#thecasebookoffanfiction

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

The Golden Elf

Love Bites, Chapter 4 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

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

Summary: Sometimes, vampires choose their spawn specifically. Sometimes, they're in the wrong place at the wrong time and are lost to their loved ones for centuries. These days, that's all you can think about.

Word Count: 9,769 words

Warnings: 18+, smut & fluff, flashback within a flashback, past perspective, established relationship, Astarion pre-vampirism, Astarion's parents, the ruling, slice of life, direct mention of Astarion's death, you being deeply in love with Astarion, cuddling, sappy relationship, family dynamics, appreciating Astarion,

18+ Warnings: explicit smut, multiple instances of smut, unprotected sex, soft sex, slow & gentle sex, consensual, love making, fingering, vaginal sex, pull-out, aftercare, dirty talk, touching over clothes, mirror sex, multiple creampies, riding, oral (m receiving), changing positions, rough sex, consent check-ins, cockwarming

Note: This is a long chapter, possibly the longest in this whole series, and it's mostly smut. Have fun!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Morning dawned brightly in your bedroom—almost too brightly, which was explained by the curtains still being open from last night’s adventure to the roof with your boyfriend. 

You squeezed your eyes shut again and rolled over in bed, burying your face in his chest. “You left the curtains open, you dolt,” you complained into his chest. 

Astarion chuckled, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. “Good morning, darling. Nice to see you, too.”

To make up for your sour attitude, you moved to quickly peck his lips, then hid your face in his chest again. “Morning.”

“Oh, come on, darling. Can’t I get a better good morning kiss?”

You grumbled and shook your head. “Not yet. I’m not awake yet.”

“Fair enough.” He squeezed you tightly, rolling to lay you on top of him. He kissed the top of your head. “Sleep well?”

“I did. Until I was rudely awoken by the sun,” you added. 

“The sun is beautiful and wants to say hello to a very beautiful woman,” he teased. “That’s you, by the way.”

You grabbed your pillow and whacked him softly on the head with it. “It’s too early for this, Astarion.”

“Nonsense! It’s never too early for me to lavish my lady love with praise.” He kissed your temple. “Come on, darling, can’t I see that pretty face?”

At last, you raised your head and looked up at your boyfriend. Despite your bedhead and morning grumpy attitude and your squinty eyes, his handsome face broke into a smile at the sight of you. 

“There she is,” he cooed, cupping your chin and kissing your forehead softly. You hummed happily, leaning into his touch, and then put your head back down on his chest. “Still sleepy?”

You nodded. “Mhm. And you’re very comfortable… I could go back to sleep on you like this.”

Astarion’s body was warm beneath you, his skin soft and his body that wonderful in-between of muscle and soft flesh. His arms wrapped around you are more comfortable than the blanket draped over the two of you, the only thing keeping the two of you from giving your neighbors across the street (who were known to be quite nosey) an eyeful of two naked elves. 

“Oh, really? How about I…wake you up, then, darling?” he suggested, grinning cheekily and winking when you looked up at him. The only trace of the shy boy who’d nervously asked to make love to you for the first time so long ago was in the pale blush on his pretty cheeks, a much lighter shade than the flush you’d seen that first night.

With your words slurring together, you mumbled, “You have to go to work, Asty.” Still, you clung to him, not quite ready to let him go yet.

“Nuh uh,” he said, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “It’s still early—almost two hours early. We can have a little fun, go back to sleep, and I can still be perfectly on time.”

“Two hours? We woke up two hours earlier than normal because you left the curtains open? No wonder I’m not awake enough yet.”

“Almost two hours, not quite,” he said. He rubbed your back, his hand drifting toward your ass and squeezing. “What do you say, darling?”

You harrumphed. “Not until you close that curtain, dingus.”

“What, you don’t want the whole street to see how much pleasure I can give you? You’re no fun, dearest.”

You scoffed. “Oh, yes, because that’s exactly what Baldur’s Gate needs—to see one of its top magistrates banging his girlfriend in all the nasty ways she likes at five in the morning.”

“Fiancée, darling,” he corrected. “How long is it going to take you to remember that? Did I not make my proposal memorable enough?” He pouted playfully.

You giggled. “You did, believe me,” you insisted. “I just like hearing you say it.”

Astarion beamed. “Oh, really?”

You nodded. “Now go close those curtains, honey.”

He laughed as he stood up. “So now she wants sex.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” you said. “I can’t help it, I have a wonderful man in bed with me.”

You watched as he closed the curtain, the muscles in his shoulders and upper back flexing beneath the skin. For a man living a mostly sedentary life, he certainly kept in remarkably good shape.

Astarion turned back to you, the curtain closed behind him, a very pale light filling the room so that you could still see his face. “Happy now?”

The look on his face alone made you kick off the blankets and beckon him back to bed. “Very happy. Come here, you. Come kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Astarion crawled on top of you and slid his arms underneath you, kissing you heartily. You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. You let one hand drift over the shell of his sensitive ear and his entire body shuddered.

“Two can play at that game,” he warned, returning the favor. Pleasure shot through you and you sighed softly, arching to press your body against his. 

“Gods, Astarion,” you whispered. “Keep—keep doing that.”

He kept touching your ear as he moved down your body, kissing down your neck and collarbones, stopping at your breasts and paying special attention to one while gently squeezing the other in his free hand. Between kisses and sucking, he asked you, “Did I hear you say you wanted it nasty earlier?”

You rolled your eyes. “I was exaggerating.”

He looked up at you. “Do you want it nasty though?”

You shook your head. “Soft and sweet, please.”

Astarion smiled. “Thought so. It’s a bit too early to be rough with you, huh?”

“Mhm,” you agreed, smiling as he went back to sucking on your nipples. “Feels good, Asty…”

He took his hand away from your ear and instead brought it between your legs. “Can I touch you, darling?”

“Please do,” you whispered to him. “I want it.”

Astarion smiled against your skin and slid two fingers along your entrance. You spread your legs more for him and sighed contentedly. He kissed your stomach softly as he rubbed slow circles around your clit. You moaned softly. 

“Just like that, honey,” you breathed. But after a few moments, you bucked your hips against his hand. He knew exactly what you wanted and slipped two fingers inside you. He curled them at the knuckle and you keened, muffling your sounds in his shoulder. 

“That’s it, darling,” he breathed. “That’s it. As soon as we have our own place, you can be as loud as you want, but not yet.”

His fingers moved deftly inside of you, quickly working you up. He rubbed them against the soft, sensitive places of your walls while his thumb circled your clit. He pressed his soft lips to yours for every curl of his fingers. 

For some reason, you were particularly sensitive this morning; it didn’t take long before your body was twitching and spasming and your legs were beginning to shake.

“Close already?” he asked. You nodded. “Mind if I replace my fingers with my cock, then? I know it’s faster than normal, but I want to feel you cum around me.”

You nodded once again. “Please, honey…”

He pulled his fingers out of you and licked them clean. Your eyes remained glued to his face, so you didn’t see him push in, but you did see his face scrunch up in pleasure and you felt the delicious stretch of your body trying to accommodate him. For a moment, it was a struggle and you whimpered quietly. He kissed you softly.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Can I keep going?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Alright. Good girl. That’s it, take my cock, darling.” He pushed all the way in and stayed there, holding you close to him for a moment, pressing his forehead against yours. “Tell me when I can move, and stop me if it hurts.”

You kissed him gently. His lips were a balm to any discomfort you felt in your nether regions, though there was hardly any of that anyway. “I’m ready now, Asty. You can move.”

“Tell me if it hurts,” he said again and kissed your forehead before he started to thrust gently and slowly.

Your head fell back against the pillows and you arched your back, pushing your body against him. He chuckled, bending to kiss along the column of your neck. 

“Feeling okay?” he asked, his tone teasing; he knew perfectly well you felt okay.

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he moved deeper. “Feels good… You’re— You feel good, honey.” 

“Oh, do I?” he joked, punctuating his words with a languid roll of his hips. You moaned, wrapping your legs around his hips. You pushed his head down to yours and kissed him heartily.

For a few moments, there was nothing but the sounds of your heavy breathing in the room, the slide of bodies against silk sheets, and your ceaseless kissing. He was moving so slowly that the sound of skin on skin was slight.

Into your mouth, he murmured, “You feel so good around my cock, darling… So tight and wet, like I’ve been working you up for hours… Did you, perhaps, have a pleasant dream about me?”

“I’m always having pleasant dreams about you, though not always the kind you’re suggesting,” you replied, smiling cheekily at him. He raised an eyebrow and you continued, “Dreams of our future together, dearest, and how much I love you—not just of how good you fuck me.”

He grinned. “Oh, you little minx! How I love you.”

Astarion reached down and began to rub your clit just the way you liked, thrusting a little harder, kissing you with a bit more force. You moaned happily into his mouth and he giggled. Gods, how you loved that little giggle.

He pulled away from you and brushed your hair off your face. He cupped your cheek, smiling down at you.

“You’re so beautiful, darling,” he whispered.

“So are you,” you told him. “You look like a god right now.”

It was true; his curls framed his face beautifully, glowing a soft silver at the ends, his honey eyes dark in this lighting. His cheeks were a pretty shade of pink with exertion, his lips parted, his gaze more than a little blissful. 

A mix of embarrassment and pride flooded his features. “Oh, darling, don’t flatter me…”

“I mean it,” you promised, cupping his cheek. He leaned into your touch. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you, darling,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. You leaned up to kiss him again, your hand sliding from his shoulders and down the planes of his back. You adjusted your legs to hold onto him tighter. 

His thrusts grew harder and more punctuated. The head of his cock kissed your walls with every thrust. You let out small, barely contained whimpers with every thrust. He stopped kissing your mouth and nudged your chin up with his nose. He began kissing your neck, leaving delicate hickeys behind.

“A little louder, sweetheart,” he breathed. “I want to hear you a little more.”

“But your parents—”

“Are in a room downstairs. They can’t hear us. And if they do…well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Astarion’s fingers sped up on your clit, giving you no choice but to moan for him. You panted his name, digging your fingers into his curls. He smiled against your skin, his movements quickening. 

You were clenching around him in no time. “Asty— Asty, I’m almost—”

“I know, darling, I know,” he cooed. “Let go for me. I’ve got you, just let go… I’ll be there with you soon.”

Comforted by his words and his hold on you, you relaxed and leaned your head into his shoulder. A few more gentle thrusts and a few more swipes of his thumb on your clit and your walls were trembling around him. You finished around him, moaning quietly into his neck, far more subdued than normal but enjoying yourself nonetheless. 

“That’s it, good girl,” he breathed. “You did so well, darling. Mind if I finish up?”

“Please do,” you whispered, kissing his cheek. 

His moan of relief was closer to a whimper. “Thank you, my sweet…”

One, two, three more thrusts and he was pulling out of you, spilling himself on your stomach. His jaw dropped open, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaved. He moaned softly as he came, silencing himself by kissing you heartily. He collapsed onto you the moment he was finished. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close to you as the two of you tried to catch your breath together.

“Was that good?” Astarion asked after a few moments, once again that shy, nervous boy seeking your approval. “You were quieter than normal.”

“It was a soft, quiet kind of morning,” you said, kissing his forehead. “You were perfect, Asty. I loved it. Every second of it. Did you?”

“Mhm,” Astarion said with a grin. “You always feel so amazing.”

You brushed your fingers through his curls. “I’m glad you liked it. I think…I think we need to have soft sex like that more often. It was quite nice, and we only ever do it in the morning.”

He glanced down at your body, at your abdomen still covered in his cum. “Here, let me clean you up.”

You watched him get up and disappear into the adjoining washroom. He came back a few moments later with a cloth soaked in warm water. You watched him cross to you, your eyes soaking up his lean figure and long, skilled fingers. 

“What’s that look for?” he asked, crawling back onto the bed and beginning to wipe down your stomach.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just admiring the love of my life,” you told him. He paused in his cleaning to kiss your lips. 

“I love you,” he whispered to you, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“And I love you,” you returned, smiling softly at him.

He sat between your legs, gently wiping your folds and your entrance. You relaxed, humming softly, as he worked. When he was finished, he laid down next to you.

“Gimme that,” you mumbled, grabbing the cloth from him. You wiped him down also, cleaning his own release off of his abdomen from when he collapsed on you and your combined releases from his length and hips. 

“Thank you, darling,” he said when you were finished. You tossed the cloth to the floor, a problem for an hour from now, when you actually got up. He beckoned you back into his arms and you happily laid in his embrace. He stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head, hugging you to his chest, your legs twining together. 

Several peaceful moments passed, your mind stuck on the image of his cock dripping onto your stomach, twitching against you as he finished. At last, you said, “Astarion?”

“Yes, dear?” he mumbled into your hair, a few moments away from sleep.

“Later tonight…I want you to cum inside me.”

He jolted awake faster than you had ever seen. “You want me to what?”

Heat flushed through your body and your embarrassment rushed to your cheeks. “Only if you want to, but I…I think it might be nice. And we’ve waited long enough for it.”

Astarion tilted your head up with two fingers under your chin. His eyes were dark with desire again. “I understand your reasoning for it, darling, but I desperately want you to say it again.”

Excitement fluttered through you. “Tonight, when we have sex, I want you to cum inside me.”

A whimper escaped his lips. “Oh, gods above… Darling, you’re— Yes, absolutely, I— Yes!” He cupped your face and kissed you softly. “Oh, sweetheart… Gods, I can’t wait!”

You smiled. “You’re going to have to, honey, we have to get up soon and I would like my next hour of sleep back.”

He huffed. “Oh, yes, yes, I know. But tonight…you’ll let me?”

You nodded. “Absolutely. You’ll have something to look forward to all day.”

Astarion groaned. “If I get hard in court, this is your fault.”

You laughed. “You better not be thinking about fucking me in court, Asty, I think that would count as negligence.”

He frowned. “How so?”

“Because when you think about fucking me, you can’t focus on anything else. Believe me, I’ve seen the look in your eyes, I know when your brain’s elsewhere.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, hush. Just lay with me instead of teasing me. I want to hold you.”

Smiling, you snuggled into his arms. “Alright, alright. Let’s go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, honey.”

Astarion kissed the top of your head, humming his agreement. He let you snuggle into him and get comfortable before he rested his head atop yours and began rubbing soothing circles into your back. You drifted off, warm and happy in his arms.

~❊~

A brief knock on the front door announced Astarion’s arrival before he himself walked in, shaking rainwater from his coat and hair and carrying a paper bag with the corks of two wine bottles sticking out of it. 

“Hello, hello!” he called, not realizing you and his mother stood together in the kitchen, in the middle of making dinner. “It’s raining something awful out there— Oh! Hi, Ma.” He hung up his coat and joined you in the kitchen, kissing his mother’s cheek. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and kissed your temple softly. “Is Dad home yet?”

“Not yet,” Selwynn replied.

“How was work, hun?” you asked, turning your face to return the kiss. 

His face darkened briefly. “That’s a conversation for when my father’s present,” he told you and you knew instantly something hadn’t gone well. The more you studied him, the more exhausted he looked. 

“Are you alright, though?” you asked.

Astarion shrugged. “I’m alright.” He kissed you again and the softness of it alleviated your worries, but only a little.

From behind both of you, Selwynn tousled his hair. “Go wash up, darling, dinner’s almost ready. Your sweetheart will be waiting for you when you get back, I promise.”

You blushed and he rolled his eyes. No matter how many years you had spent with the Ancunin family, acknowledgement of your relationship with Astarion always brought heat to your cheeks, just as it had when you were kids and in denial about liking each other. 

Astarion left the kitchen and you helped his mother set up the dining table. Halfway through, his father, Thesan, came in—also complaining about the rain.

“Like father, like son,” Astarion’s mother whispered to you before going to greet her husband. You watched with a smile; with their greeting hugs and forehead kisses and the respect they held for each other, it was their marriage you and Astarion strove to emulate.

Astarion surprised you with his arms around your waist again and a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. “Smells amazing, darling,” he whispered to you. He peppered kisses down your neck and to your shoulder.

You giggled. “Keep that up and you’re going to wipe away the makeup I put on to hide all the hickeys you left on me this morning!”

“Ah, so that’s what’s missing! I knew something looked different,” he teased. He kissed your lips softly. 

“Behave yourself,” you reminded him, only half-teasing. 

Astarion greeted his father as the four of you sat down around the table. You passed dishes back and forth, serving yourselves, while Astarion’s father talked about his day and the rulings he’d made. Astarion tensed when he asked how his day at court had been. He took his time responding.

“Contentious,” Astarion finally decided. “There’s a group of Gur who aren’t too pleased with a ruling I made today.”

Thesan raised an eyebrow. “A ruling? What about?”

“Trade regulations,” Astarion said idly, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. There has been worse backlash over bigger problems than not being able to sell the teeth of vampires they’ve caught and brutally murdered.”

His father nodded. “The Gur can be a nasty sort, anyway,” he said, “and quite vicious.”

You pursed your lips. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t mean going against the Gur’s, I don’t know, is monster hunting a lifestyle? Doesn’t matter—ruling against them in this capacity, doesn’t that technically mean…the ruling protects vampires?”

“Not at all, darling,” Astarion assured you. “It doesn’t prevent them from hunting vampires, just from selling their teeth. Talk amongst my coworkers suggests there’s someone of high standing who wasn’t too pleased to find a necklace of vampire fangs in for sale by a Gur vendor.”

Thesan raised his brows. “So is this a ruling made by, or in honor of…pressures from, ah, on high?”

Both you and Selwynn tensed. The word bribery was never used by the two men, but it didn’t take much to deduce they’d both taken bribes for certain rulings before. It made your gut twist unhappily; Thesan could do what he wished, but you had hoped Astarion would avoid following in his father’s slowly corrupting footsteps. 

“Not exactly,” Astarion said, his tone too light to be completely honest, which was all you needed for confirmation. “I’m not lining my pockets by making this decision, that is. But I’d rather there not be vampire teeth on the market, especially if it can put the rest of us in danger.”

You cast your eyes back to your plate. You could hear the tone in Astarion’s voice, the one that suggested he didn’t really believe what he was saying, only rationalizing it. You loved the man, but, gods, how you hated how easily swayed he was. 

“Anyway, that’s beside the point—but no, the ruling doesn’t benefit the vampires in any way. Vampires aren’t even mentioned aside from the teeth!” Astarion added with a little laugh. “The Gur are angry because they believe it benefits the nobility. But it’s really neither here nor there, I think.”

Thesan was nodding his understanding. “Likely because there are no similar restrictions on the nobility.”

Astarion shrugged. “I think all we need to do is provide that restriction to calm the waters a little. Fair is fair?”

“Now, be careful with that, son,” Thesan said. “Nobility don’t take kindly to being told what they can and cannot do.”

You looked up sharply. “But won’t letting them do whatever they wish lead to—to outright lawlessness? It starts small, then works its way up to egregious crimes, all in the name of ‘an eye for an eye’?”

