sounds falling from your lips has him wondering if it’s possible to die twice.

“In time, little flower,” he shushes you, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the thatch of hair covering your pubic mound. “I intend on drawing this out as long as I can. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

He feels a bit of pride that he will get to make this an exquisite experience for you. Not like the first time he was touched, fumbling around in a back alleyway with another young lord.

Astarion finally dips his hand so that his fingers can stroke your inner folds, watching intently how your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the sensation.

Astarion knows bodies- knows their signs, knows their cues, knows how to play them like a maestro.

But, this is you. This matters.

This is about taking his time, about learning you better than you know yourself. About watching each little gasp and every little muscle that moves in your face, carefully saving them all away to replay in his brain forever.

For a while, Astarion works with no real purpose. He’s careful to keep his hands away from your clit, which he knows is aching to be touched. Instead, he spends his time learning the folds of your cunt, cherishing the warm, velvety soft skin that just begs him to come inside.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He croons, desperately trying to distract himself from the blood rushing to his own cock. This was meant to be about you, damn it, not him.

He accentuates that point by finally, mercifully swirling his thumb in teasing circles around your clit, feasting on the way that your mouth falls open in pleasure.

He’s finally rendered you speechless, it seems. For once, you don’t have a snarky rebuttal or quick little jab.

No, Astarion is graced with something far better when a shivery little moan escapes you as one of his fingers presses into you. He feels his own mouth water as the soft, wet heat urges him deeper.

Astarion is filled to the brim with lines that he used to make his lovers sing, but somehow, none of those seem enough. All too rehearsed, too empty for the depth of the longing he feels for you. His brain is growing empty as his finger continues to move in and out of you at a torturously slow pace. He feels your own hips moving against his hand, trying to quicken the motion.

“Uh uh, pet,” he chides, impressed with himself that anything other than incoherent praises are managing to tumble their way out of his mouth right now. “You’ll take what I give you and nothing more.”

It’s easier, trying to revert back into that self-assured, confident persona to regain some semblance of control over the situation, so sure is he that he’s about to lose himself in how velvety soft and sticky sweet your cunt feels against his hand.

He can only imagine how it would feel to be wrapped inside you. It would probably take every shred of his concentration to last more than a few shallow thrusts. Gods forbid if you clenched your cunt around him, he might just ascend to the heavens.

He sees you nod, catches how your hands claw desperately at the sheets as you try to still your hips. He feels the growing need to grind his own hips against something- to feed that aching, burning desire pooling low in his stomach.

“Astarion, please.”

And oh, how pretty you beg.

It’s far better than anything Astarion could have conjured up in the dark recesses of his mind. He considers dragging this out for hours- forcing you to beg over and over and over for him.

But he’s too needy right now, so instead, he leans down to lick a stripe up your throat, savoring the twin droplets of freshly congealed blood that he picks up before he practically groans in your ear, “Tell me what you need, my love.”

Oh. Evidently you liked that based on the fresh surge of wetness that pools around his hand. He’s not sure whether it’s the endearment or the soft command that affected you so, but he’ll have to experiment with that again in the future.

“More,” you whine out, one of your hands brushing softly against his jaw before you reach up to curl your fingers in his hair and press his forehead against your own. Your eyes are screwed shut and he can feel your sharp pants of breath on his lips.

He almost thinks about making you answer- more what? But he’s not sure you’re capable of stringing together more than a couple words at the moment and truthfully, he knows exactly what you need.

“I know, little love,” Astarion says, slipping another finger in and letting them curl against your soft walls. Your hand tightens almost painfully in his hair at the added sensation. He gives you a moment to adjust before his thumb is moving against your clit again.

“Oh, gods, Astarion. So good… so, so good,” you cry out.

He feels the soft insides of your cunt fluttering against his fingers. He hears the sharp intake of your breath, your heartbeat erratic as you orgasm. He continues, riding you through the high and working his fingers against you until you’re shaking against him.

It’s then that he finally grants himself release, finally allows himself to lean down and press his lips to yours.

It’s just a kiss, but it feels like so much more.

Astarion has kissed many, many people. But fuck… it felt like a disservice to call this just another kiss. Not with how slowly and sweetly your lips slide against his own. Not when you release a happy little sigh into his mouth.