His father inclined his head to you with a small laugh, much deeper than Astarion’s. If it weren’t for the eyes they shared, the similar way they held themselves, and the fact that Astarion’s voice sounded just like his father’s when he got angry, you would question whether or not they were really related. “Quite the quick thinker you are, dear. Perhaps it would, though I doubt it. Most nobility would rather trade in bribes, political threats, and lies than get their hands dirty.”

You frowned. “Yet the Gur trade in death threats. They aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. Why not cater to them? They pose a bigger threat!”

“Darling, nobles are quite dangerous, even if they don’t seem that way,” Astarion said, reaching a hand out to you and a nervous glance to his father. Clearly, he could also sense the argument that was about to happen. 

“The Gur are dubious, deceitful, morally inept vagrants,” Thesan replied, his tone stonier than before. “Nobility are predictable; Gur are not. We know how the nobility will respond, but the Gur are a wild card. It’s best to stick to what you know.”

“So you’d trust the knife you can see versus the one hiding in the shadows? Even though the one in the shadows has the advantage?” you pressed, a mix of confusion and anger welling up inside of you. Astarion winced. 

Thesan was clearly fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re assuming one has to be trusted,” he said. “But neither should be. All a magistrate should trust is himself.”

You sighed, putting down your fork. “I’m sorry, Thesan, but it really doesn’t seem that way. It— Forgive me, but it seems like you’d rather trust the corrupt, and the known corrupt, at that, rather than take a chance on people who are…brutally honest.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you insinuating that I—”

“Father,” Astarion cut in, his voice sharp. “She’s not insinuating anything. She’s making clear what her perspective is.”

“I don’t need her perspective, I’ve been a magistrate—”

“Well I value it!” Astarion snapped. He clenched his jaw and, calmer, continued, “I value her opinions on everything and have asked her to share them. I find it helps me make informed decisions—ones not mandated by our coworkers and higher ups.” 

Miffed, Thesan snapped, “I hardly need the input of children, Astarion! You may ask for her opinion, but I have no need for it and I will not be told how to do my job by—”

“That’s enough!” Selwynn said suddenly, loudly, smacking one hand on the table. You all jumped. “Neither of you are at work. This is a family dinner. Thesan, they may be young, but they are wise. We will listen to them without belittling them. And both of you are reasonable men who can solve things without shouting at each other—and ought to do it anywhere but my dinner table! As for you, my dear, you would do well to remember that Astarion and Thesan are not the same man, and while my son will take advice, my husband will not.”

You bowed your head to her. “Yes, Selwynn. I’m sorry.”

Astarion’s cheeks and ears were pink. He looked like a scolded child. “I’m sorry, Ma,” he said quietly. Selwynn took his hand and squeezed, then kissed the top of his head.

Thesan got out of his chair and went around to his wife, kissing her cheek. “My apologies, my love. My temper got the best of me.” He looked at you beside her. “I’m sorry, dear, I shouldn’t have dismissed you so easily. I will think on what you’ve said.”

You inclined your head in thanks. 

As Thesan returned to his seat, Selwynn cleared her throat and turned to you. “So! Tell me, my dear, how has your work at the tavern been going?”

Relieved the topic had turned to something far less contentious, your shoulders relaxed and you found yourself smiling. “Much the same as always—the same regulars with mostly the same problems. Kit’s finally getting a divorce but she’s terribly upset about it because she’s afraid her husband’s going to get the house. Lianon broke his foot and is convinced the only painkiller he needs to take is alcohol. Oh, I almost forgot! Tivi was asking after you, she wants to know how your newest sewing project is going. I said I’d ask, but I didn’t tell her you’re sewing my wedding veil, I knew she’d start screeching and we were quite crowded.”

Selwynn beamed. “Oh, it’s going quite well! I’m just finishing up on the trim—a string of lilies going around the edge, to match the ones in your crowns and on the tables. I must show you after dinner.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Am I allowed to see it, or must I wait until the big day?”

“You can see the veil, just not the dress, and especially not on me,” you teased.

“Are you still working as the barkeep?” Thesan asked, rejoining you all at the table. “I’m surprised you haven’t managed to swoop the whole business out from Barnabas’ feet, now that he’s getting up there in age.”

You bit back a grin. “Actually, he offered it to me. They want me to become the tavernkeeper once he retires.”

Astarion looked up. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“I only found out today,” you said apologetically.

“Do you want to take it?” he asked, biting his lip.

You shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“It would be a wonderful opportunity,” Thesan said. “Taverns are excellent moneymakers, even in a city like Baldur’s Gate, where there’s plenty of them. If you run it right, you could make it the best one around.”

You glanced at Astarion. He nodded encouragingly. “Well…Astarion and I have been talking, and… I’ve been considering leaving the tavern after we get married.”

Thesan propped himself up on his elbows. Selwynn shot him a look and he put his hands back in his lap. “Are you looking for something that might be more…sustainable, long-term? Or perhaps a higher wage?”

“Possibly?” you said. “I’m not exactly sure of the details yet—how long I’d stay at the tavern after we get married, for instance—but I think…” Astarion nodded again. “I think mostly I want to leave for better hours. It’s difficult enough when Astarion works in the day and I mostly in the evening as it is now, even with days like today when the other barkeep is working, but it absolutely won’t be manageable once we—” You licked your lips. “Once we have children.”

Selwynn gasped. “Are you expecting?”

“What? No!” You blushed profusely, glancing up at Astarion, and wondered how many times his parents had overheard you making love. “No, not yet. But we’ve been talking about it, and we want to start a family.”

Selwynn shrieked with joy. “Oh, that’s wonderful news! May the gods bless you with a babe, when the time is right for it.”

Thesan clapped Astarion on the back. “Congratulations, my son!”

Astarion blushed. “She’s not pregnant yet, Dad, wait until after the wedding!”

“You’ll tell us?” Selwynn asked. “When you are with child?”

You nodded. “As soon as we know for certain. But Astarion’s right—we won’t be trying until after we’re married.”

“Don’t be too discouraged if it takes a while, dearie, it took us almost a hundred years to conceive Astarion, and we were trying quite diligently,” Selwynn said, patting her son’s shoulder. He looked slightly mortified to learn this about his parents’ sex life. “The gods are careful with which elven soul they will give you to nurture.”

You finished dinner quickly and each of you helped clean up the mess of the meal until you told Selwynn and Thesan to sit down, and you and Astarion did the rest together. 

“They took it well,” Astarion murmured in your ear. 

“Of course they did, they want to be grandparents. Though I’m surprised they already want that this early—you’re only thirty-nine, you’re still technically their baby.”

Astarion sighed. “My mother misses holding an infant.” 

The two of you lapsed into comfortable silence, you washing dishes and Astarion taking them from you to dry them. Eventually, he restarted the conversation by kissing your head.

“Darling?”

“Hmm?”

“What you…what you told me this morning…” He hesitated, blushing like a teenager again. “Are you trying to get a headstart on having our family?”

You smiled. “Oh, goodness, no. I very much doubt we’ll get that lucky, and I’m quite certain I’m not ovulating. It won’t happen this time.”

“You’re ‘quite certain’ you’re not?” he asked. “How long have you been tracking it?”

“Several months now. I’ve been…wanting to tell you to—” You lowered your voice, even though you were already speaking at a low volume. “—finish inside me for quite a while, but I didn’t want to risk getting pregnant before our wedding. But I know that won’t happen tonight.”

Astarion kissed your cheek. “Have I told you you’re perfect?”

“Nearly every day, honey,” you laughed, leaning into him. 

“That simply will not do—I must tell you twice a day how perfect you are, darling!”

You giggled. “Careful, Asty, I might start to believe it.”

He lifted your head with two fingers under your chin, a warm smile in his eyes. Leaning in for a sweet kiss, he whispered, “I certainly hope you do.”

~❊~

The evening went on with talk of your wedding plans and the presentation of your unfinished veil over a couple of glasses of the wine Astarion had brought home. His parents retired to bed first while you and Astarion remained sitting in front of the hearth, sharing a comfortably padded lounge chair, the fire’s warmth making you sleepy in his arms and the orange glow turning him into a sun god. 

Astarion lazily swirled his wine in his glass. “Do you want to go upstairs?” he asked. You gave a noncommittal hum. “As much as I love it when you fall asleep in my arms, sleeping in this chair, though cozy, will do our backs no favors.”

You slowly extricated yourself from his arms. “Oh, alright. Upstairs, then.” You stood up and stretched. He finished the last of his wine and you both picked up the glasses and recorked the bottles. With that taken care of, you held out your hand for him and walked up the stairs together. 

While you washed and dressed for bed in the washroom together, you asked him, “Do you want to go out on the roof tonight?”

“There’s a chill in the air, and you’re wearing a short silk slip,” he said, sliding his hand up your inner thigh for emphasis. “You’ll freeze to death. Besides…” He leaned closer to your ear and squeezed your thigh. “There are better things for us to be doing.” His fingers found the gusset of your panties and he tsked. “You won’t be needing these tonight, darling.”

You leaned into his chest as his fingers kept stroking your covered slit. “Honey… Let…” You swallowed harshly. “Let me finish washing up first.”

He kissed the shell of your ear. You bit back a whimper. “I’m just going to make you dirty again, darling… Sweaty and slick and filled with me, in every way possible.” He began nibbling on the lobe of your ear. 

“Asty,” you mumbled, craning your head up and pulling his mouth down to yours, your back to his chest. You spread your legs, letting him cup your clothed mound in his hand. He kissed you hungrily, moving his hand from your thigh to your ass. He squeezed gently and gave you a light smack before holding you around the waist.

“Look at us in the mirror,” he murmured into your lips. You glanced into the mirror and found him already staring at your beautifully twisted body. You whimpered instantly, seeing the appeal. Your back was pressed to his bare chest, the hand cupping you from behind visible against the dusty blue silk, your back arching slightly off of him and pushing your tits forward, your hard nipples poking through the fabric, color flushing both of your faces, his plump lower lip still between yours. He whispered, “You’re so beautiful when you’re desperate for me, my love.”

“I’m not desperate yet, hun,” you whispered.

He chuckled. “The pink on those ears says otherwise, darling.” He traced your ear again.

You moaned and pushed your lips firmly against his, your tongues sliding together. He brought his hand up from his waist and squeezed one of your tits. You whimpered into his mouth and he grinned. He kneaded your breast over your slip and began stroking you through your panties again. Something about having him so close but not really touching you was making you crazy. You writhed against him, bucking your hips with need, moaning into his mouth.

“You’re so wet for me, so needy even through these panties,” he murmured. “You horny little thing…”

Astarion wasn’t keeping his composure, either. He panted into your mouth, his erection pressing into your back through his boxers. Every so often, his hips stuttered against yours; you knew it wasn’t intentional. He groaned into your mouth, finding your clit and stroking. You moaned happily, your body trembling in response.

“Oh, gods, darling—can I touch you? Can I really touch you?” he moaned. 

“Yes, please, fuck,” you whimpered.

Astarion moved quickly. He shoved your slip underneath your breasts, his hand gripping one and toying with your nipple. At the same time, he slid your panties to the side and stroked your slit with a single finger. You moaned in tandem. Astarion sunk a finger into you and began rubbing at your walls, pulling quiet whimpers from your lips. You threw your head back and he immediately began kissing his way down your neck and over your shoulder.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured against your skin, “just feel good for me… Just feel good and be beautiful. Look at you…”

The reverence in his voice made you glance in the mirror again and you understood his sudden attraction to the column of your neck. You leaned into him, sighing happily against his open-mouthed kisses. 

“Need you,” he murmured, nipping at your skin until fresh bruises began to appear, overlapping with the ones he’d sucked into your neck this morning. He tucked you against his body. “Need more of you.”

You turned in his arms, whining at the loss of his fingers inside of you but still enjoying the way he held you to his chest like you’d disappear if he let go of you. “You can have me, Asty.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Here? Against this mirror?” He pushed you against it, pushing your slip up to your waist. He rubbed his palm over your ass and gave you a soft, affectionate smack. “You do look rather gorgeous bent over the basin like this.”

You locked eyes with him in the mirror, holding yourself up on the marble basin’s rim. “You can take me however you’d like, honey. Just as long as you finish inside me.”

Astarion grinned at you through the mirror. “Oh, darling, I intend to.” He kissed your shoulder. “As many times as I can.”

You moaned and pushed your ass against his erection. “Asty, please!”

“Patience,” he cooed softly, but he still slipped one finger under the waistband of your panties. He slowly pulled them to the side again to expose your cunt to him. Cool air hit you and the string of arousal still connected to your panties. You shivered, whimpering slightly.

Astarion stepped away from you for a moment, admiring the mess you were making between your legs. “Gods, darling, you’re so fucking wet.”

“Just fuck me already,” you whined.

Through the mirror, you watched him scramble to yank his boxers down. As soon as his cock was free, he pushed the head against your entrance. He looked up at the mirror, watching your eyes roll back as he filled you. A soft moan escaped him as soon as he was fully seated inside of you. He bent over your back and kissed your pointed ear. 

“Does that feel good, darling?” he murmured. Your entire body shuddered beneath him, your walls clenching around him. He made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a moan. “Guess it does.”

Astarion wrapped his arms around you and began thrusting slowly. He buried his head in your neck, moaning into you. You panted heavily, whimpering with every slow, deep thrust. You grabbed one of his hands and laced your fingers together, moving to meet his thrusts. 

“I love you like this, darling,” he murmured. “This position… You feel so tight around me.” He pressed soft kisses to your neck and shoulder. He met your gaze in the mirror and smiled at you, a sweet smile that made your heart melt. You turned just enough to kiss his cheek; he adjusted to catch your lips with his. He moaned into the kiss, one hand snaking up to grope your chest. You whined, pushing your breast into his hand and your ass into his pelvis. 

“Honey,” you moaned, the arms holding you up beginning to shake. 

He nibbled briefly on your ear. “Do you want more, my love?”

You whined and nodded. He let his other hand slip from your waist and to your clit. He began rubbing gently, adding pressure with every swipe. You moaned breathily, your legs beginning to tremble.

“Astarion,” you moaned, clinging to him. “I love you.”

He kissed the back of your neck. “I love you, too, darling.”

The words became a mantra falling out of your mouth, timed with every single one of his thrusts: “Love you love you love you love you love you love you love you!”

Astarion whispered into your ear, “You’re so close. Cum for me, darling. Cum on my cock. I’ll…I’ll follow you.”

You whined, surrendering to the feeling of his hand on your clit and his cock hitting all the right spots. With a few more thrusts, your moans grew louder, your breaths shorter, and your entire body shook as your walls clenched around his cock. You unraveled around him, crying his name loudly.

Astarion groaned and buried himself deep inside of you, biting his lower lip as he came inside of you, panting. He rubbed your clit until you cried out, overstimulated.

The two of you panted when your orgasms had run their course; he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly, both of you still bent over the basin. You locked eyes in the mirror.

“Are you alright?” he whispered. 

You nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m perfect,” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck. “Gods… You have no idea how good that felt, darling. Inside of you. Hells, I… I want to do it again.”

“I told you that you could,” you reminded him and he grinned.

“Bed?” he suggested. When you nodded, he pulled himself off of you and slowly pulled out. Your mixed releases slid down your legs and you groaned in surprise and discomfort. Your slip fell back into place as you stood straighter, your legs trembling even more. 

Astarion offered you his hand. “Come here, my love. Let me help you.”

You let him hold you up as the pair of you went to bed, already kissing and giggling again like teenagers. He gently laid you down in bed and crawled over you. He covered your neck and chest in kisses, once again tugging the neckline of your slip down to kiss your tits. He licked your nipple and then sucked on it gently, once again sliding his hand between your legs and rubbing his fingers along your soaked slit.

You curled your fingers into his hair, pulling him back up to you and kissing him heartily. “My turn,” you whispered into his mouth. You wrapped your legs around his hips and flipped the two of you. You straddled his thighs and pulled your slip off over your head.

Astarion grinned, putting his hands on your ribs. “Darling! Aren’t you gorgeous? I could get used to this view.”

You smiled, reaching down to pump his cock. He moaned. “This view belongs to you, Asty, don’t you forget that,” you said. “I’m all yours.”

His hands dropped to your hips as you lifted yourself up and shuffled forward, positioning yourself over his hard cock. He moaned happily as you sank down on him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he threw his head back. 

You moaned, putting your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. You began to bounce on him, letting him sink deeper every time you came back down until you were sitting on his pelvis. You began to roll your hips slowly and Astarion moaned loudly, his fingers gripping your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises come morning. 

“Oh, honey,” you moaned. “You feel…so damn good.”

He helped you ride him, guiding your hips with gentle hands. He twitched inside of you, his heaving breaths becoming soft, barely concealed whimpers. You smiled as you bounced on him and leaned back to give him a better view as he slid in and out of you.

“You look so beautiful with me inside of you, darling,” he moaned. He grazed his thumb over the bulge of him visible in your stomach. “Gods, look at that…”

“Honey,” you moaned. “Asty. Asty, I’m so damn close already!”

He chuckled. “I can feel it, my love, I can feel that pussy clenching around me. Just cum for me, I want it.”

You huffed in protest. “Not until you do.”

“Darling—”

“I’m taking care of you,” you insisted. “Let me do that for you, Asty. Cum for me, and I’ll cum for you.”

His face softened. “You’re perfect, you know,” he whispered, lifting his knees up to give you something to rest against as you bounced. He held your hip with one hand, then held your hand with the other. His eyelids fluttered, torn between wanting to close them and wanting to watch you, and he let himself relax against the bed.

You brought one hand from his shoulder to his cheek. You caressed his cheekbone softly. “You’re so beautiful, my love,” you murmured, the first of many sweet nothings to encourage him along. “You’re so pretty when you let yourself get lost in me, when you let the pleasure wash over you. Just do that for me, honey, just let go and take what you need from me. Relax here in bed with me, handsome. Finish up, I’ll be here when you’re ready. I’ll help you ride it out. I love you, more than anything in this world. I love you.”

Astarion threw his head back with a loud cry, his hips stuttering up into yours. He came hard, the warmth of him filling your cunt until he began to leak out of you. You sat on his pelvis and reached a hand down to your clit to finish yourself off. Despite his deliriousness and the tears sliding down his cheeks from the force of his orgasm, he slapped your hand away and put his own thumb to your clit until you convulsed on top of him and came on his cock.

The moment he could, he pulled you off of him and into his arms, wrapping you in a warm embrace and covering your entire upper body with kisses, murmuring an “I love you” between each one. You let yourself melt into his hold, cuddling into him and relaxing even more with every kiss. 

You eventually wriggled around until you were laying next to each other, still staring into each other’s eyes. You brushed your hand through his curls, putting them back into place with your fingers. 

“Hi,” you whispered. “Feel okay?”

He smiled at you. “Never better, darling. That was…amazing. Thank you for that.”

You kissed his cheek. “Well, I figured it had been a while since I’ve gone for a proper ride on you—it was long overdue, and I thought we’d both appreciate it.”

“You thought correctly,” he murmured. He tackled you in a tight, warm hug. You hummed happily, curling your arms around him and wrapping your legs into his until you were as close as you could get to becoming one. You slowly worked your fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp until he began to very nearly purr. He rubbed your back, occasionally pressing dainty kisses to your forehead, and you returned each kiss with one of your own. Eventually, he pulled back and asked, “Are you up for one more round?”

You grinned at him. “Absolutely, hun. I thought you might have more in you than you were letting on.”

He blushed like he hadn’t just cum inside you twice. “I could have gone without it if you didn’t want to!”

You giggle and drag your finger up the underside of his already semi-hard cock. His eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body shuddered. “Oh, really?” 

Astarion whined, the sound not quite human. His chest heaved. “Darling… Gods, that feels good.”

You kissed his nose. “Wanna know what else I haven’t done in a while?” You pushed your lips against his as he nodded, muffling his hum. Into his mouth, you murmured, “Sucked you off.”

Astarion groaned. You took advantage of his open mouth and pushed your tongue into his mouth. You rolled him onto his back again and crawled on top of him, never once breaking the wet, sloppy kiss. You wrapped your hand around his cock as you kissed him and pumped him idly, careful not to set a pace and let him get used to your touch. He whimpered into your mouth, his cock twitching into your hand every time you slid your hand up to his tip. Only when he was hard enough that you knew it was starting to be unbearable did you break the kiss. He whined but let you shimmy your way down his body until you sat between his spread legs.

“May I?” you asked, locking eyes with him as you settled, your face inches away from his leaking cock. You let yourself admire the view of his heaving chest, his entire body flushed with need, his dick red and angry and oh so tempting.

“Y-yes, please,” he whispered, gorgeous with his hair tousled from your hands, his ears pink, his lips kiss-bitten, and his pupils blown.

“Thank you, Asty,” you whispered, pressing your lips to the skin of his V-line. You kept kissing just around his cock, never quite reaching the base, until he twitched and pre-cum began to dribble down his length without you even touching him. Only then did you take mercy, licking him from the base up to his tip and taking his head into your mouth. He keened loudly, arching off the bed like he so often made you do. 

Seeing your lover get so lost in everything you were doing and enjoying every second of it made your entire body warm with joy and arousal. The wetness between your legs was obscene for having not been touched or teased for so long, but you weren’t surprised; Astarion enjoying himself was more than enough reason for you to be as excited as you were. His ecstasy was always so godsdamned beautiful—not unusual for an elf, of course, but you liked to think your fiancé was special in this aspect. 

You took him deeper, licking the underside of his cock as best as you could as his girth filled your mouth. He whined and bucked his hips involuntarily.

“S-sorry,” he moaned, throwing his arm over his eyes, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

You popped off of him for a moment and took his hand. “Don’t be sorry, my love. Take it. Take what you want. I’m here to give it to you, hun.”

He whined again and thrust his hips back up, simultaneously trying to wiggle closer to you. You giggled and took the hint, taking him back in your mouth and sucking. He stayed still for a few more moments, letting you please him, but then you felt his hand in your hair and you paused in your movements. He started to thrust slowly into your mouth, not deep or hard enough for you to choke but enough for you to really feel him in your throat. You moaned around him with every thrust until he became more frantic.

“Darling!” he cried. You glanced up to find silver tears on his flushed cheeks and pulled back, seeing the overstimulation on his face. “Please, my love, I need— I need to fuck you again. I need to be inside you.”

Without a second thought, you sat up and caught your breath from where you sat between his legs. He took a second before sitting up and pulling you on top of him. He pushed inside of you easily and chuckled breathlessly.

“Someone’s wet,” he teased. You didn’t have the energy in you to respond as he started thrusting. You went limp in his arms, collapsing onto his chest and focusing only on the feeling of him pumping in and out of you. He held you tight, both of you clinging to each other as you chased your releases.

Astarion adjusted his legs slightly, lifting himself up, and his cock hit just the right spot. You cried out and clenched around him, your hold on him tightening. He growled animalistically, pulled out of you, and flipped you onto your back. He folded one of your legs up and slid back inside of you.

You screamed so loud you were sure you had woken his parents—and perhaps the entire neighborhood—as he began pounding into you relentlessly. You could already tell you were going to struggle with walking tomorrow. 

Between pants, he asked, “Are you okay? Is this okay?”

You were out of breath to even attempt to speak, but you nodded and brought him close enough to kiss you. He took control of the kiss almost immediately, possessing you in every way he could: his cock in your cunt, his tongue in your mouth, his hand gripping your calf. You gave into him, letting him take you, relaxing against the mattress and trusting him with your body. 

Astarion took care of you, going only as rough as your body could take at this moment, taking his pleasure but granting you yours simultaneously. Your orgasm swept through you with a vengeance, powerful and hard. You arched your back, screaming as much of his name as you could get out before you ran out of breath, your fingernails digging into his back. Astarion let out a high moan as he followed you before you could ride out the rest of your orgasm. The two of you grabbed at each other, clinging desperately, panting and moaning and crying with pleasure. You felt tears on your cheeks and you honestly weren’t sure if they were yours or Astarion’s. 

At last, you came down from your high. You watched him in awe as he finished his, slowly and gently thrusting into you until he was spent. He gently lowered himself on top of you and buried his face in your neck. You laid there, panting, struggling to form thoughts.

“Holy shit,” he muttered into your skin and you chuckled. Your arm shook as you brought your hand to the back of his hand and soothed him with a hand in his curls. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Holy shit.”

He looked up. There was a glassy look in his eyes. “Are you…are you okay? Did I go too hard? Was that too much?”

“I’m fine, hun. You were perfect. Gods, that was…” You whistled, unable to pick a word from your dazed mind to describe what you were feeling. 

Astarion giggled. “Yeah… It was.” He snuggled back against your chest, then asked in a whisper, “Can I stay inside you tonight?”

You raised a brow. “Do you want to?”

He shrugged. “If you’ll let me…yes.”

You kissed his forehead. “Sure. Let’s try it, see if we like it.”

Astarion perked up immediately. “Really?”

“Yes, why not? Here—pull out and let’s get cleaned up, then you can spoon me and go back inside, okay?”

He nodded quickly. You cleaned each other in the washroom, Astarion holding you up to keep you from falling on weak knees. He stole kisses as you washed each other and then tucked you back into bed.

“Do you want your slip?” he asked, climbing into bed behind you.

“No, just you,” you whispered. You heard his soft laugh and knew how pleased he was that you wanted his body directly against yours.

Astarion curled up behind you and lifted your leg with a gentle hand. With only the slightest bit of difficulty, he pushed himself back into you. He gave a few gentle thrusts, then settled and pulled you close and buried his nose in your hair.

You sighed happily. “You feel good,” you told him. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed the back of your neck. “Good, I’m glad.” He rubbed your side with a gentle hand. “Tell me if it starts to get uncomfortable.”

You nodded. “Think I’m gonna fall asleep before that, actually…”

Astarion laughed softly. “Alright, love. Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

Humming, you leaned back against him and let sleep take you with him still inside of you and wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

~❊~

Astarion was late.

He should have been home at least an hour ago—but you knew how long these court cases could take. There had been days before where he didn’t return home until after dark. You always hated those days, but he repaid you with lots of kisses and snuggles and a surprise date later in the week when he came home early. 

You were getting ready for work in your shared bedroom, finishing up braiding your hair in the mirror Astarion had fucked you against last night. Your core still ached, but your limp had mostly disappeared. You could always fabricate a story for your boss about twisting your ankle or something equally mundane—anything less embarrassing than having to admit your fiancé had fucked you within an inch of your life. 

You tucked the last few strands into place and checked your makeup one last time, making sure your very, very dark hickeys were covered. Unlike Astarion, who had left for work with one easily spotted above his collar, you would rather your coworkers didn’t ask questions about your sex life. 

Downstairs, the door opened. Astarion! You silently thanked the gods that you would see him before you left for your shift at the tavern. You heard low, murmuring voices and had the impression that the day had been a long, tiresome one. You’d give him a long hug before you left, even if he didn’t want to let go and it made you late. 

Selwynn screamed. Plates crashed. 

You were running down the stairs faster than you thought possible. You slammed into the door jamb on your way into the kitchen and found Thesan standing stock-still and dumbfounded in the middle of the kitchen, Selwynn on the floor and surrounded by shards of ceramic. She was sobbing. There were two unfamiliar men in the uniform of Baldur’s Gate officials standing in the doorway, somber.

“What happened?” you demanded. “Where’s Astarion?”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” said one of the men, taking off his hat. “I take it you are Astarion Ancunin’s fiancée?”

Knots formed in your stomach. “I— Yes, I am. What…what’s happened? Where is he?”

“I’m sorry, he…” He gained control of the sudden sorrow that crossed his features. “I regret to inform you that Astarion was found dead. Murdered, in fact.”

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Best Unremembered

Love Bites, Chapter 1 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

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

Summary: Waking up with a spotty memory and the only person you do remember is jarring enough—but it only gets worse when the people who remember you are monsters and strangers.

Word Count: 3,095 words

Warnings: exposition chapter, vampire spawn, Astarion lies, amnesia for the reader

Note: This is the first chapter of a nine chapter fic! It will be updated weekly. Check the posting schedule on my {Updates Page} and enjoy the fic! Please be warned it does contain some heavy themes related to Astarion's trauma.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Rough hands grabbed you from the comforting darkness surrounding you, ripping you violently from deep sleep. As your eyes fluttered open, you became aware of a constant, throbbing ache throughout your body. You were quite certain, without apparent reason, that your rest had not been all that restful.

He was nothing but a shadowed figure above you, his white hair a glowing halo around his head, outlined by the sun, as he shook you awake. He hovered above you and you couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was afraid—he gripped your shoulders with a tightness that suggested he was afraid you’d disintegrate if he let you go. In fact, the fear radiated so strongly from him you were certain you could smell it. 

Your name. He was saying it, calling to you, begging you to wake up. The moment he realized your eyes had cracked open, he relaxed, his head dropping to your chest and a sob of relief escaping him. Without thinking about it, you put your hand in his hair; the move felt natural and practiced, like you’d been doing it all your life.

But who the hell was this man and why was he crying on your chest?

“What—” You coughed; your lungs felt heavy and full of…something. Your voice was rough as you asked, “What happened?” The words had barely gotten out when you started to wheeze. Suddenly very certain you were going to throw up, you sat up quickly, throwing him off and rolling onto your side. At first you dry-heaved, aware of his hand on your back.

“Let it out,” he told you, patting your back. “Trust me, you’ll feel better once you do.”

His words were magic. Perhaps it was simply how familiar he suddenly was or how silky smooth that voice was, but your body listened to him. You hacked up everything: slime and black dirt and congealed blood. He held you as you heaved. When you finally stopped coughing, you leaned back into his chest.

“Astarion,” you breathed, his name and his person once again firmly in your mind. You knew him, you trusted him, and by gods, you loved him.

“I’m right here,” he soothed. “Oh, darling.” He leaned his head into your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not sure,” you panted. “Gods, what happened to me? Where the hells are we?”

You looked around, taking in the dirt path the two of you were sitting on, tall plants and trees casting some shadows across the path. You sat in the blaring sun, both of you dusty. And you recognized absolutely none of it.

“I wish I knew,” Astarion said. “We were on that ship—”

You practically choked. You turned in his lap to stare at him. “A ship?”

Astarion brushed your hair out of your face, nodding as he did, and you got your first good look at him. His silver hair was covered in a fine layer of dust and he squinted his crimson eyes to stare at you. He was paler than the Astarion you remembered, the skin around his eyes darker than they were on the face that had smiled at you in your childhood. 

Your eyes dipped to his neck out of wary instinct. You saw the twin puncture wounds and your memory seemed to play catch-up. Your Astarion, your elf—now a vampire. You reached out one hand to touch his scars and he flinched. Unfazed, you brought your hand to your own neck and found with your fingers the same marks on your neck.

“You don’t remember very much, do you?” he said.

“I… I don’t know.” Your chest seemed very tight. “Astarion, I don’t know what I don’t remember, everything’s all…all jumbled!”

Astarion seemed to catch on to your panicking before even you did. “Hey, hey, hey. Darling, look at me. It’s alright. We’ll figure it out together. What’s the last thing you remember?”

You wracked your brain. “Well…I remember drinking together last night. I remember you taking me to bed. And then…nothing. Just waking up right here, right now.”

He looked disappointed. “Is that all you remember of me?”

“What? Oh, no! That’s just the last thing I remember. We…we grew up together, didn’t we? We’ve been together since we were little.”

Relief crossed his face. It was a strange sight; some of it seemed genuine, and some of it seemed very forced. You chalked it up to your spotty memory as he hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him as one of his arms curled around your waist, melting into his hold. Despite the building panic in your chest over the gaps in your memory, you felt yourself relax the longer he held you.

“Oh, thank gods,” he breathed. “I’d hate to have to start from scratch again. It would be a little bit difficult to catch up on two hundred some-odd years, eh?”

You cuddled into him. “Astarion?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How are we in the sun?”

He froze. After a moment, he pulled away from you and cupped your face. “Darling?”

You touched the marks on your neck again. “We’re vampires, aren’t we?” He nodded, biting his lip a bit guiltily; the sight of his fangs led you to run your tongue across your own, confirming your suspicion. “So how the hell are we in the sun? How is this possible?”

He hesitated, a frown forming on his beautiful face. “Well, I—I don’t know, but I suppose it has something to do with what happened on the ship.”

You sighed. “I don’t remember a ship, Astarion, what the hells are you talking about?”

Astarion pulled you to your feet. “We should find you some water—it might help you remember what happened—”

You stopped, not letting him drag you down the dirt path. “Astarion, please!” He froze, glancing back at you. It took only a few seconds before your lower lip started to wobble and for tears to start to spill over. He immediately pulled you into his arms. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember being turned into a vampire, I don’t remember what we’ve been doing for two hundred fucking years, my body aches and I have no clue why, and I certainly don’t remember a ship, so please, for the love of every god I couldn’t possibly name, tell me what happened last night and tell me why I don’t remember anything.”

He kissed the crown of your head, pulling you in and keeping you close to his chest. “Oh, darling. We went out last night. We were drinking. We were…” He huffed out an embarrassed laugh. “We were very drunk, love. I suppose that’s why we…went out again last night. After we…made love. Gods, if we had just stayed in…”

You looked up and searched his face; regret had overwhelmed his features and his eyes had filled with tears. “Asty?” The nickname came naturally and seemed to bring him out of his memories and back to you.

“They stole us from the street,” he said thickly. “We’d gone out for a…a walk. Like we always do, in the last few hours of night. And then those—those Mind Flayers took us and put parasites in our eyes. I…I don’t know what they do, but it can’t be good.”

“Can’t it?” you asked. “We can walk in the sun again. Isn’t that good?”

“Well, yes, but we know nothing else about it,” he said, biting his lip. “I don’t trust it.”

Some part of you wanted to argue, but you could sense his agitation and dropped it. “So what happened to the ship? How’d we get to the dirt?”

“It crashed,” he said simply. “Someone—or something—must have found a way to force us to crash land. We were thrown a ways away, and then I dragged you out of the rubble to try and wake you.” Astarion cupped your face in his hands and pressed your foreheads together. “Gods, I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

You held his wrists and kissed the tips of his fingers. “There are others, then? Other people from the ship?”

“If any of them survived, yes.”

“We should find them,” you said firmly. “Maybe they can help us figure out if these…parasites, or whatever they are, are good or bad.”

“You want to find other people? As vampires walking around in the full light of day?”

You considered his fear for a moment, then tugged his collar up to hide the punctures better. You did the same for yourself. “If we’re careful, no one will suspect us. If we don’t tell them we’re vampires, how will they know? We’re out and about in the sun. Perhaps we’re just really, really pale elves.” You rubbed your neck cautiously. The wound, though closed, was tender. “I can’t believe I don’t remember being turned. That’s the sort of thing someone would remember, right?”

Astarion shrugged. “Those Mind Flayers may have messed with your mind. They certainly poked around in my head too much for my liking.”

You rubbed your arms and leaned into his chest again. He hummed softly and wrapped you in a cool embrace. “Even if I don’t remember much, I’m glad you’re here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He kissed your cheek. “I’m glad—” He frowned. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Shouting.”

The two of you listened, bodies pressed close together, until the sound came again: a man’s voice, shouting for help. You spared a quick glance at Astarion and chose to ignore the apprehension on his face before dragging him in the direction of the shouting.

Just over the crest of a steep hill, you found yourself staring straight into a hole in the stone mountainside, glowing and pulsing with a deep purple magic—and a hand sticking out of it.

“Hello? Hello! A little help here!”

You and Astarion exchanged a glance. He shrugged. You rolled your eyes and took the man’s hand. You grit your teeth as you tugged. It was only when you slid toward the portal that Astarion grabbed on, too, and yanked you back—and the man out with you.

He dusted off his deep purple robes and stood up straight, smiling at you and Astarion. His smile wavered when he realized the two of you were little more than distressed vagabonds. But he brought it back up to his face and waved. “Hello! I’m Gale of Waterdeep. Who might you be?”

You blinked at him, then gave your name and stated that you were a barkeep in Baldur’s Gate, pleased that you had remembered even something about yourself, and introduced Astarion as your partner and husband. You noted how pleased he looked and wondered if you were exaggerating the truth a little bit—after all, Astarion claimed you had spent over two hundred years together, but you didn’t remember a wedding.

“Pleased to meet you!” Gale said, cheery. “Now how did you two come to be, well, here?”

You glanced at Astarion. “I, um, don’t remember much, but it’s got something to do with Mind Flayers and parasites.”

~❊~

In all your adventuring, with all your gaps in your memory, you hadn’t felt such an innate fear until the moment you stepped into the Szarr Palace. The feeling worsened as you followed Astarion deeper into its walls, feeling very certain you’d done this before, despite Astarion’s promise that he had kept you as far away from your vampiric master as he could, taking the brunt of Cazador’s rage. Such was why your back did not bear the same scars as your lover’s, scars you had painstakingly translated and attempted to soothe with balms and creams. 

As for Astarion, he was faring no better. In fact, he was much worse than you, his fingers trembling viciously and his eyes darting from shadow to shadow as if he expected Cazador himself to leap out of them. For all you knew, perhaps he would. 

The sickness in your stomach reached its peak as soon as you saw the cages. They bore other spawn and you knew that you and your lover had once been behind those bars, hard as it was to picture. Seeing the filth and hatred and despair that hung like a cloud over the spawn, accompanied by the thick smell of decay and rot, you were suddenly glad the Mind Flayers had decided to relieve you of much of your memory. You knew they had not been so kind to your lover; Astarion woke often from nightmares of this place and everything Cazador had done to him—putrid blood, physical torture, claustrophobic stone walls. The very same thing Astarion had protected you from.