Astarion feels the warmth in his chest, surrounding his unbeating heart.

When he pulls away, the sight of you underneath him is breathtaking. Your hair is fanned out against the pillows, pupils blown dark and wide, skin flushed with exertion, the bite on your neck that marks you as his.

He’d do this forever, until his hand went numb from overuse if it meant you would keep looking up at him with those warm, gooey eyes that feel like sunshine against his skin.

Astarion pulls your chemise back down from where it’s bunched up around your hips and shifts to pull your head down against his chest. His fingers card softly through your hair as he whispers how proud he is of you, how good you did for him, how you listened so well, little flower.

Your soft, even breaths as you fall asleep and the relaxing, repetitive motion of running his fingers through your hair help to soothe the burning desire he feels within himself. It was easy to ignore his own needs, after all. He was used to that.

But he can’t help thinking that if this is what the rest of his days are like, an eternity seems too short.

————

The next day is totally normal. As if the world hasn’t undergone some massive shift that has knocked Astarion’s center of gravity completely off balance.

It’s not until you’re getting ready for bed that you bring it up, when Astarion finds you nervously pacing the length of his bedroom.

“Last night…” you start, but trail off. Astarion knows what you are going to say- last night was a mistake, it should never happen again. He’s completely taken by surprise when instead you say, “I liked when you kissed me.”

“Oh, you liked that, did you, pet?” He purrs, confidence now firmly back intact since you had reassured him. “Can I do it again?”

You nod so eagerly. Astarion lets his hand come up to cup your face and tilt it up to him. Slowly, with all the restraint he can manage (he’s barely holding on by a thread), he lets his lips press against yours.

Like last night, it’s slow and sweet how your lips slide against one another’s. One of his arms comes to wrap around your waist, to pull you closer.

The longer you kiss, the braver you grow. But what else did he really expect from you, his wild wife? You run your tongue along the seam of his lips and Astarion opens his mouth, welcomes your tongue as you explore.

Astarion nibbles on your bottom lip, letting one of his fangs scratch the delicate skin inside. He feels the warm rush of blood and sucks your lip into his mouth to drink from the little cut. An appetizer for the meal yet to come.

You bite his lower lip in retaliation and Astarion groans, pulling away from your lips so he can press kisses along your jaw as he makes his way to your neck. The familiar wounds have only just begun to heal from yesterday. Astarion sucks at your skin, pulling the blood up to the surface. Then he bites.

He’s rewarded both by the rush of blood into his mouth and the pretty sigh you let out as you wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning him impossibly closer.

He will never tire of this- of the taste of you in his mouth and the way you writhe against him. He will want this forever, drinking and pleasure and whatever else you bless him with. He will want this for as long as you’re willing to indulge him.

Astarion is sure to keep a steady arm around your waist in case you get dizzy. But all too soon, you pull him up from your neck and crash your lips onto his again, your tongue licking into his mouth. He’s shocked because he knows the metallic taste of blood must still be heavy in his mouth, but based on the way your tongue slides against his, you don’t seem to mind it at all. If anything, you rather seem to enjoy it.

Astarion presses one last soft, slow kiss to your lips before he breaks apart from you, resting his forehead against yours. Your fingers play with the short curls at the nape of his neck.

“You’re really good at that,” you say. Astarion panics a bit about what you mean but your voice is sweet and relaxed.

“So are you, little flower,” he says, nudging your nose gently with his own. You giggle at that.

“It’s like dancing,” you respond, “Anyone is a good dancer if they have the right partner.”

“Is that so?” Astarion starts to sway and you move with him, feet taking small steps as the two of you dance in a little circle. “If I recall, you were an exceptional dancer. Other than when you stumbled over your feet when you first saw me.”

Astarion was chasing after the exact reaction you give- a little indignified huff as you pull away a bit to narrow your eyes at him.

“Don’t be upset, darling. You’re hardly the first person to trip when they saw me. And you certainly won’t be the last,” Astarion jokingly reassures.

You stop moving and purposefully stick one of your feet out so that Astarion stumbles a bit over it.

“Oops.” You look up at him all innocent, but you’ve got that dangerous little gleam in your eye that means trouble.

“Cheeky little pup,” he says, shooting you a wicked grin, and you look so proud of yourself.