“Astarion, what is this?” you whispered, moving closer to his side.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Cazador hid this from me. And the others. I never saw this while I was his…”

“He didn’t do this to us, then?” 

Astarion shook his head. “No. They…must be part of his ritual. But how did they get here?”

As soon as the spawn saw you and your little group, the shrieking started, so at odds with their blank, hollow faces. In amongst the screams of fear, of anticipation, of sick and twisted delight, you heard your own name and Astarion’s passed around. Spawn pressed themselves against the bars to get a closer look. One in particular, clad in a destroyed red frock, his dirty face half-hidden by matted, dirty grey hair, seemed to recognize Astarion. He pushed to the front and you caught sight of a rune carved into him—matching some of the ones on Astarion’s back. 

“You. I know you.”

You glanced at Astarion. He was staring at the spawn with a mixture of disgust and confusion. 

“You’re the one from the tavern. You smiled and joked and…got me drunk.”

Your stomach twisted. You looked between the two of them; Astarion’s confusion was melting away into horror, and the spawn stared at him with such bitter hatred that you knew he wasn’t wrong. He knew Astarion. 

“You— No. You’re dead,” Astarion insisted. Guilt crossed his face. A weight like lead sunk from your chest to your stomach. Astarion had talked, in fits and starts, about what Cazador had made him do, explaining why you remembered so few nights spent with him. Was it possible this spawn was one of his many conquests? One of the victims Cazador had forced him to bring back?

Had Cazador really kept them alive for this long? 

“You called me so many sweet things,” the spawn continued, his voice broken. “My name sounded like a lyric on your tongue.”

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. “Sebastian.” Gods above, it really was beautiful to hear him say it. And you, better than anyone, knew just how sweet Astarion could be.

“You remember me,” the spawn—Sebastian—whispered, amazed.

“You were handsome,” Astarion remembered. “Shy. You’d never been kissed.”

Sebastian was almost nodding. “You taught me how.” Your heart shattered in your chest. “And then you destroyed me.” The spawn screamed, lunging, his hand reaching through the bars to grab at Astarion. But he was just out of reach. In his despair, Sebastian fell to his knees.

“It can’t be,” Astarion whispered, his face falling. “He kept them. He kept them all. My conquests. He told us he was feeding on them, not that he was turning them!” His eyes scanned the locked up spawn. “I know so many of these faces. I don’t… Gods.”

“How long?” Sebastian demanded.

“What?” Astarion asked, startled.

“How long have I been down here?” Sebastian asked, getting back to his feet. 

Astarion looked at his feet, then back up at him. “One hundred and seventy years,” he said, his voice heavy. You released a slow breath, feeling the weight of every one of those years harshly, even if you remembered very little of them. “You were one of my first.”

“My family,” Sebastian whimpered. “My friends… They’re gone. You took them from me. You took everything from me!”

“We can help them, can’t we?” you asked, looking at Astarion. His lower lip trembled. “Can’t we?”

“Help? Help? There’s no helping us while that monster lives,” Sebastian spat. 

“That’s why we’re here—to destroy Cazador,” Astarion explained.

“You can’t. It’s not possible.” Sebastian’s eyes landed on you. “You tried it once. And look what came of it.”

Your skin crawled. “What? Astarion, what does he mean?”

Astarion wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Sebastian barked out a terrible laugh, roughened by years of intermittent screams and silence. “He hasn’t told you? Of course not. And you don’t remember. Most of us don’t. It’s like he breaks us, ruins us and our minds when he turns us, feeds on us.”

“Astarion!” Your voice was rising with alarm. “What the hells is he talking about?”

“We thought you might be the answer,” Sebastian whispered, his glowing red eyes fixed firmly on you now. “You were so strong. So brave. You faced him with a smile, even though you were crying. None of us were like that. We all screamed as we went to our graves. So we…hoped. It was a mistake to hope that you could change things.”

You took a step back, swallowing harshly. You were trembling. “Sebastian, please… We’ll free you from this nightmare. We just need to know where Cazador is so we can kill him.”

“Kill him?” he questioned, almost scoffing. “It’s not possible. You of all people should know that. You tried to run. And Cazador took you anyway. Because of him.”

His last growl was directed at Astarion. 

Your heart dropped to your feet. Every gnawing feeling you’d ever had that Astarion wasn’t being completely honest with you rushed back, hitting you so heavily it was hard to believe you’d ever ignored your doubts. You kept your eyes glued to Sebastian, not sure you wanted to see your lover’s face. “Astarion. What is he talking about?”

Please. You had no idea who you were praying to, but you knew you were. Please, let me be wrong. Let Sebastian be wrong. 

“Why do they know me, Astarion?” you asked. “Why do they remember me, when I don’t remember them?”

At last, you looked at him. His eyes were fixed on you, shining with tears, his guilt even more obvious than it had ever been. It felt as if your body was collapsing in on itself. A steady ringing built in your ears as he whispered your name, the first of his tears falling, and it was lost in Sebastian’s terrible, terrible laugh.

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Second Chances

Love Bites, Epilogue // Love Bites {Masterlist}

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

Summary: Home is a place and home is people. You have quite the large family now, and it's time to provide for them, however you may.

Word Count: 5,729 words

Warnings: 18+, slice of life, spawn ending, Astarion is reunited with his parents, wedding planning, Astarion experimenting with his boundaries, open-ended

18+ Warnings: consensual touching, consensual sex, utilizing Elvish anatomy, fingering, biting, handjob, taking it slow, check-ins, aftercare

Notes: Thank you to everyone who's read Love Bites! I will eventually be adding more to this universe in this future; if you have any requests (add-ons to this story or otherwise), DM me!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

It was an unusually busy night for the tavern. Between the patrons sitting at your bartop and the servers bustling back and forth between their tables and the bar with drink orders, you’d hardly had a moment to slow down and breathe—so it was a good thing you no longer needed to breathe. 

One of your patrons—a regular from before your time with a tadpole in your head—paid his dues and wished you a good night. You sent him off with a smile and a wave and cleared away his empty glass. You hardly had the time to wash the glass before someone cleared their throat behind you.

“I’ll be with you in just a second,” you started, not even looking over your shoulder.

Your visitor giggled. “Oh, bartender, give me a glass of your best red,” he drawled. You turned around with a smile and found your fiancé leaning on your bartop, a dopey, pretty smile on his face. 

“Wait your turn like the rest of these lovely people,” you teased, gesturing to your full bar. Regardless, you leaned over the bar and kissed him quickly.

Astarion chuckled. “Oooo, whatever would the owner say, seeing the bartender kissing her customers?”

You rolled your eyes. “Good thing I’m the owner, then, hmm?” 

Astarion grinned. “Oh, yes.”

“Did you just get back from the Underdark?” you asked, making another cocktail as you talked.

He nodded. “Yes. They’re all doing fine down there, darling, I promise. I’ll tell you all about it when we get home.”

“You haven’t been home yet?”

He caught and kissed the back of your hand. “No, I came straight here, I thought you could use the help on a busy night.”

You smiled at him. “Aren’t you sweet? Let me get back to work, love, and I’ll get back to you when it slows down, alright?” You kissed his cheek one last time and went back to the server trying to catch your attention—another vampire spawn with a table-full of drinks to make.

It had taken almost a year after the business with the Netherbrain, but you’d gotten here, with Astarion by your side. You had expected it to take longer to get to this point: a tavern owned and operated by vampires, keeping some of the seven thousand spawn Astarion had freed when he killed his master occupied and a place that welcomed them. Those who didn’t live and work at the tavern had made a place for themselves in the Underdark and visited frequently. 

Public reception hadn’t been great at first. You had just filled a business in a respectable part of town with dangerous creatures, you hadn’t expected Baldur’s Gate to be enthusiastic. But, by some miracle, it had worked. The spawn kept their hands—and their teeth—to themselves, drinking from wild animals and from the blood spared by the butcher shop just down the road. With help from you and Astarion, a community had formed around your little tavern, one that stretched all the way into the Underdark. 

For having seven thousand new “children,” you and Astarion were doing fairly good for yourselves. You’d even had the time to do some adventuring here and there when your companions called for your help. It had been some months since you’d picked up a weapon, but you were hoping this dry spell would be over quickly—you had Gale searching for a pair of Sunwalker rings rumored to be in Waterdeep, and the sooner you got Astarion back into the sunlight, the better. Dalyria was attempting to find or make a cure for vampirism, but she hadn’t found anything yet, so the rings were your best bet for the time being. 

As always, the hours passed quickly. Before you knew it, you were sending the last of the servers home well before sunup. You and Astarion closed up together and locked the door when you left. He slipped his hand into yours as you started walking home.

“The long way or the short way?” he asked.

“The short way,” you said. “I can’t wait to climb into bed.”

Astarion kissed your cheek. “Oh, I wholeheartedly agree, darling. I still can’t get over the joy of sleeping on an actual bed—and with you beside me.”

You snorted. “And not your stupid plank and bedroll?”

He rolled his eyes. “I was making due with what I had!”

You giggled and leaned into him. “I know, I know. We did pretty good for ourselves back then, didn’t we?”

Astarion looked at you fondly. “We did,” he said, kissing your temple. “We did.”

Home was just around the corner—the place Astarion had grown up and where so many of your best memories were. Now that he had gone back to living in those walls, his memory had been coming back in bits and pieces, little snippets of his life before Cazador turned him. Sometimes it was a relief, when a nostalgic little smile would cross his face and he would recite whatever he’d remembered as if in a daze. Other times you found yourself cradling him as he mourned what had been stolen from him. Recently, the happier moments were becoming more frequent.

Astarion unlocked the door for you and shouted over your shoulder, “We’re home, Ma!”

You giggled as you and Selwynn made eye contact as she put down her knife. “She’s right here, Asty, no need to shout.”

Selwynn came over as you pulled your coat off and hung it up. She kissed Astarion’s cheek, cupping his cheek to hold him closer, as if he might escape. However, since his return home, Astarion had never once tried to get out of her grasp quicker than she was ready for. More often than not, he lingered in the hope she’d keep holding her. “How were the spawn today, dear?”

“Oh, they’re doing fine,” Astarion promised. “The tavern’s helping them get a fresh start and they’ve got a nice little village set up in the Underdark. Some of them are even starting families. As it happens, spawn can get pregnant.”

Selwynn raised one elegant brow. “Well, then. I suppose your plans for the future from all those years ago aren’t completely off the table now, are they?”

Astarion laughed. “Slow down, Ma, let us get through the wedding first, alright?”

You smiled at them. “We’ll get there one day,” you promised. “I’m just happy to have him back for now.”

Astarion beamed at you, all fangs, and leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet, searing kiss—the kind of kiss you never would have let his parents see two centuries ago, but no longer cared to hide. 

When he broke the kiss, you were left dizzy and clinging to his arm or you were going to fall over, but Astarion asked easily, if it hadn’t happened, “Where’s Dad?”

“He went to bed early,” Selwynn explained. “Headache. He’s been getting them more often now that he’s stopped trancing regularly.”

You frowned. “If keeping our odd hours doesn’t work, he doesn’t have to. Neither of you have to become nocturnal until we find the Sunwalker rings.”

She gave you a sympathetic smile. “We know we don’t have to, dear, but we want to. We have your wedding to plan, you know. Oh, that reminds me! I made some adjustments to your veil. It’s finished now, if you want to take a look at it.”

“After we eat, absolutely,” you said. “What do we have today?”

“Boar’s blood,” Selwynn said. “I think it should work with my recipe. And I’ve got a few jars left if it doesn’t.”

Selwynn was yet another way you, Astarion, and the other spawn were making normal lives for yourself. Over the past year, she’d been experimenting with cooking and magic to find ways for vampires to eat solid food. A few of her recipes had been successful.

“Looking forward to it, Mama,” Astarion said. He kissed her cheek. Something came over him, clouding his eyes. He shook it off subtly and smiled at his mother. 

“What is it?” she asked. None of his moods escaped her.

“Nothing,” he promised. He kissed the top of her head. “Nothing. I just…I love you.”

Selwynn folded him into a hug he gladly fell into. “I love you, too, Star.”

~❊~

After dinner, the four of you retired to the sitting room. Your wedding dress waited for you on a mannequin, your veil draped over it, your shoes next to it. Astarion jokingly covered his eyes, claiming he didn’t want to see it until your wedding day, but put his hands down when you insisted on showing him the veil. As always, his eye caught on the two portraits of him on the mantle—one from all those years ago, his skin slightly pink and his eyes still honeyed, and another that his parents had commissioned when he returned with his features as they were now, with crimson eyes and features made sharper from blood loss. He was gorgeous in both and you never let on that you noticed him admiring himself; he deserved his likeness, after all this time.

Selwynn’s finished veil was the same one she had been working on two hundred years ago, carefully preserved for all that time. She had added some extra length to it since Astarion had returned with odes to your journey and your love. 

You held it gently in your hands, reverently looking over the delicate lace. “Selwynn, this is…this is beautiful! Thank you so much, I don’t…I don’t know what else to say. Gods, this is absolutely perfect…”

Astarion hooked his chin over your shoulder to look at the veil, resting his hands on your hips. “Oh, Ma, this is perfect! Wait, is that— Are those fangs?” He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, then gasped. “Is that me biting her?”

You giggled. “Oh, gods, it is!”

“You told my mom about me biting you because I was struggling to hunt?” Astarion whispered in your ear. “Darling…”

“I couldn’t resist,” you teased. “You were just so cute when you begged me to share my prey with you, only to find I’d eaten already so you had to feed from me.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Sometimes I think you live to embarrass me.”

“It’s a very special moment,” Selwynn reminded her son, lightly pinching his cheek. He made a sound of complaint but the smile on his face suggested he was more than happy to have his mother picking on him again. “It helped you bond together again.”

Thesan smiled into his goblet of wine. “They would have bonded even without the blood drinking, dear. I’m quite certain they always would.”

You leaned into Astarion’s arms, turning to kiss his cheek. “I have to agree with you there, Thesan. Two centuries and I still fell in love with him the second time as easily as I did the first.”

Astarion turned to you with a happy smile, almost purring as he pulled you into a deep kiss. “I love you, too,” he whispered to you, pressing his forehead to yours.

Thesan glanced at his wife. “Is it just me, or are they more touchy than they were before?” 

Selwynn’s smile was answer enough. She cleared her throat to get your attention. “Have you decided on the flowers you want yet?”

“White lilies,” you answered quickly. “There’ll be more, of course, but…the lilies are important.” You glanced at Astarion, remembering setting them on his grave, and he squeezed your hip. 

She pulled out a massive book of flowers. “Well, here—take a seat and we can find some other flowers to match.”

~❊~

You and Astarion spent the last few minutes of night on the rooftop, his arm around your shoulders, your eyes trained on the stars. His thumb rubbed your skin gently, a soothing sensation that was easily lulling you to sleep. But as soon as the sky began to lighten, both of your heads turned toward the horizon. You could feel Astarion’s longing for the sun radiating off of him. 

“Has Gale sent word yet?” Astarion asked. You could hear the barely restrained hope in his voice.

“Not yet,” you sighed. His answering huff made you reach up and squeeze his hand. “It’s alright, honey. It won’t be long now, I can feel it. We just have to be…patient.”

Astarion rubbed his temple. “I know, I know, we need to give him time to— Gods, darling, I hate taking the moral high ground, I’m getting tired of being patient, and I hate relying on—other people.”

You laid your head on his shoulder. “By ‘other people,’ do you mean specifically Gale?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe.”

You bumped your knee against his. “Be nice,” you chided, through your own small giggle as you fondly thought of the boys’ little rivalry. “He’s trying to help us out of the goodness of his heart.”

Astarion sighed dramatically. “Alright, alright—I’ll be civil, even though he has a massive crush on you.”

“He does not! Well, he did, but I’m quite certain he’s moved on, considering we invited him to our wedding.” You kissed his cheek twice in quick succession. “You’re not jealous of his unrequited love for me, are you?”

“Me? Jealous?” he scoffed, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Of course not!”

“Mmhmm,” you teased, not quite believing him. 

The two of you lapsed into comfortable silence, watching the sky become a pale lavender color. The coolness of the night began to warm by a few degrees at a time. Astarion stood and offered you his hand.

“Shall we turn in for the night, my darling?” he asked, though you could see the longing to be in the daylight on his face. You nodded and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

You stood and let him help you crawl back down the roof and wall. He dropped down onto the balcony and caught you in his arms. He held you close to his chest and kissed your forehead. 

“I think I’m quite enjoying this new strength of mine,” he purred.

You grinned at him. “Me too, remind me to keep you happy and fed so you can pick me up like I’m a feather.”

Astarion giggled and swooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style. He brought you over to the bed and gently laid you down on it, kissing you softly as he did.

“Practicing for our wedding day?” you joked, wriggling under the bedsheets and getting comfortable.

He chuckled. “Can’t I just enjoy being your knight in shining armor?” He pulled his shirt off and joined you under the blankets.

“Of course you can,” you said, pressing yourself into his side the moment he opened his arms to you for a cuddle. He hummed softly and wrapped the two of you in the blankets. “Comfortable?”

Astarion smiled against you. “Very. I’d quite forgotten what it felt like to sleep on an actual bed.”

You giggled and kissed him softly. You reached up to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone. You appreciated the beauty of his relaxed, happy face before you whispered, “I love you, Asty. I know I say it all the time, but…I’m glad to have you back.”

When he smiled, one of Astarion’s fangs peeked out over his lip. “I’m glad to be home in your arms.”

You hummed happily, leaning your head against his chest and let yourself relax against him, your hand sliding into his. Astarion kissed the top of your head and wrapped his arm around you, keeping you laying on top of him.

After what felt like a few minutes, though it could have been an hour with how little you were keeping track of the time, Astarion shifted against you. He brushed your hair behind your ear and hesitantly asked, “Darling… Are you…up for some fun, maybe?”

Drowsily, you shifted so you could look up at his face. “I could fool around for a little while. What are you thinking, Asty?”

“I…I think I want to go a little further tonight,” he said.

“How much further?”

“I want you to touch me again.”

You were waking up quickly now. “You feel ready for it?”

He nodded. “As long as we keep taking it slow, I’m ready for a little bit of touching,” he explained. “In…in baby steps.”

You smiled, kissing his jawline. “Of course, darling. What do you want to do?”

He bit his lip and met your eyes. “I think I want to…give you some attention, like we normally do—you can choose if you want to cum on my fingers or my face—and then…when I get aroused…instead of just letting it go down…” He looked away, looking a little like the embarrassed young man you’d first slept with. “We could take care of it instead?”

You grinned. “Oh, darling, of course! I’d love to take care of you, however you want.”

“Your hand,” Astarion said immediately. “I’d like to start simple.”

“And you can always stop me if you change your mind,” you reminded him, a statement that had been established between the two of you since the night Astarion asked to try being intimate with you again. 

For the past few months, you and Astarion had been treading carefully. After making love at his grave, he’d decided to slow down again, and you had respected that decision. A majority of your intimacy had been non-sexual, except for the times he sat you in his lap and reached between your legs. He’d been enjoying pleasuring you but hadn’t wanted to be touched himself, happy to take pleasure from your pleasure—until tonight.

Astarion brushed his lips over your knuckles. “Thank you, darling.” He put his hand on your hip, warm from feeding recently but burning hot from the need now coursing through your veins, even though the thin layer of your silk slip. He toyed with the hem. “May I?”

You nodded and he slipped his hand between your legs. He cupped your cunt through your panties, letting his finger slide along your slit as he pulled his hand back. He rubbed back and forth for a few minutes, pressing soft kisses to your lips as your breathing got heavier. 

Astarion hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and met your gaze. You nodded again and whispered, “Please…” He was quick to pull them down enough to get his hand against your pussy again. One finger slid between your folds, rubbing gently. 

“Already a little wet for me,” he murmured, kissing the tip of your ear. You shuddered. “Oh, did you like that, my love?” He did it again, this time lightly scraping his teeth over the shell of your ear and you whimpered softly.

Astarion brought his hand up from your slit, getting wetter by the second, and used one finger to start rubbing circles on your clit. Automatically, you bucked into his hand. Even though he’d been touching you like this for months now, it still felt new every time and sent shocks of electricity through your body. 

You let a small whine slip past your lips and Astarion beamed. “That’s it, sweet girl, let me hear you. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You brought a hand up to his shoulder, gripping him tightly, glad you were laying down and pressed against him or the subtle pressure he was adding to your clit was going to make your knees collapse beneath you. “Astarion,” you whimpered, kissing him rapidly. “Astarion, oh gods…”

He chuckled and soothed you with his free hand rubbing your back. He kissed you deeply and you moaned into his mouth.

“Are you ready for more?” he murmured, sliding his fingers down from your clit to your entrance before you could answer. He coated his fingers in the wetness he found there. He met your eyes as he rubbed your pussy. “Do you want my fingers inside you, darling?”

“Yes, please,” you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. He smiled at you, his eyes fond, and teased you a few times by sliding the tip of his finger in and then pulling it out without going any further. You whined pitifully, nipping gently at his jaw.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, laughing a little. “One or two?”

You nuzzled into his neck. “Start with one.”

Astarion pushed one finger into you with ease. He began pumping it in and out, curling up to graze your spongy walls, careful to hit your favorite spot every time. He had you moaning his name into his neck in no time, your entire body shaking against his. 

“You’re doing so good for me, love,” he murmured into your ear. “You’re so tight around my fingers… I love it when you moan like this, keep saying my name, darling. Can you take another finger, sweet girl?”

You nodded. “Yes, Asty! Please, oh gods…” You moaned deeply as he pulled his finger out, then pushed two back in. You clenched tightly around his fingers. “Gods, you feel so damn good!”

Astarion grinned. “Good girl, just feel good for me, alright? Tell me how it feels, tell me what you need.”

“A l-little faster,” you stammered out between your panting breaths. 

He pumped his fingers faster, so much faster that you knew his wrist would start hurting soon. But it did the trick—you threw your head back with a loud moan, fresh slick coating his fingers. You could already feel yourself getting close, but your orgasm seemed just a little out of your reach…

“T-touch my clit? Please?” you begged. “I’m almost there…”

Astarion kept his fingers moving inside you as he brought his thumb to your clit. He pressed down lightly and began rubbing in circles. He switched the direction he moved his thumb in every so often to catch you off guard, making your legs shake every time. 

“Can I suck on your tits?” he murmured, eyeing them where they were about to spill out of your slip anyway from the angle you lay in. 

“Yes, please!” you gasped, your walls fluttering and clenching. It wouldn’t be long now.

Astarion whispered his thanks in Elvish and yanked your neckline down. He covered both of your breasts in kisses, nicking your skin with his fangs every so often and licking up the beads of blood after. He made eye contact with you as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples and began to happily suck. His eyes fluttered shut and you put your hand in his hair, keeping his head at your breast, keeping the pressure light so he could pull away whenever he wished. He hummed happily and slowly his hips began grinding against your thigh.

His hardness filled you with unbelievable glee. You stuck your leg out further so he could get better friction. The movement opened you up more and Astarion’s fingers sank deeper into you. You wailed his name.

Astarion shut you up with a searing kiss, his lips swallowing your cries and grounding you to the reality of your bed. You moaned softly into the kiss.

“Not so loud,” he whispered when he pulled away. He looked at you with lidded eyes. “Keep up like that and you might just finish me without ever touching me.” You whined in protest and he giggled. “I thought you wouldn’t like that.”

“Can I touch you now?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Let me finish you first, darling. You’re so close, I know it. Cum for me and then you can touch me, okay?” You nodded. “Good girl. I’m gonna go a little faster to get you there, love, alright?”

You spread your legs further for him and he kissed your neck, sucking harshly. He curled his fingers deep inside you and rubbed your clit faster. Your legs began to shake, your upper body writhing. You whined until it became a sob. You felt the first waves begin to wash over you, your walls clenching rhythmically. 

“Cum for me,” Astarion demanded in your ear, his voice nearly a growl, and your body obeyed him before the order even processed in your brain. You nearly clamped your legs shut over his hand as your orgasm swept through you, the feeling like glass shattering throughout your body. You bit down on his neck, your teeth sinking in. You tasted his blood, sweet as honey wine on your tongue.

“Astarion!” you whined as you came down from your high, cuddling into his side. He pumped his fingers a few more times, helping you ride it out. He pulled his fingers out of you at the perfect time and sucked them clean, moaning as he did. You whimpered. 

Astarion wrapped his arms around you. “You’re alright,” he soothed, kissing your forehead. “You did good for me, darling. You did so well.”

You rested briefly against his chest, catching your breath. After a few moments, you wriggled against him. “Your turn?” 

“Rest for a minute,” he murmured. He kissed the top of your head.

“Do you still want this?” you asked, scratching his scalp.

Astarion brought one of your hands down to his crotch and gently placed your hand over his length. He gasped, his brows pinching together. “Oh, gods, yes, I want this,” he breathed, hips bucking into your hand. “Darling, you— You feel…”

You smiled at him, kissing his neck softly. “Oh, honey, I’ve barely touched you!”

He blushed. “I know… I’m not gonna last long when you really start touching me.”

“Speaking of… What do you want me to do?” you asked. “What do you think you’re comfortable with?”

He bucked his hips experimentally again. “Start with rubbing me over my pants. You can try squeezing me a little. I…I want to try a regular handjob.”

You started moving your hand over his bulge, reveling in the way he reacted with a sharp intake of breath and his hips desperately following your hand. You watched his face for the key signs that he was disassociating. But his eyelashes were simply fluttering in pleasure. 

“How’s that feel?” you asked, giving him a gentle squeeze. He moaned happily.

“Good,” he panted. “Really good, keep doing that.”

“Rubbing then squeezing?” you clarified. He nodded quickly. You continued the pace, rubbing his bulge until you felt him kick up beneath your hand, then squeezing his length as best as you could through his pants.

Astarion began wiggling underneath you, a flush spreading from his face down to his neck. You cooed at him.

“Do you want more, pretty boy? Does this feel good?”

The flush spread to his chest. “Take my pants off,” he pleaded. “I need to feel more of you.”

You raised an eyebrow, taking your hand off of him. You gently unlaced his pants and began sliding them down his legs. You took your panties completely off your legs at the same time, kicking them to the floor, for your own comfort. “Do you want your boxers on or off?”

Astarion panted, thinking about it. Then he nodded. “Off, I want them off. I want to feel your skin on mine.”

You nodded and kissed him softly. “Thank you for telling me. Keep telling me what you want, okay? If it’s too much, stop me.”

“I will,” he promised. 

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers. He did the same, ready to help you. “Lift your hips,” you told him. When he did, the two of you pushed his boxers off his waist. You pulled them down his legs, trying not to stare at his erection, and crawled back up to lay down next to him. You tucked yourself into his side again and looked up at his face.

“I’m okay,” he assured you, answering your question before you could even get it out. “Please touch me.”

You reached down, coated your hand in your own juices, and laid your hand over his hard cock. He took a steadying breath and nodded for you to continue. You wrapped your hand around him and slowly began stroking him. 

Astarion let out a loud moan, his hips stuttering into your hand. 

“Look who’s being loud now,” you teased. The flush reaching his chest deepened.

Slowly, as he got used to your rhythm, Astarion began fucking into your hand, rolling his hips at a leisurely pace you were careful to match. 

“Feel good?” you asked him, nuzzling against him. He nodded. “Words, please, honey.”

Astarion nodded again and rasped out, “Feels great, darling… Don’t stop, please, don’t stop what you’re doing.”

“Good boy,” you whispered and his cock twitched in your hand. You raised a brow but left that for a later discussion. 

You watched Astarion carefully, appreciating the way he reacted to your touch. A thin sheen of sweat coated his skin, created both through his writhing and the attempt to hold back his orgasm. His hips pistoned into your fist, his face blissful and his lashes fluttering rapidly, his legs shaking, his hands unable to keep still.

You took his hand in your free one and squeezed gently. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of your hand. You smiled warmly at him.

“Can—oh, gods, fuck!—can you go a little faster?” he asked, panting heavily. 

“Of course, honey,” you promised. You leaned down to kiss his neck, soothing your love bite with your tongue, as you pumped him faster, letting him whine against your lips. You glanced down, watching the pre-cum start to leak from his cock. “Gods, you’re a pretty sight when you feel good…”

Astarion whimpered and nestled into your neck. He bucked a little more ferociously into your hand, smiling into your skin. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, Astarion,” you murmured, kissing the top of his head. “Still feeling good?”

He nodded. “But…can you pay more attention to my head?”

You looked down at his pink, leaking tip. “Sure thing, honey.” You swiped your thumb over his tip, collecting his pre-cum and further slicking his cock with it. He whined, the muscles of his abdomen tightening. You brought your hand up to his head and focused on stimulating it. Astarion’s whines became incredibly high-pitched as he threw his head back.

“Darling, I’m— I’m close,” he gasped, hips losing their rhythm. 

You met his gaze and looked at him lovingly, using your free hand to brush his hair from his forehead. You kissed his forehead and his lips latched onto your neck. You felt his teeth sink in, giving you a love bite to match the one you’d sucked onto his neck. “Cum for me,” you whispered to him, echoing his earlier statement to you.

Just as it had been for you, the command was magic. Astarion moaned wantonly and fucked your hand desperately until his entire body curled inward as he came. Thick ropes of cum fell onto your hand. His orgasm racked his whole body and lasted far longer than you had expected. You stroked him gently, pumping him through it until he let out a little whimper of overstimulation.

You let him go and licked your hand clean just as he had. He stared at you with a little smile on his face. With your hand clean, you laid back down next to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked, gently rubbing your hand over his chest and stomach.

Astarion grinned at you. “That was… Gods. That was wonderful. I feel great!” He let out a little giggle, slightly astonished. “I feel like I’m floating.” He rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms. “Thank you for doing that.”

You kissed him gently, licking into his mouth and letting him deepen it. He dominated the kiss quickly and you let him take control. He made a small sound of surprise and you realized he could taste himself on your tongue. 

A string of spit connected your lips when he pulled away. The two of you giggled, the sexual tension in the room thinning immediately. You pulled him back down to you and cuddled into his chest. 

“Any time you want to be touched, I will do whatever you ask,” you promised. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“Let me clean you up, Asty,” you said. You pulled a washcloth from the nightstand—which had been prepared for this like it always had been two centuries ago—and gently wiped him clean. He took it from you and did the same to you, then pulled the covers back over you.

“Can we sleep naked?” he asked. “I want your skin tonight.”

You nodded. “I want yours, too,” you agreed. You snuggled into his side, resting your head against his chest. “This was amazing, Astarion.”

He hummed his agreement, kissing your nose. “Absolutely fantastic.”

“But this isn’t all you are to me, Asty,” you reminded him. “I know I say it every time we do anything sexual, but you could tell me right now you wanted it all to stop and I wouldn’t protest. I’d stay by your side. You are enough for me.”

Astarion hugged you tight. “You don’t have to worry about that, darling. You’ll get all of me again one day, I promise. I… I trust you with my body, more than I’ve ever trusted anyone with anything before.” He kissed you gingerly. 

You blinked back the joyful tears that had filled your eyes. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Astarion laced your fingers together. “I love you, too.” He met your gaze. “How did I get so lucky to find you again? To be marrying you again?”

“I think your dad’s right,” you said. “I think we’d find each other again in any universe.”

Astarion buried his face into your neck and mumbled something that sounded like, “Love you.”

You wrapped him up in your arms and whispered, “Love you, too.”

One after the other, you dropped into trance, your hands still laced together. The love bites you’d left each other slowly deepened in color throughout the night. Your memories were peaceful and mostly of Astarion. You had a long road ahead of you, but it was a road you’d walk together. With Astarion at your side, your worries faded away; things would turn out fine.

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Walking Corpses

Love Bites, Chapter 2 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

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

Summary: Astarion's night spent searching for prey is interrupted by an unwelcome feeling of familiarity. Your life is derailed by recognizing a long-dead friend.

Word Count: 4,413 words

Warnings: largely 18+, mature language, switching perspectives, flashback/now in the timeline a majority of the story takes place, alcohol, reader is a bartender, Astarion luring people, a victim of Astarion's, non-descriptive non/dub-con (Astarion luring), Astarion's trauma, you remember things, Astarion trying to make the best of his shitty situation, Astarion has memory struggles

Note: Please make note of the dub-con content warning! If you're here, I'm assuming you know Astarion's past, so you know what that entails. This chapter has that, including Astarion's thought process in choosing a victim and how he lures them into sleeping with him. As always, please be mindful of your own comfort level while reading and take care of yourselves, loves!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion drummed his fingers against the rough wood of the table he sat at, a hardly-touched glass of wine in front of him. He was stretched languidly across two seats and garnering plenty of attention for it—but most of his onlookers were below his standards. If Cazador was going to demand to be fed nightly, and for Astarion to fetch his meals with his body, the elf was at least going to choose people worthy of his person. 

He was, however, getting antsy. He’d already been in the tavern for too long. Several hours, at least, without moving much and dismissing anyone who looked at him for too long with his eyes when they didn’t suit his purposes.

Tonight was one of his “picky nights,” as he thought of them: nights when people he might normally go for to bring home to his master seemed…less, somehow. Astarion had always had standards for who he let touch his body, but on nights like this, the thought of anyone touching him (no matter how attractive, no matter how perfect) made his skin crawl even more than normal. 

But he was running out of time. This was the second tavern he’d visited tonight. Dawn was approaching quickly. He still had enough time to bed someone and bring them back, but only if he chose someone soon. 

It didn’t help that the longer he waited to choose his victim, the harder it got for him to, well, bite the bullet and just choose someone. He started to panic the closer to dawn it got while he remained alone, and it always stopped him from making a choice, despite—or perhaps because of—the building pressure and the growing fear of what Cazador would do to him if he came back empty-handed.

Why is it always me? The thought came to Astarion’s mind unbidden. Why is it always my victims he wants? My siblings bring back their own prey every night. Why does he need each of us to feed him?

Astarion shut out the anger. It never helped. He already knew the answers: Cazador was a glutton, Cazador taunted them with food they could never have, Cazador liked to feed in excess, Cazador lived in opulence and that opulence included the blood of his victims (that he never caught) everywhere. Or at least, these were the answers he and his siblings had speculated on, back before Cazador had turned them on each other. That was years ago—from the very beginning, when Astarion was new and there were just a few of them—

The memory fades into thin air. At this point, Astarion wasn’t sure if he was doing it to himself, forcing himself not to remember, or if two hundred years spent crushed under Cazador’s heel was wearing away at his memory. He wasn’t sure if he even cared to know the answer. 

Very suddenly, Astarion was aware of eyes on him—piercing and amazed. He made a show of leaning back in his seat, taking a long gulp from his wine goblet, and found his watcher. A young man, a human, little more than a boy compared to Astarion. He was tall, possibly taller than Astarion, and very lean, his body covered in tight brown leather. There was a broadsword at his side and a tall mug in front of him. He was surrounded by friends, all laughing and joking, but his gaze was fixed on Astarion. 

Gods, he was handsome. A little more rugged than the type Astarion usually lured in, but he couldn’t complain. Astarion hadn’t even acknowledged him and this boy was already in his web. 

Astarion let his eye linger on the young man, taking in his body and well-kept sandy hair before meeting deep brown eyes and smirking. A blush appeared on the man’s face, helped by the liquor in his veins. 

Astarion’s fingers itched. He took another sip of wine and licked his lips, watching the way the boy’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his head. The boy shifted in his seat and Astarion couldn’t contain his smirk; this one would be easy to drag away with the promise of hot kisses and a quick romp. And he was healthy, too, which would only please Cazador more.

But he paused. If the boy was as healthy as he smelled, and if he could really use that broadsword, he would be strong—much stronger than Astarion. If there were any faults of his own that Astarion was willing to acknowledge, it was that he was…fragile, to put it nicely. This man could easily overpower him if he realized what Astarion was doing. He could be dangerous.

And his current company—the friends he was with looked just as strong, just as deadly. If they were sober enough to keep tabs on their drunk friend, or even just enough to remember Astarion’s face the next morning, they could come after him.

He was an option, Astarion decided, but not quite what he was looking for. Still, he adjusted in his seat, gently eased his hips forward, and glanced at the boy out of the corner of his eye. Astarion was a master at this; he could easily keep the boy entertained while he looked for other contenders for the night. 

The tiefling standing at the bar was an option—she was tiny and lithe and looked out of place, almost nervous, but she looked like she promised a good fuck at the very least. She, too, was with friends, except her group paid little attention to her. They were beyond drunk and several of them were getting handsy with each other. But she was still sipping on the same glass she’d originally been handed by the bartender, who was a tiefling who looked very similar to her. Siblings, perhaps. It was never a safe bet to go after anyone who would be missed. Yet another option, but not a promise. 

The door to the tavern opened once more. Astarion looked toward it, hoping for easy prey to be walking in, and his eyes were blessed by perhaps the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen—although he was certainly biased, because it was another elf. And elves were always breathtaking to Astarion.

But you…you were exquisite anyway. Though he couldn’t put his finger on what about you made you such a darling, something about you set you apart from other elves. Even the ones he had charmed into his pants time and time again.

You seemed to glow with an innate, foreign happiness that felt, to Astarion, like an old friend he’d been blindsided by glimpsing in a crowded street. 

Astarion watched you switch places with the tiefling bartender behind the bar, exchanging a cheery “Hello!” loud enough to be heard over the din of the tavern. Your hair swished alongside your back, half of it down and half in braids, and when it fell across your face you gently blew it out of your eyes. Gods, you were like the heroine of a romance novel out of his mostly-forgotten past. 