“Lay with me?” You ask, tugging on his hands to pull him toward the bed.

And how could Astarion ever refuse you?

He gladly welcomes the few sweet, sleepy kisses you give him as you cuddle together.

“Goodnight,” you murmur against his lips.

“Goodnight, little flower. I lo-,” Astarion cuts the words off, clearing his throat to cover what he was about to say. You give him a curious look, but lay your head back down against his chest.

Had he almost told you that he loved you?

No, that was ridiculous. He doesn’t love you- it had just been such a long time since he had kissed someone he actually wanted to. It had been so long since kissing was an enjoyable enough experience to be able to stay in his body.

Even after Cazador, when Astarion had thrown himself headfirst into all sorts of debauchery as a way of proving his bodily autonomy to himself, it all felt wrong.

And this didn’t- this felt right. Wires were just getting crossed in his brain, that’s all. He’s pushing heavier emotions onto you because you’re the first person he’s felt comfortable with in centuries.

He feels satisfied with that explanation so he lets himself relax and close his eyes.

—---------

Astarion likes how your nightly routine has shifted and evolved. You still read and talk before he drinks from you. But now, afterward, you kiss him until he’s dizzy. And some nights, his hand will slip down under your chemise or he’ll bunch the gown up around your hips and settle himself between your thighs to eat you out like a man starved.

It’s strange. Astarion can’t remember the last time he was excited about sex. But now, he takes such great pride in how easily your body responds to his touch, at how he’s able to make you sing and writhe with pleasure. He’s never felt so clear headed.

And when your own hands begin to wander lower down Astarion’s body, he dutifully redirects them. He’s too worried about what might happen if you do touch him- worried that he might slip away to that little part of his mind and begin moving on autopilot, worried that he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy how wonderful you felt.

And gods, you deserve nothing less than his full, undivided attention.

Astarion could smell your arousal tonight, could feel the way you shift your hips up to meet his own. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“Can I?” He asks, sliding your nightgown past your waist, moving to pull it off you. He watches you hesitate for a minute, hears your heart racing nervously.

He’s always fascinated by how certain aspects of intimacy make you shy. It had been so long since he had blushed about anything. He was so used to his body being on display.

He waits for you to decide, moving to pepper soft kisses across your jawline and reassure you, “You’re so pretty, darling. The sun and stars themselves bow to your beauty.”

He feels you shiver a bit at his words- you always were so wonderfully responsive to praise- and slowly, your own hand moves down to help him drag the soft fabric higher up your chest and over your arms.

The only thing remaining on your body is the necklace chain with your wedding ring. It sits so beautifully against your bare chest.

Possessiveness flares within Astarion at the sight. If it were up to him, he’d keep you bare like this forever- covered in only your wedding ring and his bite marks.

Let the world know you belong to him.

Astarion’s finger draws a line along your breastbone and he slips the ring over the tip of his finger, using the chain as leverage to pull you closer for another heated kiss. One of your hands tangles in his hair and he feels his groan reverberating in his chest when your nails scratch lightly against his scalp.

“Trying to show off your claws, my love?” Astarion purrs. He reaches up to gently disentangle your fingers from his hair. Lacing them between his own, he pins your hand to the bed.

He grabs your other hand from where it had been working to untuck his shirt and pins that one down, as well. You let out a wonderful little moan. He chuckles darkly, “You should know it’s dangerous to tease a vampire. You might get bitten.”

“I seem to get bitten plenty even when I don’t scratch,” you tease back breathlessly. Astarion nips playfully at the column of your throat in retaliation.

“And yet, you keep coming back for more,” Astarion speaks against your skin. He presses a kiss over the bite mark he left the previous night, “But you’ll have to wait. I have something else I want to taste first.”

Astarion releases his hold on your hand so he can drag one of his hands down to trace his fingertips in teasing patterns over your slick folds. He presses gently into your cunt to collect some of your wetness on his fingers before he pulls his hand away.

You huff out a frustrated breath that has Astarion chuckling. You always had to make your opinion known- his sweet, stubborn wife.

Astarion brings his hand back up to his mouth, his eyes falling shut as he sucks his fingers into his mouth to taste you. He moans, “How do you always taste so much sweeter than I remember?”