Your tiefling coworker left, taking the nervous one Astarion had been eyeing with them. You waved them goodbye and turned your attention to the others sitting on the barstools, leaning over conspiratorially and offering them drinks and refills.

Astarion smirked. He knew a fellow performer when he saw one. You were doing everything you could for coin. You didn’t need makeup, but you’d done some, enough to highlight your eyes and your cheekbones. Your shirt was low and open just enough to expose some of your chest, but not all of it, keeping some of the mystery. You wore a corset to plump up your chest, and the way you moved helped you keep it in the view of your clients. Even your hair was styled to make you even more attractive than you naturally were. You might have been a different type of servicing performer, but you were one nonetheless.

Astarion’s gaze slid back to the young man. He had gone back to talking with his friends, but kept glancing over at Astarion. He caught the man’s eye and dropped one hand below his table, adjusting his pants in one of the most obvious ways he knew. He could feel the stretch of his pants against his cock and knew that its outline was visible. The young man’s eyes went wide and another deep, involuntary blush appeared on his cheeks. 

With his prey still invested in the possibility of a good night, Astarion turned his gaze back to you and was startled to find you looking in his direction, your face fixed in soft concentration. When you saw him looking, you offered him the kind smile of a bartender who knew her job was to listen to the woes of her patrons, and went back to mixing a sparkling pink cocktail. But Astarion’s eyes remained on you.

Somehow, you were familiar. The details of your face seemed natural, calming, someone he could trust. He felt a very sudden, very strong urge to go sit at your bar and talk. He wanted to put his head down and drink a glass of something you concocted for him and tell you everything while you nodded sympathetically with that soft smile of pure understanding on your face. 

You were the kind of person he avoided going after as victims, usually. It was people like you that he saw and tried and failed to seduce. It wasn’t just that you were a woman, either, though Astarion knew there were certainly times when he was rubbish at talking to women he found genuinely attractive. But it would be your kindness that made it that much harder to manipulate you.

Still…

Astarion considered it. Gods damn him, he considered sidling up to your bar, taking a seat, flirting with you, bedding you, bringing you back to Cazador. The thought of Cazador brought a sour taste to his mouth. Even if he was pleased with Astarion for bringing you back, Cazador would tease him endlessly about bringing back a pretty elf. “Have you brought me the one you wish for your wife, boy?” he might say, before he bit you and made Astarion listen to you scream. 

He barely kept back his shudder, trying to banish the thought from his mind. But the plan still formed. He knew exactly what he’d do and say. He’d start with a cheesy pickup line you’d probably heard a dozen times as a bartender, he’d ask you to make you a drink of your choice for him, he’d compliment the drink you made, regardless of how it tasted to his dead senses. Then, as he drank, he’d let his lips loosen. He’d tell you just enough truth to tug on your heartstrings and believe him. And as he talked to you about his sob story past, he’d talk to you with honeyed words and look at you with sad, sad eyes. 

And you’d be hooked. He’d make sure there was something about him that stood out from the usual sob stories that found themselves washed up at your bar. With any luck, he would be just the type of elf you found yourself mooning over, and, one way or another, one of you would end up on your back for the other. Honestly, Astarion wasn’t sure which sounded better. 

It was strange, he realized very suddenly, that a high elf such as yourself would be a bartender. It was a strange, monotonous job for creatures like you and him, with such long lifespans. Why did you do it? There had to be something in it for you. 

Astarion grimaced. There was yet another reason he should avoid you. If he was invested in you, asking questions about you, he could easily be dissuaded from taking you back to Cazador. In fact, he was quite certain—for no particular reason—that you could dissuade him from many things. Enough to end up locked in tight walls of stone once again.

No. Never again. He’d leave you alone, admire you from afar, and let you live your life. The boy would do for the night. 

Astarion made eye contact with the young man. The boy jumped and his eyes grew wide. Astarion smiled at him, swirling his wine in his glass, and let his tongue touch and caress the rim of the glass before he took a sip. The boy whimpered and shifted in his seat. Astarion spread his legs a little more, thrust his hips up a little, and then cocked his head to the side: a clear offer for the young man to take.

Me? the boy mouthed. Astarion nodded, confirming with a salaciously whispered, You.

He glanced at his friends and shot Astarion a look that could only mean “give me one moment.” Astarion tilted his head back and drained his glass while the boy took care of his companions. A moment later, a shadow loomed over Astarion. He glanced up from his empty glass to see the young man. 

Astarion grinned. “Hello, darling,” he said, voice smooth. He reveled in the way the young man blushed at just the sound of it. “Pleasure to see you.” He stood and found himself nearly eye-level with the young man. He was just slightly taller than Astarion, but not enough to give himself an advantage, should the night go terribly wrong. 

“Where do you want to go?” the young man breathed, clearly excited. How long is it since this man last got laid? Astarion wondered. But he knew it didn’t matter; this would be the boy’s last night alive. 

“Wherever we can,” Astarion answered. “Perhaps…your place?”

The man nodded eagerly. “I— Yes. I’d like that.”

Astarion let the man take his hand. “Lead the way,” he purred, giving the man a quick once-over. 

He was quick to drag Astarion out of the tavern. When the door closed behind them, Astarion caught sight of you watching, both eyebrows raised, before you shook your head and returned to polishing a glass. 

It was a short walk to the man’s house. Within seconds of the door closing behind them, after Astarion had made a show of teasing the boy into letting him in, Astarion found himself pressed against the door with a pair of warm, soft lips on his own. 

For a moment, he enjoyed it. The boy was clearly inexperienced and nervous—his kiss was incredibly light and he seemed hesitant to put his hands on Astarion. Perhaps it would be a bearable night. 

Astarion cupped the boy’s face to deepen the kiss. The whimper he let out was meek—and the complete opposite of the hand that slid to the front of Astarion’s pants. All hope that tonight would be gentle disappeared from Astarion’s mind as the man’s hand squeezed around Astarion. He hissed and forced himself to buck into the hand that held him.

You want rough? I can do rough.

Everything in Astarion’s body seemed to switch. The gentility he’d been hoping for became rough and harsh, and his body was preparing for it, even as his mind began to turn off. 

One thing led to another. It passed by in a blur in Astarion’s mind: tripping up the stairs, laughing as they fell onto a bed covered in animal furs, tearing off clothes and leaving them in heaps on the floor. It was only when Astarion was naked on his back that he briefly came to again, the man grunting and groaning above him.

“My name,” he was saying. “Say my name.”

Shit. I hate it when they tell me their names.

Astarion bit back a harsh laugh. “Sorry—didn’t catch it.” Hell, he wasn’t even sure what moniker he’d taken to calling the man. It could have been anything. Lover, darling, sweet, pet, there were so many sweet things he’d learned to use. Half the time, he had no idea what he’d even said to his victims while they used him.

The man leaned down and both their bodies shuddered as he hit a spot within Astarion’s body that made him cry out. “Rahul,” he whispered in Astarion’s ear. “My name is Rahul.”

Astarion draped his arm over his shoulders. “Alright,” he whispered. “Come on, Rahul. Give me more. I can take it.”

It was harder to get out of it after that. There was a name to put to this man’s face and now, without wanting to, Astarion was memorizing it. He was committing Rahul to memory, allowing him to become another face in a very long roster of people who came to torment him in his dreams. 

Somehow, Astarion forced his mind to shut off. The night passed in a blur, Rahul’s shout of ecstasy combining with his shout of pain as Cazador drained him dry when Astarion returned, several hours before dawn, with his prize. 

“Cutting it close, boy,” Cazador said, looking down at Astarion when Rahul had been drained enough to stop struggling. “But this one will do.”

Cazador dismissed Astarion and his siblings from the room with a flick of his fingers. They bowed themselves out and as the door closed behind them, Astarion watched Cazador sink his teeth back into Rahul’s neck. 

~❊~

Dawn was blooming on the horizon by the time you managed to kick out the last of your patrons. As you shut the door behind the last of them—a group of drunk, rowdy warriors—you took a long look at the lightening horizon. It looked almost like a bruise, blacks fading into blues and purples. 

The silence in the tavern was deafening. This was always your least favorite part of working in it: closing up in the morning, sweeping up the remnants of the night for an hour, feeling terribly alone all the while.

It was the bartender’s burden, you liked to think, to be everyone’s friend and the person who kept the loneliness at bay for everyone else. You listened to their lives and their problems, offered them a drink and sometimes advice, and waved them away with their hearts lighter and yours much heavier with their troubles. It was a bit like therapy—though possibly a tad unhealthier, given all the alcohol you plied your clients. 

But your mind was elsewhere tonight. Lingering in the back of your mind, behind the annoyance of cleaning up sticky, spilled liquor, behind Tani’s complaints about her husband’s lost job, behind Nanorian’s despair over his accidentally broken oath, was the pale elf you’d seen loitering in the shadows of your tavern.

Most people didn’t make that much of an impression on you. You had your regulars, that was for sure, but travelers came through all the time, each more wild than the last. This elf was hardly the most outlandish person you’d ever seen. In fact, he was probably one of the more subdued ones. But you remembered him—and everything he’d done throughout the night as you watched, your eyes drawn again and again to his figure—more clearly than the conversation you’d had with one of your regulars: Nethyis, a tiefling with whom you had the same conversation nearly every single night.

You knew him. Or you thought you did. If you didn’t so frequently imagine you saw the elf you’d grown to love in just thirty-nine short years (so much so that you’d seen him nearly every day of your life for two hundred years), you would have believed he’d suddenly come back from the dead. 

That had been your first thought the first time you’d seen him, several weeks after his death. It was just a glimpse—a flash of his white hair and the flutter of his magisterial robes—in a very crowded street. Your shout of “Astarion!” hadn’t reached him, but it had certainly made the crowd around you whisper their sympathies. He was there one minute, gone the next, just as it had happened the day two officials had told you he’d been killed. 

Absent-mindedly, you wandered over to the table the elf had been sitting at. You stared at it as if you expected your long-dead friend to materialize once more, tell you to sit down and have a drink with him, and launch into a tirade about his terrible day at work in the courts. Such nights had once been frequent—although never in a tavern, always in the house you shared. 

You had only noticed him when you’d arrived at work because he was staring at you first. You’d gotten very good at noticing when faces were turned toward the bar—though usually a hand was also raised to signify they wanted another drink—and had looked on pure instinct to see if he needed something from you.

The minute you locked eyes with him, you’d felt your heart fall straight through the floor beneath your feet. With his face turned toward you, so open and almost peaceful, it felt like looking into the face of the man you loved once again, a feeling you had missed these many, many years. 

It only lasted a second, that feeling of love. Where Astarion would have given you that dashing, cavalier smile you had grown so fond of as a child, this elf just stared as if he was trying to place you in his memory. You’d gotten ahold of yourself then, offering him the same bland smile you offered all your customers, and went back to work.

But just for a moment…you’d had your beloved back.

You practically fell into the chair across from the one he’d occupied just hours before, your knees giving out without warning. A strangled sob made its way out of your throat. And even though you were alone, you covered your mouth with a hand to stifle your cries. 

“Oh, gods,” you gasped when you finally had enough breath to do so. Your hot tears rolled down your cheeks and splattered against the table’s scorched and stabbed surface. You rested your head against it and imagined you felt Astarion’s gentle hand covering your own.

Two-hundred years of this. And you’d been doing so well! You still saw him every day, usually sitting and reading in a corner or smiling at you from a window while you worked or making snide comments about your clients, but you knew he was just in your head. You knew you were coping with losing him by envisioning he was still by your side. It didn’t impede your work; in fact, it comforted you, like his ghost was lingering to keep you safe. You’d stopped sobbing about losing him so suddenly. (Mostly. There were still days where your body ached from the heartbreak and your soul screamed with the pain. But those were few and far between now.)

Yet all it took was a single, handsome stranger who looked something like your Astarion, and you lost it.

Well, you had to give yourself some credit—at least you hadn’t burst into tears the moment you saw him from your bar, even though you had really wanted to. 

You took deep breaths until the sobs and shudders passed you by. You picked up the goblet he’d been drinking from and wiped down the table. Honestly, you should have done this the minute he’d left, but the people in the tavern had already been dwindling by that time, and you’d suspected something like this might happen when you walked over.

“I was due for a breakdown,” you mumbled to yourself. 

The elf had certainly looked like Astarion. He almost perfectly matched the memory you had of the sun elf you had known in his very, very short lifetime. A lithe figure, high cheekbones, deep smile lines from his years spent laughing, perfectly styled silver hair. You hadn’t gotten a good look at his eyes, but you’d already pictured them to be a honeyed yellow, perfectly golden when the sun hit them just right—just like Astarion’s eyes. 

You sighed and shook your head. How could you be so sure that the pale elf looked anything like Astarion? Maybe you’d seen the hair and close-enough facial features and had, in your mind’s eye, made him into your Astarion. It wouldn’t have been the first time it had happened.

Gods, you wouldn’t be going into an easy trance today. Even if you did, it wouldn’t be restful; you’d lay awake, cursed to picture Astarion every time you closed your eyes, and he would be the only memory you re-lived. 

You cleaned up the rest of the tavern only half-aware of what you were doing. You were lost in your head, feeling stuck both inside and outside of your body. 

The memories you had been trancing to save since he died crowded your thoughts: the two of you as children, chasing each other through crowded streets while both of your parents shouted for you to slow down; Astarion bandaging your hands after you’d burned them; staying up for hours to help him study for law school; drunkenly kissing each other at an elvish festival; sharing a bed on a trip you’d joined him on and cuddling through the night, talking through your complicated feelings for each other; screaming his name at his graduation; watching him get dressed for his first court case; going out to dinner together and holding hands across the table; Astarion drinking away his sorrows in your tavern after a particularly rough case; covering the little love bites you left on him before he left for work, both of you giggling as you did.

Tears spilled over the next time you blinked. You wiped them off your cheeks and closed up the tavern, extinguishing candles and lamps, locking the door behind you when you left. 

You walked in silence, veering off your path home to enter the cemetery. You found his grave with the ease of someone who had walked the path a thousand times. You’d probably walked it more than that, in fact.

It was heartbreakingly beautiful. You’d always thought that. His stone was simple but elegant, just as the man himself had been. You crouched before it and kissed his name, a tear somehow still escaping your closed eyes. You rubbed the top of the stone like you had once rubbed his back. 

“I miss you,” you whispered to the stone. “Rest easy, my love, for me. I’ll be with you one day.” You kissed the stone again, then pressed your forehead to it, as if you were pressing your forehead to his. “Sleep well, Astarion.”

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Little Love

Love Bites, Chapter 3 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

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

Summary: Appearances can be deceiving, but they can also tell you everything you need to know. A second look at the elf you once called a friend is all you need to fill in the two-hundred year gap.

Word Count: 4,631 words

Warnings: flashback within a flashback (your perspective), alcohol, Astarion's parents (I gave them my own names), grave desecration, grief

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion never went back to the same tavern twice. Not for many years, at least. But, against his better judgment, he went back to yours, three nights later.

He wasn’t sure what was drawing him back, not really. It wasn’t as if this particular tavern seemed very promising. Its patrons were, well, regular people. Nothing about them seemed particularly special. In fact, it was probably more dangerous to be going back so soon—for all Astarion knew, Rahul’s friends were still loitering there and would kill him the moment they saw the man Rahul had left the tavern with. The last man who ever saw Rahul alive. 

His other victims from the past two nights were inconsequential. They hadn’t insisted on telling him their names, the male druid and female elf who had each been a little more than an hour’s worth of his time combined. They had been easy targets, lonely people who were all too easy to seduce. He almost felt bad for them. But not as bad as he felt about Rahul. Both nights, Astarion had jolted out of his trances with a shout upon hearing Rahul’s screams in his dreams again. Both times, he’d been rewarded by Godey with a whipping. 

Even as he walked into the tavern, Astarion wasn’t sure what he was doing. It was only after the door had swung shut behind him, hitting a little bell as it did, and you looked over from the bar and raised a hand in greeting did he realize why he’d come back.

He locked eyes with you as he made his way toward a small table in the corner. He paused, watching you. There was something in your eyes that made the tension in his shoulders disappear. 

You’d done your hair differently today. It was braided back, a couple strands of it loose around your face, clearly having escaped during your work. Your beautiful face had morphed into an expression of surprise, like you were shocked to see him here again.

But there was something else in it—the slightest bit of repressed hope, an expression Astarion had seen all too often on the faces of his victims just before they died, when they still thought he might save them from his master. 

On your face, though, hope was comforting. You looked almost…relieved to see him. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Astarion turned toward the bar and sat directly in front of you. He heard your breath catch in your throat and your pulse speed up and for a moment he felt a twinge of regret. You, too, would make an easy target. 

You recovered quickly, however. You finished wiping down the bartop and dropped the rag into the sink. You leaned on the bartop. “What can I get you tonight, sir?”

“A glass of your finest red wine,” he says after a moment of thought. 

Something minute in your face changed. You blinked too fast and hid the look in your eyes, but for a moment the façade of a bartender serving a patron disappeared. It was only a second, but was enough for the gears in Astarion’s head to start turning.

You laughed with a smile on your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, hun. The ‘finest red wine’ changes from person to person. What kind of flavor are you going for?”

Hun. The moniker stood out in Astarion’s mind, dominating every other word you’d said. Hun, short for honey, and for some reason, he could hear the complete word in your voice: softer, gentler, loving. Not at all the way a bartender speaks to her patrons. 

Only after you raised your brow did Astarion remember you’d asked him a question. He shook himself out of his head. “Oh, something full-bodied,” he said. 

“Now that I can work with,” you said. You turned to search your shelves and Astarion watched you release a long breath very slowly. You wiped your palms on your pants before reaching up and sliding a bottle from its place. You presented the bottle to him. “How about this?”

Astarion studied the label and vintage. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of it,” he said, shrugging idly. “But if you think I’ll like it, I’m inclined to trust you.”

He watched you cut off the wax seal and uncork the bottle. You poured enough for a tasting into the glass and slid it across the bartop to him. 

“How does that taste?”

Astarion sniffed the wine before swallowing it down. Pleasantly, it didn’t taste like vinegar, like most wines he’d had the bad luck to drink in tavern after tavern. He could taste the alcohol and the grapes and the blackberry undertones easily, all melding together wonderfully.

“This,” he said, passing back the glass, “is absolutely what I am looking for.”

You grinned and filled up the glass. “I thought it might be.”

Astarion swirled his glass while you re-corked the bottle and set it in ice. He watched as you helped another patron sitting at the bar, a middle-aged woman complaining about her husband being out of work and asking if there was perhaps a job for him at the tavern.

You calmed her as you made her cocktail, talking soothingly and nodding in sympathy as she complained about trying to feed their infant. It was your sympathy that made Astarion feel pity for the woman. 

Something about you was achingly familiar. There were times when you spoke, certain words that you said, that struck a chord in him, simply because they sounded familiar. The way you moved behind the bar, so graceful in a space that was unbearably small, seemed comfortable to Astarion, as if he would be able to anticipate your movements and react accordingly if he were to join you behind the bar. 

It was almost painful, this feeling of familiarity and alienation combining in one person. It was like the nights when Astarion first realized he was forgetting his life before being a vampire where he would sit in the dark and grasp at straws for pieces of his life, only for his mother’s face to fade into nothingness and his father’s voice to be lost in the shadows forever and—

A twinge of pain split through Astarion. It was nothing compared to the pain Cazador or Godey regularly inflicted on him, but it was enough to make him flinch anyway. He rubbed his temple as if he could will the building migraine away.

Your eyes flicked over to him, watching the motion with concern, but it just confused Astarion further. You reacted to him so readily, so easily. If it hadn’t been for how innately close and familiar you felt, Astarion would simply have chalked it up to your attraction for him. It wasn’t unlike his prey to keep a close eye on him. But he hadn’t even picked you as his victim for the night, he hadn’t even attempted to seduce you yet. This was entirely of your own accord. 

You gave the woman her drink and pulled your braid over your shoulder as you helped the female tiefling Astarion had seen and considered taking back to Cazador the other day. Suddenly he was very glad he hadn’t; the disappearance of a regular might have been enough to force him out of this part of town for several months at least. 

Astarion glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the tavern. He didn’t see the group Rahul had been with anywhere; perhaps they had already moved on, without a care in the world for their lost friend or comrade or what have you.

Perhaps they thought Rahul had settled into a happy life with a nice young man and would be staying here to live out his days, enjoying nights of passion and drinks at a nice tavern and playing the protector of the pretty boy elf he’d left with. 

Astarion wasn’t sure if it was for his own sake or Rahul’s that he wished that such a fantasy was what they believed. 

As you gave the tiefling a glass of champagne, your eyes strayed back to Astarion. He caught your glance and grinned.

“Surprised to see me still sitting here?” he teased.

You shrugged. “You were here three days ago and vanished without a trace. Forgive me if I feel like you might blow away in the wind.”

“Sometimes it feels like I might.” The words slipped out without any thought behind them. For a moment, Astarion wondered what the hell was wrong with him to dare say such a thing, but your sympathetic smile soothed him.

The talent of a well-practiced bartender, he thought. Get your patrons to loosen up, ply them for more liquor, take home more money—all by smiling and charming and flirting. From one actor to another, I must hand it to her. She’s quite good at this kind of thing.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, propping your head up on your hand. The movement exposed more of your cleavage, but judging from the look in your eyes, Astarion guessed that wasn’t your purpose in the movement. You genuinely wanted him to open up.

Your gaze stopped him from speaking. Your eyes were clear and focused entirely on him. You weren’t like the other bartenders he’d chatted up in the past, with their shifting eyes betraying how they were never really focused on him but instead on their tavern and the other patrons they could squeeze more coin out of. 

And, what’s more, your lips formed a soft smile. Joy and love and the sun itself seemed to radiate from you and your expressive face. You looked at him the way a young woman ought to look at her betrothed, with the purity of young love, much more genuine than the pseudo-love and lust he so often saw in his victims. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Astarion whispered, unable to stop himself from asking. 

You realized yourself quite suddenly. Your face dropped and Astarion wanted to beg you to look at him like that again, to apologize and say he never wanted you to stop looking at him like that—he just wanted to know why? Why had you chosen him to be the object of your affections?

Your eyes dipped to the bartop, where his fingers still held the stem of his glass. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “You— You remind me of someone I know. Someone I miss.”

“A lover?” Astarion guessed, attempting to make it into a tease.

“More than that,” you said, your voice impossibly soft and serious. You fiddled with the strings on your corset. “He was my best friend.”

Astarion’s heart sank in his chest. “Was?”

You nodded slowly. “He died. A long, long time ago.” You shake yourself out of the sorrow that settled on you like a blanket. “You just so happen to look a lot like him. Hells, you even sound like him, just a little bit. I’m sorry if that made…this…strange. You just…sort of brought him back to me, for a moment.”

“Not at all,” Astarion said quietly. “I’m…happy to have brought you that.”

You nodded, lost in your thoughts, your eyes fixated on his. Your lower lip trembled. You sought words, but came up empty handed. All you said was, again, “You remind me of him.”

~❊~

It’s him. By the gods, it’s really him.

You kept busy for the rest of the night, watching Astarion out of the corner of your eye. For he was Astarion, you were certain of that now. Hearing his voice, smooth and suave and the same as you remembered had confirmed it for you. The moment he’d requested your finest red wine, you could hear him calling you darling, could hear your name rolling off his tongue. 

He didn’t remember you, that much was obvious. Some part of you was glad he didn’t, because you weren’t sure what you would have done if he had remembered who you were. You had to focus on that gladness, or else you were going to focus on the disappointment, which made you want to sit on the floor and cry like you had when you’d first received word that he was dead—the kind of crying that left you shaking and never seemed to stop and sounded more like screams than anything else. 

You were also quite certain he would not be flirting with the young elf sitting next to him if he remembered you, his best friend since birth and lover of nearly two decades. 

Perhaps even more obvious than his lack of memory was how he was alive—or rather, undead, for it was quite clear he was a vampire. He was careful to hide his fangs, but the red eyes were enough for you to know, combined with the paleness of his skin and the color of the skin around his eyes. It might have been two hundred years, but you knew your lover well-enough to know he had not been quite so pale in his life. 

The realization of what he was answered a question that had lingered in your mind for years, ever since you’d paid a visit to his desecrated grave. The city had explained the dug-up earth to be the vandalism of the gang that had first attacked and killed him and had assured you and the Ancunins that Astarion’s coffin had not been touched; his body remained inside.

Clearly, they had been wrong. 

You glanced at Astarion. The smug, seductive, confident look on his face was that of a practiced lover, nothing like the goofy and slightly shy boy you had made love to. You wondered what happened, but knew a lot could happen in the two hundred years between now and that terrible night. 

~❊~

The Ancunins walked hand-in-hand. You were just ahead of them, leading the way to their son’s grave, a plot you had chosen to keep their beautiful boy in the sun at high noon. It was far from high noon now; they had chosen to visit the grave in the night, certain they would be attacked by the Gur who had killed their boy if they were seen mourning. 

It was a beautiful night, the kind of night you and Astarion would have loved. He would have held your hand and helped you to climb up to the roof, and you would have sat there for hours, cuddling and talking and admiring the stars he’d been named after. He would have told you about his day at work and played with your bracelets and rings when talking about the difficult rulings he’d made that day made him anxious all over again. He would have wrapped his cloak around your shoulders when you got cold. He would have kissed your nose when you asked to go back to the safety of the bed you shared. He would have helped you climb down and would have put you to bed, only to go stand on the balcony to stare up at the sky for a few moments more. 

He loved the night, and this was the kind of night he would have wanted to have lasted forever: not so cold that you shivered instantly, but cold enough to have a chill bite in the air. Bats danced in the air and wisps of clouds moved across the moon and stars. Pale light illuminated the world in a hauntingly beautiful way. It seemed particularly cruel. 

His mother trembled terribly. Already, silver tear tracks stained her cheeks. You had never seen Selwynn so frail, so scared. Even when she’d found out her son had been murdered, she hadn’t been the skeleton she was now. No, then she had been a fire, screaming and raging and demanding answers until the tears started coming. Now she was a ghost, silent and pale, her veins stark against her skin. All the life and color had drained from her in the past few days. 

His father fared better, but not by much. Thesan’s eyes were sunken, his hair matted and limp, the whites of his eyes bloodshot, though he had not cried at all since he heard the news, unlike his wife. He hadn’t been resting, but then again, none of you had. More than once, your mother had stumbled across you in the night to find you in the kitchen, staring sightlessly into the dark, a glass of water held limply in your hand.

You were glad you hadn’t let them see the body. Looking at them now, you were certain it would have broken them to see their golden boy without life. It had been enough to break you; let them, at least, live out their long lives with their last memories of their son being of him alive and smiling and kissing them goodbye as he left for work. 

Somewhere in the graveyard, an owl called. Another answered. Mice squeaked and scattered nearby, scurrying for shelter amongst the fallen leaves and in the shadows of tall graves. 

“Where is he?” Astarion’s mother asked. Her voice was little more than a faint whisper, lost easily in the slightest breeze. Gone was the strong, operatic voice that had once sung her son to sleep when he was little. “Where’s my son?”

“Patience, darling,” Thesan said, sounding just as—if not more—tired as she. 

“He’s just ahead,” you promised. You looked forward to where you knew his grave to be. Through the grey dark, you read his name on the stone and it felt wrong, like it went against the grain of your life to see him like this—a stone instead of a young man. 

The three of you came to a rest before the headstone. You took a step back and let them crouch before their son. Silence fell heavily over them and the cemetery. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes; you looked down so they couldn’t see you cry. They’d seen enough of your tears. 

“Astarion,” Selwynn whispered, her voice wavering. She reached out to touch the stone, tracing her son’s name carved into it with care. For a moment, she seemed to be at peace, looking at his name. It didn’t last. In moments, she crumbled with a cry that was a cross between a sob and a scream. 

She keeled forward, grabbing the stone and pressing her forehead to it. She inhaled sharply and coughed on her own tears. When she finally cleared her throat, helped by her husband rubbing her back, her cries became wails that shook her entire body. The freshly turned dirt beneath her began to stain her pale grey dress. 

Thesan puts an arm around his wife’s back, comforting her the only way he could, and he put his palm on the top of the stone. He began murmuring in Elvish, too low for you to hear clearly, but you caught a few words and understood he was whispering for his son to find safety in the afterlife, until he was reborn. After a moment, his broad shoulders began to shake and your heart cracked in half as you realized he was crying for the first time. His tears interrupted his speech every so often.

You wiped your tears from your eyelashes and sat on the ground. You hugged your legs to your chest, biting your lip so hard you drew blood to keep yourself from crying again. 

His father looked up at the starry sky, a fist raised in anger. “He’s still a child!” he shouted. “A child! And he’s in the godsdamned ground!”

A sharp cry came from Astarion’s mother and she got to her feet so quickly she knocked her husband to the ground. She looked at you and you rose from where you sat.

“I can’t stay here,” she gasped through tears. “He’s beneath me. I can’t— He— He shouldn’t be… He should be in my arms! In your arms! But he’s beneath me!” 

She looked at the ground like she might start digging it up to see her little boy again. You took her hands in hers, holding her tightly. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to stay. You can go. It’s okay. He’ll understand. He knows, I promise you he knows,” you whispered. A tear rolled down your cheek. 

Selwynn squeezed her eyes shut. “I just want him to be okay…”

“He is okay,” you promised. “He is with the gods. They’ll send him back to us, one day, in a new body.”

Her lower lip trembled. “But he won’t be my son anymore.”

“There can always be more children,” Thesan started, speaking hesitantly.

“No!” she snapped, almost screamed, at him. She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. Calmer, she repeated, “No.”

He nodded. “I thought not.” He wrapped her in his arms and she cried into his chest. He opened his arm to you and you joined them in their hug. “You are still our daughter, even if you are not marrying our son. You are…the only family we have left.”

A small sob escaped you. Your body trembled as you looked up at him; you had always thought Astarion resembled his mother more, but now all you could see was the man Astarion would never get to be in his father’s face. “Thank you.”

He kissed his wife’s hair. “Come, darling. We should get home. You need to rest.”

You led them out of the cemetery. It was only after you were closing the gate leading into it that Selwynn stopped short, gasping loudly.

“Flowers! I— I forgot to put flowers on his grave,” she moaned, folding her hands above her heart. She glanced at the flowers outside the gate door. “I have to go back—”

“I’ll do it,” you said. “Get some rest. You need it. You deserve it, after all of this.”

“He deserves flowers from his mother,” she said weakly.

“In the morning,” Thesan said. “When all of this has died down, we can come back and pay him our respects.”

You shared a look of understanding with him; even if it took weeks, months, years for Baldur’s Gate to stop reeling from this crime and for the Gur to calm down from the ruling—which was being reversed later in the week, much to the relief of everyone else who the Gur had believed complicit in Astarion’s actions and who had feared for their own lives—the Ancunins would visit their son again to say farewell when they could finally do so in peace.

You watched them go. Several long, silent minutes passed, but you waited until they were out of your sight and you were alone before you bent to pick flowers for your lover. You chose them carefully, plucking only the most vibrant and tallest and fullest for him. Once you had a sizable bouquet of wildflowers in your hand, you headed back through the cemetery and search out Astarion’s headstone again. You found it easily, but your heart stopped beating when you saw it.

Something was wrong. You knew it instantly. The already chill air seemed to turn frigid as you looked at the plot. It was too dark, too big, spilling into the spaces next to it. It looked nothing like it did only minutes ago. 

An iron tang filled your nose, distinct and wrong and laced with something you could only describe as evil. 

You ran, dodging around headstones to get to the grave—to get to Astarion—as fast as possible.

I couldn’t protect him that night. I have to protect him now!

Mud squelched beneath your feet, smelling strongly of blood and death. You looked at it in horror; it was a mix of dirt and gravel and clay from deep in the earth, all of it soaked in blood. All of it in piles, coming from the center of Astarion’s grave. 

The smell was worse than the sight: chemicals of entombment, the body’s natural gasses, blood, vomit, sweat, urine. Something about it seemed alcoholic and heady, making you sway on your feet, though you knew that could easily just be from your disgust. 

But worst of all, his stone was splattered with the terrible mixture. 

Your stomach dropped to your feet and then rose to your throat. You cupped a hand over your mouth to keep back your bile. Tears streamed down your face.

A moment. You had been gone only a moment. And in that time, someone—or multiple someones—had come and desecrated your lover’s grave, as if killing him had been enough. 

You fell to your knees with a gut-wrenching scream. You bent in half, clutching the flowers to your chest, clenching your teeth tightly. You bit down on your hand to keep from screaming again.

Muffled sobs ripped themselves from your chest. “Astarion,” you gasped. ��Astarion, I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry! I— I— I’ll fix this! I promise! I’ll…I’ll speak to the town’s jury, I’ll get them to punish whoever did it— Gods, your grave. Your beautiful stone…”

Mindlessly, you put the flowers aside. You stepped around the muddy mess of chopped up dirt and pulled out your handkerchief. You cleaned the stone with it as best as you could, using your fingers and spit when the cloth was too dirty to do anything else but push the gunk around. 

“There,” you said when it was as clean as you could get it. “Clean. Clean like you.”

You looked at the turned grave dirt. “I have to fix this, too. Your parents—I can’t let them see you like this, can I? They’ll be devastated.” 

You got back on your knees and began shoving the dirt back over the grave, patting it back down and drenching your hands and arms with bloody dirt. As you worked, you spoke to him: “I’ll get this all sorted out in the morning, love, I promise. I’ll get you justice. I won’t stand for this, Astarion. I’ll talk to someone first thing tomorrow morning. They’ve already killed you, can’t they just leave you be? Is dying not enough for—for a simple ruling? Yes, I admit, it wasn’t the best decision you could have made, but there had to be a better solution than…than mugging you in a godsdamned alleyway and then desecrating your grave! At the very least, if they can’t respect you, can’t they have some respect for your parents? For me? Your mother doesn’t deserve this endless pain!” You sighed, leaning back and wiping your forehead. Some part of you, the rational part, was aware that you had streaked blood and dirt all over yourself, but the part of you working didn’t care very much. “Of course, I can’t make you too pretty yet, Astarion. I’m sorry, but no one will believe me if I fix you up perfectly. But I can at least make it look like you haven’t been graverobbed.”

You worked for several more minutes. At last, you staggered to your feet, a wave of exhaustion passing through you. 

“You know what?” you said to the headstone. “I’m not waiting until morning. I’m going to go talk to someone right now. I can’t let you stay like this all night. Not when your stars are shining down on you.” Dimly, you were aware that you looked like a graverobber and that you looked insane—but that would probably help your case. “I’ll be back soon, Astarion. I promise I won’t leave you alone like this.”

You began to walk away from his stone. Only a few paces away, you paused and turned around. You stared up at the sky and pointed up at it as if you could command it to watch over your dead lover while you were gone. 

Once more, you knelt to kiss his name. 

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Love Bleeds

Love Bites, Chapter 7 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

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

Summary: Fangs gleam in the shadows and a coffin lies open nearby. Vampire lords are nasty creatures; even a changed heart can do very little when there are claws around it.

Word Count: 2,835 words

Warnings: Cazador, power imbalance, Cazador's a creep, Astarion's forced family, trauma responses, beating, mention of sexual abuse & sexual assault, threats of sexual assault, biting, fighting back, vampiric hunger & other instincts, vampire bite, purposeful injuries, reader's death, Dalyria, implied torture

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

As usual, Cazador was waiting on his throne. 

Dread had curled in Astarion’s stomach again and tears waited to fall from his eyes, but he kept pulling you along, his fingers digging into your arm hard enough to make you whimper. You desperately pawed at his hand, but you couldn’t loosen his grip. Yet when he stopped before Cazador’s throne, his head down and his eyes fixed firmly on his feet, you knew to stop thrashing. You stood still beside him, trembling slightly in his grip. 

“Cutting it close, boy,” Cazador snapped. His voice slid down Astarion’s spine, his anger all too audible. A tear slipped down Astarion’s cheek and fell to the floor. “Yet look what you’ve brought me tonight…”

Moving stiffly, Astarion shoved your forward. You yelped and fell to your knees. The shape of his fingers remained imprinted on your skin. You looked back at him, your pain and heartbreak on your face—and yet also determination. 

She’s scared, the most scared she’s ever been, and she’s still trying to stay strong for me so I won’t break. She doesn’t deserve this. I should be on my knees in her place.

But it was too late for that. Cazador was standing with his staff in hand, making his way over to inspect his new prize. Astarion felt his siblings’ presence the moment they entered the throne room, forming a line in front of the door. Did they expect him to try and fight this time?

“You’ve brought me your lover,” Cazador purred, grinning wickedly. “Your one true love, your fiancée, I see.”

Astarion’s head snapped up immediately, horror on his face. If Cazador knew who you were, his internal pain would not go unnoticed—or unpunished. Astarion began to tremble.

“Yes, boy. I know who she is. I knew everything about you the moment I decided you would be mine,” Cazador taunted. “Your little wife. I never saw her for myself, but I’d heard rumors she was pretty. I can see why you liked her.”

You looked up at Cazador with narrowed eyes, two hundred years of rage on your face. “You staged it. You staged Astarion’s murder!”

If Astarion’s heart had still been beating, it would have stopped then. All these years, Cazador had told him he’d simply walked across his dying body, left brutalized by the Gur he’d angered with his ruling. But it hadn’t been anything like that—Astarion’s vampirism had been intentional. 