He’s done these actions so many times before as part of some performance. But it never felt rehearsed with you. Everything just seemed to flow so naturally.

You’re looking up at him with wide, loving eyes that nearly pull the breath from his lungs. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, a bit stunned, before Astarion feels your warm palm against his stomach. Your gentle hands nearly burn where they press against his skin, pushing his own shirt higher up his torso.

He’s hesitant to take it off, to let you see the poem Cazador had carved into his back. He knows you- knows you’ll have questions that he doesn’t want to answer.

“It’s only fair,” you pout and yep, he’s a goner. He’ll just have to be careful about how he angles himself so you can’t see his back. He pulls the shirt off and throws it blindly behind him as he soaks in your victorious little grin.

Astarion is used to his body inspiring awe in people. And yet, when you gaze upon him, it feels as if he is being worshiped by the sun, herself.

It’s too intense, the ache nestled deep in his chest feels too much like love. A nervous little shiver runs up his spine that he tries to hide.

“You can touch, darling, I won’t break. And I certainly plan to touch you,” he says, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips.

If he could just get you distracted, he could tamper down that little part of his brain screaming out to him that he should whisper those three little words against your skin and watch the radiant smile that would light up your face.

You whimper, but your soft, warm hands descend upon him almost immediately, fingers tracing along the lines of his collarbones and feeling the sinewy muscles in his chest. It feels divine. Astarion could lose himself in this forever. The little voice screaming at him from the back of his mind is soothed and placated by your gentle, wandering hands.

When one of your hands starts to move its way over his shoulder, getting uncomfortably close to his scars, Astarion distracts you by nipping at your neck. Your hands give up their search immediately, content to hold on to his biceps as he sucks and kisses at your skin.

Astarion continues to trail kisses along the column of your throat, stopping for a moment to enjoy the beautiful scent that sticks so heavy to your skin before he continues downward.

Your nipples have hardened from the cool night air and Astarion ghosts his finger on the underside of your breast, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin. He had forgotten how living skin was able to do that.

Fascinated, he squeezes your breast, feeling the soft, warm weight in his hand.

“Astarion, stop teasing,” you whine. He can feel your hips grinding subtly against his own.

“You like when I tease,” he smirks, faintly tracing a circle around your nipple before he gives it a pinch. “And I’m not teasing right now, I’m appreciating. It’s completely different.”

Astarion is sure to provide your other breast with equal appreciation, so dedicated to balance is he.

And as he appreciates you, he’s fed with the most salacious little noises. Your hands claw desperately against his skin, looking for purchase. The soft sting of your nails has his own cock aching.

Astarion adjusts slightly before he rolls his hips against you. You gasp, head sinking even further into the pillow. The curve of your throat, decorated with his bite and little love marks has something akin to pride blooming in his chest. He moves his hips again and this time, you move your own to meet his.

He grinds his hips against yours, the fabric of his pants growing damp where it rubs against your wet cunt. It makes the fabric cling impossibly closer to his own cock. He has to stop himself before he makes a total mess of his pants by coming inside them.

You pout when he stops moving, but that quickly disappears as he presses kisses along your chest. His journey continues lower- he’s still hungry tonight.

With each gentle kiss along your sternum, he can feel your stomach muscles tightening with anticipation. He takes his time, savoring how you squirm beneath. When he finally reaches his destination at the juncture of your thighs, he nudges your legs further apart to frame his shoulders.

How was Astarion expected to find roses beautiful after this? Not after he had feasted on the nectar of the beautiful flower that resided between your thighs.

“Oh, look how desperately you need me,” he says, astonished.

Astarion is always amazed with the things you let him get away with saying when you’re spread open before him. You do try to make a noise of protest, but that quickly dies in your throat when Astarion leans forward to lick a flat stripe against your cunt.

It’s an act of reverence as he licks and sucks at your soft folds, an act of devotion when he dips his tongue inside to taste you, an act of veneration when his tongue rolls over your clit. He can feel your little tremors and he’s studied your body so intently that he recognizes the signals of your impending climax and pulls away.

“I was so close, Astarion,” you whine out his name so pitifully, the fingers that have curled in his hair attempting to push his face back towards your cunt.

“In time, beloved,” he runs his nose along the inside of your thigh, smells the blood rushing underneath your skin, “I just need a taste.”

You recognize that he’s asking for permission, smart little thing that you are, and you’re nodding your head so fast and eagerly that it nearly falls right off. “Gods, yes. Yes, please.”

You open up your leg a bit so Astarion has easier access to your thigh. As had become his new habit, he presses a soft kiss to the skin of your inner thigh before his teeth sink in.

It should be a sin how sweetly your blood mixes with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. A concoction made by the devil himself to personally drive Astarion insane. How is he supposed to sustain himself on anything other than this? How is he ever supposed to drink the blood of another when he has tasted the gods’ ambrosia?

When he’s had his fill (it will never be enough), he moves his mouth back to your center, lets his tongue dip and lick and suck. He presses a finger into you and curls in in the way that always makes you let out a pretty sigh.

The room is filled with the wet sounds of him feasting on your cunt and all your sweet, delicious noises. Astarion’s chest blooms with an unfamiliar warmth.

He insists on pulling at least three orgasms from you before he relents, pressing a kiss to your hip bone before he’s moving back up your body.

“You’re so sweet, little flower. Would you like a taste?” Astarion asks and you’re surging up to kiss him, tongue sliding hungrily against his.

He feels your hand trailing down his stomach, moving closer and closer to where he desperately needs you to touch him. His brain is almost short circuiting.

He goes to move your hand away, as usual, but you’re insistent tonight, evading his grasp as you play with the waistband of his trousers.

“What are you doing, my love?” He asks when your hand dips even lower, tracing along the outline of where his erection strains against the fabric of his pants.

“Show me,” you tell him, eyes boring pleadingly into his. “Tell me what to do. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Oh, how is he supposed to resist you when you look at him with those warm, loving eyes?

Astarion’s not even sure anymore why he had been resisting your advances so ardently. He deserves to feel good, he deserves to feel loved. And how could he possibly slip into the darkness of his mind when there’s this electricity running through his veins?

“Okay,” he agrees, moving so the two of you are laying side by side. He manages to pull his pants down and kick them off his legs while still looking moderately graceful.

You start with innocent, feather light touches that have him almost in agony before you wrap your hand around him and move slowly along his shaft.

“Tighter,” he instructs you, bringing his own hand down to guide you, to help you adjust your grip and show you how to move up and down a bit faster. He can’t help but think about how tight and hot your cunt would feel wrapped around him.

Tracing his thumb across his tip, Astarion collects some of his precome and spreads it along his length as lubricant. Your fingers chase after his own, eager to learn, and dance over the head of his cock. His whole body nearly jolts in response.

Astarion’s trying to watch your face, studying how your own curious eyes dart down to glance at his cock and how you bite your lip so sinfully. But your hand moving against him feels so good and it’s been so long and it’s all just getting to be too much.

“Tell me how it feels,” you murmur, shifting to kiss and suck at his neck while your hand continues to move.

Astarion wonders if you’ve noticed that he was starting to lose himself. He’s eternally grateful to you for helping to anchor him back to reality.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Astarion calms his mind, focusing on how your soft hand is moving against his cock and he manages to choke out, “Warm… your hands are so warm… and so soft.”

And oh, you start twisting your hand a bit toward his tip and that has Astarion’s hips rocking into your hand involuntarily.

“That’s- so close. Fuck… Feels so good. So…” Astarion groans as he trails off.

He faintly feels you smile against his skin before your teeth are sinking lightly into the base of his neck. It feels unbelievable- the gentle sting only serves to amplify the pleasure. He completely understands why you’re always so eager for him to bite you.

He comes hard, spilling over your hand and the soft skin of your stomach.

You keep moving your hand against him, his cock pulsing in your hand, until the sensation starts to hurt a bit and Astarion’s steering your hand away from him.

“You did so good for me,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth.

It’s so sweet to have you whisper the words back to him that he always tells you after he’s brought you to ruin.

“You’re so handsome,” you continue, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Always so patient with me,” you press another kiss to the spot between his eyebrows. “My wonderful husband.” A final kiss on his forehead.

There’s that lovely, fluttering warmth surrounding his heart again at your words. Astarion catches your chin and guides your lips to his own for one last slow, sweet kiss. You let out a content little sigh into his mouth.

But Astarion feels sticky where his come is drying uncomfortably against his own skin, so he can only imagine how you feel.

“Let me clean you up,” Astarion says, pushing some strands of your loose hair behind your ear.

He detangles himself from your arms and you eventually let him go after trying unsuccessfully to pull him back into bed a couple times. Your actions have Astarion smiling with a goofy grin, happy that you seem to crave his embrace as much as he craves you.

After wetting a cloth at the wash pitcher and basin, he comes back to the bed, where you have spread yourself out in his absence.

“And where am I supposed to sleep, little flower?” He teases.

“In a coffin, probably,” you giggle and Astarion snorts out a little laugh at your stupid joke. You kick playfully at him when he tries to sit back down on the bed.

“You never make anything easy, do you?” Astarion rolls his eyes before catching your foot. He presses a kiss to your ankle before he sets your leg back down on the bed.

“Where’s the fun in that? You’d get bored.”

Astarion is sure to keep his touch gentle as he wipes down your stomach and he moves his attention to the bite on your inner thigh. The blood had already started to coagulate and heal, but the skin around it was angry and red.

You will have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Astarion will probably get an earful from Shadowheart.

Oh well, it was worth it.

“You always take such good care of me,” you say with a dreamy sigh, reaching out to wind your finger around one of Astarion’s curls that had gotten dislodged when your fingers were threaded into his hair earlier.

He reminds himself that you don’t really mean this- that you’re probably just feeling a bit faint from blood loss and are caught up in the afterglow.

“You’re just tired,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze and continuing to wipe away any remnants of stickiness from your skin.

“No,” your palm moves from his hair to cup his cheek and your eyes stare into his desperately, like you need him to really hear your next words. “That’s not- I’m trying…”

You huff out a frustrated breath of air. Obviously, you’re going to tell him you’ve grown tired of him- that he had served his purpose and you’d be moving on now. He’s desperately trying to come up with ways to bargain with you in his mind, to convince you to stay.

“I’m not very good at being nice,” you say.

That’s a lie, Astarion thinks. You’re plenty good at being nice. You can be a bit brazen and you are certainly obstinate and headstrong. But underneath all that, you are deeply kind- you gift Astarion flowers, you offer him your lifeblood when he’s on the brink of death, you save him from the worst parts of his mind even after he has already given you pleasure.

“I just…” you trail off again, biting at your lip. “You take very good care of me. You let me set boundaries and try things at my own pace. I appreciate that. I appreciate you. Sometimes it just overwhelms me how lucky I am to be married to you.”

That’s… oh… That’s not what Astarion expected at all.

And he knows that if he sits in this moment, if he lets himself say what he’s really thinking, he’s going to finally realize that the feeling you inspire in him is love. And that maybe it’s been love for quite a while.

“Did you ever imagine yourself saying that when we first married?” He says instead, and he can feel his lips splitting into a wide smile.

Teasing was easy. Teasing was comfortable. Teasing distracted him from that little feeling gnawing at him.

You groan in embarrassment, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes.

“It’s cute, you get all blushy and flustered when you’re embarrassed.” Astarion continues, pulling on your wrists gently to move them away from your eyes. You give him a little pout that makes him chuckle. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your pouting lips, “Makes me want to take a bite.”

“Down, boy,” you laugh, lightly pushing Astarion’s head away from you. “You’ve had plenty today. I’m cutting you off.”

“A shame.” Astarion gives a big, dramatic sigh and settles his head against your chest. He feels you shake with laughter.

The rhythmic movement of your fingers through Astarion’s hair and the loud, steady beat of your heart has him nearly purring. He uses his own hands to draw swirling shapes on the soft skin of your stomach that have you giggling and swatting at his hands.

When Astarion rests his chin on your chest to look up at you, he can’t ignore it any longer.

The only emotion that can possibly fit what he is feeling is love.

It terrifies him. How could he let himself be so weak, so foolish?

Astarion nearly falls out of bed, attempting to put as much distance between you and himself as quickly as possible. He needs to get away from here, needs to think.

“Astarion, what’s wrong?”

He can hardly hear your voice over the roaring in his ears, the bubble building in his chest that’s pushing away all of his air. When your hands reach out for him, to pull him back to you, your hands are too hot against his skin. He steps away as if he’s been burned.

“I have to go,” Astarion manages to choke out, pulling his clothes back on before he’s stumbling out of the room. His feet carry him back to his study.

He paces the length of the floor. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

It was never supposed to go this far. He was never supposed to love you. It’s just that at every step, he kept craving more, kept getting carried away.

He shouldn’t have concerned himself at all when he overheard your father and that vile man at the party, talking about you like you were an animal up for auction. He shouldn’t have gotten the foolish idea in his head that he could help you. Should have never even conceived the plan to marry you as a solution.

He should have killed you when you found out he was a vampire.

But you had such fire, such tenacity. He was intrigued. And he had already concocted the plan to marry you. It had seemed so simple, at that time, to twist his own reasons for why marrying you would help keep his secret from getting out.

He shouldn’t have started inviting you down to dinner, shouldn’t have entertained you in the library in the evenings or taken walks in the garden with you.

He never should have tasted your blood. He should have woken up from his nearly comatose state and demanded that they fetch one of his blood bags from the village.

He certainly shouldn’t have allowed himself to drink from you every night. Never should have pulled you into his bed, never should have let you read to him or comb your fingers through his hair or hold him while you sleep.

He never should have let himself become intoxicated by the taste of your cunt and those delectable noises you make.

You were the sun, the best and worst parts of you. You were bright and brash, the gentle touch of a spring day and the angry blistering heat of summer, creation and destruction. If Astarion stayed on course, he would become consumed in your sweet warmth.

Without even recognizing it had happened, Astarion had become your moon- existing solely to reflect your own brightness back upon you.

No, his transgressions would end here. From now on, you were just someone who he shared a house with and nothing more. Whatever that feeling was, whatever love he thought he felt needed to be gone. He couldn’t confront Raphael if his heart had such an obvious gaping wound.

“Are you alright?” Gale asks from the doorway, shocking Astarion out of his pacing.

“I’m fine,” Astarion nearly snarls back at him.

“It’s just… It doesn’t seem like you’re fine?” Gale says, hesitant. “Lady Ancunin sent me to check on you, she was worried.”

And the idea that you’re worried about him nearly has him reversing all his plans again, nearly has him crawling back to you on his knees and begging you to forgive him for causing you distress.

But, no, he must stand strong.

“Is this another one of your episodes?” Gale asks when Astarion still hasn’t answered.

Astarion feels his face twist in rage at Gale’s unknowing implication that you- his precious, lovely heart- could even be compared to the vicious monster that was Cazador and the horrors Astarion would be forced to relive forever.

No, this anguish was something entirely new, something entirely foreign that Astarion didn’t know if he would ever be able to navigate.

“Leave,” Astarion commands. “I need to think.”

Gale looks reluctant, but follows the instruction, letting the door click shut behind him.

Astarion throws himself back into research. He has been too distracted lately, too willing to forget his mission so he could spend more time with you. But, the quicker he can find the final gem that Raphael needed to complete the crown, the quicker he can get out of this idiotic contract, the quicker he will be back in your arms…

No, Astarion stops that line of thinking.

There would be no returning to you. Love is a disease that festers and grows and spreads. Even after he is free of Raphael, growing close to you would grant him nothing but suffering.

You were human, you would die.

He spends the rest of the day pouring over books, reading until his eyes hurt. Even then, he doesn’t take a break. His mind has to be wholly consumed by getting out of this deal with Raphael. If he lets any part of himself think of you, he might lose his resolve. Deep down, he already knew he was a weak man when it came to you.

“Astarion,” you knock gently at the door to his study, interrupting him from his reading.

Astarion shoots a quick glance over to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It’s evening again. He had hardly noticed the day passing.

When he looks at you, it feels like someone has staked him through the heart. The circles under your eyes are dark, like you didn’t sleep after he had run off. He quickly turns his gaze back to the papers on his desk.

Had he really been driven so mad that the mere sight of you threatened to ruin him?

Pathetic.

“Astarion, talk to me. What happened this morning?” You approach him where he sits at his desk, hands reaching out to relax the muscles in his tense shoulders. He jumps away at the contact and the look on your face is so heartbroken.

“What’s going on? Has something happened? Tell me and I can fix it,” you plead.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just been thinking…” he trails off because the words he needs to say next are getting caught in his throat, his body and his brain at war with one another. “I just think it’s time that we end our little arrangement.”

“Our… arrangement?”

“I don’t need your blood anymore. I have someone else.” He tries to keep his voice as measured and even as possible, tries not to choke around the bile threatening to rise up in his throat.

“Someone else…” you take a deep breath and it looks like you’re forcing down tears. His hands are itching, shaking at his side with the need to reach out, to cup your pretty face and apologize as he wipes away every single tear.

But no, Astarion knows the next words out of his mouth will ruin everything with you forever.

“I just need someone who could keep up with my tastes, darling. Not that you weren’t fun for a while, you’re just a little… bland,” he says, trying hard to make it look like his face is contorting with disgust and not anguish. “You were a fun challenge at first, but now, you’re just too easy. Too desperate.”

Astarion does recognize that it is a bit ironic to call you desperate when he is the one who requires your attention as a basic need for his survival.

You look as if he has split your ribs open and dug the beating heart out of your chest cavity. Astarion wishes that the gods might smite him where he stands so that he can escape this agony.

“That’s just- that’s not-” you splutter and for a second there’s a warmth that blooms in his chest like there always is when he manages to catch you off guard. Your face twists, anger taking over, “Obviously I haven’t been thinking clearly from the blood loss or I would have never let you touch me!”

And just like that, Astarion’s very worst fear is confirmed. He had been taking advantage of you.

You always have to have the last word, Astarion knows this about you. It’s what he lov- likes about you- that his nettling and teasing always gets him some sort of response.

But he also knows when you’re angry, when you’re really, truly angry, that your words can almost border on cruelty, and can cut him so deeply in ways you could never understand. He shouldn’t go poking and prodding at you when he knows you’re this upset.

“Well, consider this,” Astarion points his finger between the two of you, “finished, then.”

He’s fighting with everything in him to keep his even, trying not to betray the hidden storm brewing beneath the surface.

“I hate you,” you spit out at him before you’re leaving, slamming the door behind you.

You should, he thinks. He will never forgive himself for what he has done to you.

Astarion pours himself a glass of wine and finally lets the wave of emotions crest.

For once, Astarion had something good in his life, something he enjoyed. Something just for him. But of course, he was too selfish, too greedy, and had pushed you too far. He had turned into the monster, Cazador, that he always hated. Someone who took and took and took until the people around him were drained dry.

And Astarion thought he was being so careful, too. He had waited for you to initiate intimacy. He had checked to make sure you were level-headed. He had thought he had known what you wanted…

But it doesn’t matter what he thought, he reminds himself. It only matters what you think. And you have just confirmed that he is just as bad as Cazador, Worse, even. Because Astarion had done this to someone who he loves.

It was a vicious cycle that he seemed doomed to repeat- the monster and the victim. He had been on both sides of it now. They felt equally miserable, equally terrifying.

It’s good that he is finished with this dalliance, with this weakness. Astarion would never let love hurt him again.

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Notes:

*squirts Astarion with water* No, bad Astarion, stop overthinking and self-sabotaging.

To everyone who made it to the end, thank you for sticking with me! I know this chapter was long and had quite a few emotional ups and downs as well as a lot of plot.

As always, thank you to my wonderful beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3!

Okay, now time for a couple notes. I do not know the logistics of being bitten by a vampire every day. I’m pretty sure you would just, like, die… HOWEVER, this is fiction and I like vampire bites so I like to imagine that Astarion’s just taking a lil sip every night and that Shadowheart brews a really awesome tea that prevents death by daily vampire blood draw.

Second note, I have fully lost the plot on whether it’s day or night in most of these scenes lol. In my head, the reader is fully nocturnal by now and it’s like late fall into winter for this chapter, so the nights are longer. But if there’s ever weird night/day mix ups- oops, my bad.

Also, I love you all! I cannot even begin to express my gratitude to everyone who has read this fic and left likes/kudos or sweet and encouraging comments. I see them all, I love them all. It makes me so excited to sit down and keep writing the rest of this!

Chapter 6 will be up next Sunday! It’s somehow just as long as this chapter…

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #x reader #til death do us part

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