His master snickered. “Oh, child, of course I did! I took your lover from your arms and brought him into mine. A handsome thing like him, I couldn’t help myself.” He sneered at the pain in your eyes. “If I had known more about you, I would have taken you then, too…”

A shudder passed through your body. “You’re disgusting,” you spat, your voice full of a venom Astarion was sure he had never heard before, not even two hundred years earlier. 

Cazador tutted. “You’ll change your tone soon enough, little one.” He put two fingers under your chin and tilted your head up. You threw yourself back, protesting his touch with a grunt. Glowing red chains encircled you instantly and brought you onto your knees, your arms restrained behind you. You thrashed against them but could do nothing as Cazador repeated the motion, the chains tightening around you, and gripped your head in his hand.

Astarion didn’t dare move or speak as he inspected you. Your eyes flicked between Cazador and Astarion, your desperation clear. Astarion shook his head subtly.

“He won’t help you,” Cazador said, noticing immediately. “He obeys me. Do not convince yourself that he is yours anymore; he has been mine these past two centuries and will be mine for another two!”

Yet Astarion caught your eye. I can’t help, he mouthed. Thrall.

You understood immediately and hissed to his master, “Not by choice.”

Cazador smirked. “Control is control, one way or another. You’ll understand his loyalty soon enough.”

Astarion heard a quiet murmur of surprise from his siblings. Cazador glanced at them, then at him, and then back down at you.

“You won’t be food,” he said to you. “You will join your lover and his siblings in eternal undeath. You will feel his two hundred years of turmoil and then some. You will join them in belonging to me forever.”

The malice in his voice made you shiver. Astarion admired your courage as you looked Cazador dead in the eye and spat in his face, even as his body tensed in preparation for the punishment his master would dole out for your actions. Cazador reared back and gasps filled the room. Into the deadly silence that fell, as Cazador wiped your spit from his face, you said, “I think I’d rather be food, if it’s all the same to you.”

To Astarion’s surprise, Cazador didn’t backhand you; instead, he began to laugh. It was a shrill, mocking sound that made him and the six other spawn cringe. The longer it went on, the more worried you became. You glanced at Astarion, who met your confused gaze with a look of terror. Slowly, your confusion became a matching fear. 

“You have a fire in you!” Cazador said when he could finally speak through his laughter. “Such rebellion in your blood. It shall taste divine. And it is all the more reason to keep you for my personal…entertainment.” The darkness in his voice made Astarion shudder; yet some small part of him felt a kernel of relief. Was this the end of his own torment? Was it a reprieve at the very least?

Astarion felt Cazador’s eyes on him and looked up. There was disappointment in his face. Astarion shrank back, curling into himself, whispering, “Master, please…”

“Don’t look so excited, boy,” he spat. “I’m not done with you yet. You and your bride will make a lovely couple during nights of debauchery.”

“No,” Astarion croaked before he could stop himself, his tone pleading. “Please, not her. Don’t do this to her. She doesn’t… This isn’t… Please, Master, don’t hurt her! Do whatever you want to me but not to her, please!”

Cazador sneered. “A single night with her and you think you can argue with me? You think to make bargains? Two hundred years of teaching, erased in a single night! All you are is the sniveling fool I watched crawl from his coffin, mewling and pleading and crying, begging for your little wife to save you!”

He raised his hand as if to strike Astarion and he whimpered, dropping to his knees immediately, curling up on himself. He shivered where he sat, waiting for the strike. But it didn’t come. Astarion looked up despite the small voice telling him not to, searching for the cause of his master’s mercy.

Thwack! Thwack!

The staff smacked into Astarion’s head twice. His vision blurred and he cried out, keeling back over. He had just barely shaken the pain from his skull when the staff slammed down on his back. The force of the hit sent him sprawling to the floor. 

You let out a strangled cry, straining against the magical chains to reach Astarion. When your efforts proved futile, you turned your face back to Cazador, your fury burning in your gaze. 

“Don’t touch him,” you spat. “He hasn’t done anything—”

The staff slammed into your ribcage and you wheezed as the air was knocked from your lungs. Astarion whimpered softly. 

“Insolent girl,” Cazador said, perfectly composed. “Trying to protect him is foolish.”

You panted heavily as you regained your breath. You gathered yourself enough to look back up at him. “Beat me all you wish, but leave him alone. He brought me to you. He brought you what you wanted so just let him be!”

“A logical one, aren’t you?” Cazador yanked you to your feet. You stared him down, lifting your chin defiantly. “I’ll whip that out of you.” His gaze slid to Astarion. “Or should I fuck it out of her like I fucked it out of you?”

Astarion whined, curling in on himself. Despite his hints at how far Cazador had taken using his body, he hadn’t exactly told you what happened. Shame settled in his gut and he was terrified to meet your eyes as you whispered his name.

“He didn’t tell you?” Cazador asked, his voice nearly a coo. He was obviously enjoying Astarion’s mortification—just as he always did after the deed was done.

“Astarion,” you whispered again.

When he chanced a look in your direction, he found you looking at him with sympathy in your gaze as you completely ignored Cazador’s finger stroking your cheek. Astarion shuddered, knowing that cold touch all too well. 

“It’s not your fault, Asty,” you whispered. “None of what this monster did to you is your fault.”

Cazador ignored the insult for the time being, electing instead to laugh. “Asty,” he repeated through his high-pitched giggles. He glanced at the other spawn. “They have pet names for each other!”

You snarled, turning your gaze back to the vampire still holding you close to his body. “You, on the other hand… You can go to hell.” Without warning, you lunged, throwing yourself at him. The movement caught Cazador by surprise; he stumbled backward and fell hard onto the marble floor. You had no use of your hands or feet, but your mouth was weapon enough; you bit Cazador’s neck hard enough to draw blood, ripping the skin above his jugular open. 

Cazador yelled in pain and threw you off. A chunk of his flesh came with you and you spat it on the ground, his blood dripping from your mouth. 

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, both panting on the floor. Cazador groaned, a hand attempting to cover the sizable wound you’d left in his neck.

You glared at him. “I know I don’t have your refined vampiric palate, but your blood tastes disgusting. I pity the vampire who sired you.”

The smell of blood filled the air. It was tart and old, older than Astarion had ever imagined, but it was heady. His ever-present hunger tightened in his gut and pulled a whine from his chest. Behind him, his siblings all inched forward, spreading out into something of a hunting formation.

Through the fog of his hunger and the pain pulsing in his body, a few coherent thoughts formed. Was this her plan all along? Spilling Cazador’s blood to send the rest of us into a frenzy so we’d rip him apart with our teeth? Does she mean to free us all? Something akin to hope filled his abdomen.

Cazador recovered far too quickly for Astarion’s liking. He snarled at you as blood oozed from the wound and poured down his pale skin. “This is the game you’ve chosen to play? Practicing for the rest of eternity, eh?” His grin was wicked and every vain hope stirring in Astarion’s heart was dashed. “See how you like this!” He lunged for you, moving too quickly for you to get to your feet. It took only a second for him to have you pinned beneath him.

“No!” Astarion yelled, but his shout was very nearly drowned out by your scream of pain; Cazador had sunk his teeth into your neck.

You twitched and thrashed beneath him, desperately trying to throw him off. The scent of your blood joined Cazador’s in the air. You were sweeter, lively, and Astarion could still smell the arousal and the sex in your blood—a scent so distinctly him even though it was your scent. He glanced away from you for just a moment to see the other vampires hesitate despite their bloodlust. They could smell him, too, they could smell the permanent mark he had left on you. Even the impulse to obey Cazador faltered against vampiric instincts—never take what belonged to another vampire. 

Possessiveness curled through Astarion, nestling deep in his gut. You were his, the first thing that was his in two centuries, the woman who had always been his. And Cazador dared to take you from him? Yet still, Astarion remained frozen where he knelt on the floor.

Your scream rose in pitch before dropping off completely. The sound became pitiful whimpers, pained cries, and gentle pleas for help. No one dared move to help you and Cazador was too lost in your blood to hear you.

Astarion took advantage of Cazador’s distractedness to drag himself to his feet and stumble closer to you, his body still shaking with either terror or rage, he couldn’t tell anymore. You watched him through dazed, glassy eyes. You were getting terribly pale. Despite himself, Astarion began to salivate as he neared you, the scent of your blood nearly overpowering his desire to escape.

You met his eyes and whispered, with the last of your strength, “Astarion, please…”

Every ounce of self-restraint snapped. Two hundred years of conditioning drained away. Mustering strength he hadn’t felt in years, Astarion wrenched Cazador away from you. You cried out as his fangs tore your neck but Astarion didn’t slow down to check and see if you were alright. He grabbed your hand and hauled you to your feet while Cazador was distracted. Before his siblings could react, Astarion whispered to you, “Don’t stop running.”

He took off like a shot, pulling you along with him. You followed dutifully, but your blood loss slowed you down. As the pair of you ran through the doors and past servants that were thankfully human and too shocked to react, Astarion realized you’d never make it to the door in time. He wouldn’t either, unless he left you here and escaped alone. 

Leave her. Hide in the shadows until you can come back and steal her away tomorrow night when she has her strength back. Astarion glanced back at you, already hating the idea. No. She’d never leave me. I can’t leave her. I’ll carry her.

 Astarion stopped running. Confusion danced across your dazed face until he scooped you up in his arms. Moving sluggishly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him. The smell of your blood was stronger now and Astarion groaned in need, but he forced himself to keep running. 

Despite the adrenaline coursing through his body, pushing him onward, Astarion knew he was slowing down. He’d been starved for too long to keep up a fast enough pace to outrun Cazador, who fed until he burst every night, and now he carried your precious body in his arms. 

A sense of doom fell on Astarion’s shoulders as a clawed hand dug into his shoulder. His legs were kicked out from underneath him. He moaned, falling to his knees. You fell from his grasp, your prone body spilling onto the floor like you were made only of liquid. The door was just feet away from you, but you were unmoving, aside from the shakes induced by your blood loss. Astarion thought two words as soon as his master spoke them.

“It’s over,” Cazador hissed in his ear. He shoved Astarion to the ground and stared down at him. Astarion had never hated that beady red stare more. “Just so you don’t get any ideas…” Cazador stepped on Astarion’s calf and he whined as he added more and more pressure until— 

Astarion screamed as the bones snapped. 

Satisfied that Astarion was immobile, Cazador scooped you up. He latched onto your neck once more and drank deeply. You wriggled, fighting until your last breath, when your body went limp in his arms, your skin pale. Astarion heard the death rattle escape your lips and whined pitifully.

Cazador tutted at him. “Patience, boy. She’ll be with you again come tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, reverently, the vampire master carried you away, down a set of dark stairs the spawn were never permitted to use. Getting down the stairs with a broken leg would be a trial, but Astarion’s fear of the pain diminished the farther away from him Cazador took you. When he was certain his master would not hear or see, Astarion began dragging himself across the floor. 

He was healing quickly due to his vampirism, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Every movement coaxed a whimper out of his lips.

A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. Astarion looked up and found Dalyria standing next to him, her face half-obscured by her hair. Nevertheless, he could see the disappointment on her face.

“Dal,” he rasped, desperate and tired. “Help me get to her.”

“I’d hoped she would escape, too,” she said, her voice hollow. “But it’s too late for her now. Come on, Astarion. There’s nothing you can do. She is his.”

Those last three words broke the dam in his chest. He propped himself up, leaning as much as he dared on Dalyria’s leg, and let himself sob. She put her hand on his head, the only comfort she could provide.

Deep within the palace’s dungeon, you began to scream.

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Little Star, Little Sun

Love Bites, Chapter 5 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

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

Summary: A long-awaited reunion that doesn't go quite as planned can lead to many things, especially when two manipulators both lay their traps for one another. Though is it really a trap when all you want to do is spare your lover from yet another night of torment?

Word Count: 5,068 words

Warnings: back to main timeline, angst, insecure Astarion, alcohol, switching between your perspective and Astarion's, Astarion opens up/trauma dumps, you're protective of Astarion, sex workers, direct & indirect mention of rape and sexual abuse, reunion, self-sacrifice

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

As soon as the door to the tavern opened the following night, a few hours into the night, somehow you knew it was Astarion before you even saw his head of silver hair. You were relieved that you didn’t have to wait a few days to see him again, but your relief shriveled up the moment you realized he was wearing the same doublet as last night. It was still slightly dirty and more than a little rumpled.

You waved him over to the bar before he could spot an empty table. Something akin to relief crossed his face and he came over.

“Someone’s eager to see me,” he teased as he took a seat on one of the bar stools.

You shrugged. “Just glad you’re not being a stranger,” you said. “That’s no life for an elf such as yourself.”

His eyes flashed. “I suppose not,” he said, almost too quietly. 

“Same as yesterday?” you asked, already reaching for the bottle you had put in ice in the hopes that he would come back today.

Astarion nodded. “What the hells, why not?”

You grinned and poured him a glass. You pushed it to him and watched him sip daintily. He turned slightly, passing his gaze over the filling tavern, and you caught a glimpse of his fangs through the glass. Even though you’d been expecting them, it still made your stomach turn. 

A vampire. Your beloved was a vampire and had been these past two hundred years. It hadn’t been the Gur who had desecrated his grave; it had been himself, hadn’t it? Him and the bastard that turned him, whoever it was. 

Was it painful? you wanted to ask. Did it hurt to claw your way out? Did you come up out of the ground and know I had been there only seconds before? Did you want me to be there still?

But you kept your mouth shut. Astarion hadn’t let on that he knew who you were, so you figured he probably didn’t remember you, as painful as that realization had been last night. Two hundred years and he was all you thought of every day and yet—

“Was she fun last night?” you asked, then cursed yourself. You weren’t sure you even wanted to know the answer to that question, so why were you asking?

Astarion flinched and turned back to you, shocked out of a reverie. “Hmm?”

“The elf you left with last night.” You wiped down your already clean bartop, reluctant to make eye contact with him. “Did you have fun?”

He pursed his lips in thought. The action was so familiar for a moment you were certain you had asked him to explain a new law he’d passed that he was finding difficult to put into common tongue instead of magistrate jargon. “Yes, I suppose she was,” he said after a long moment. A teasing grin slipped onto his face. “Jealous?”

“No,” you said, though you knew you were lying through your teeth; you would have given anything to be with him again. 

The smirk on his face suggested he didn’t quite believe you. You kept yourself from looking too long at that smirk and admitting everything you felt by refilling his glass. He thanked you quietly.

“She’s not here tonight,” you mused, looking out across the tavern and spotting her nowhere.

He tensed. “Should she be?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d never seen her before last night. I never caught her name.” You glanced up at him and he looked away quickly. It was your turn to smirk. “I take it you didn’t, either?”

If he weren’t undead, you figured he would be blushing. “I had other things on my mind,” he muttered into his wine glass. 

You giggled. “Of course you did.”

“But why don’t you know?” he asked. “I thought bartenders usually kept that information stored away in case customers come back?”

“I don’t press for information people don’t willingly give me,” you explained. “She didn’t give me her name, so I didn’t ask. Besides, she had the look of someone who was just passing through.”

Astarion raised one delicate brow. “You don’t press?” he scoffed. 

You gave him the same look. “I haven’t asked you anything personal yet, have I?” 

He sighed. “I supposed not.”

Biting back a smile, you leaned on your bar. “You almost sound disappointed that I haven’t asked anything.”

He shrugged idly. “Well…you haven’t even asked me my name,” he said and put a dramatic hand to his chest. “I’m hurt, darling.”

Darling. The nickname shot through you like an arrow or a hefty dosage of poison. You hadn’t heard that name from his lips in two hundred years, and the first time you heard it again, it was being used as a moniker for who he thought was a random bartender. How many other men and women had he called darling since he crawled out of his coffin?

You recovered as quickly as you could and he didn’t seem to notice. “Like I said, I don’t ask. Some people wish to remain anonymous until they become regulars—which, I might add, you seem to be doing.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a regular at every tavern I come across. I move between them all looking for the best wine there is and moving on when I grow tired of it.”

You hummed. “Ah, I see. You’re an alcoholic rather than a…a people-person, shall I say?” And yet you weren’t surprised. The Astarion of your memories had also had a taste for quality (and expensive) wines, including the vintage you had just poured into his glass. 

“It’s easy to get along with wine,” he said quietly and you weren’t sure if he intended for you to hear it. You decided not to comment on it and went back to cleaning up your bartop, taking two glasses that had been left by patrons earlier in the night and washing them. You counted the coins they left for their tab and smiled at the hefty tip they’d left you. 

You felt Astarion’s eyes on you as you dried the glasses and put them back on the shelf behind you. 

“Astarion,” he said and you almost didn’t catch it.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, turning back around. 

“My name’s Astarion,” he said.

Your chest felt suddenly very tight. You looked at him and for a moment he was alive in front of you, his skin flush with blood and life, his eyes honey colored. You blinked and the memory was gone. “Little star,” you translated. 

Astarion looked away, suddenly very shy. “Yes,” he admitted softly.

“It suits you,” you said. 

He looked up. “Does it?”

You nodded. “Silver hair like that, sharp cheekbones, nice jawline, pale skin… Yes. Yes, you are quite the star.” As you spoke, you leaned forward, propping your head up with one arm. The two of you locked eyes and there was something akin to desperation in his.

His eyelashes fluttered the way they once had when you flustered him. He cast his gaze down slightly, murmuring a soft, “Thank you.”

Tightness grew in your chest. Of course he’d changed, you had anticipated that; but for some reason, seeing the man you had complimented grow quiet and embarrassed under lesser praise instead of grinning and preening, seeking more like the Astarion you had been engaged to, hurt more than the fact that he didn’t remember you.

You let him sit with it for a few more moments before you teased, “You don’t get complimented much, do you?”

His charming smile and snark—a mask, you were sure of it—came back quickly. “Oh, every day, darling. But, ah… Rarely before I’ve taken my clothes off.”

Your heart sank. Some part of you wanted to be hurt that the love of your life had broken his vow of loyalty to you, but you saw the look in his eyes that he was trying to hide and knew it hadn’t been of his own accord—at least not entirely. 

So you refilled his glass and said, “Seems a shame. You strike me as the kind of man who deserves better than that.” You emptied the bottle and set it down, turning back to the wine rack behind you. You pulled a second bottle out and found Astarion gazing at you when you turned back around.

His expression was one you had seen plenty of times before, gazing lovingly at you before he left for work or when he watched you dress in the morning from the comfort of your shared bed. Pure, loving admiration—and this time it seemed almost instinctual, for he seemed puzzled when he realized what his face was doing when you mimicked the look.

Astarion lifted his glass to his lips and drank deeply before he said, “You know, you’re oddly, painfully familiar.” 

You raised a brow. “Really?”

“Like…like a face out of a dream,” he said. “Like I knew you once, but I just…can’t place you. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Not really, I get that a lot,” you said, brushing it off on instinct. “Though I must admit, you do strike me as the kind of person I’d want to know.”

He grinned, sitting up straighter in his stool. “Oh, really? Do you say this to all the devilishly handsome elves that sit at your bar, or just to me?”

“Just you,” you admitted, though it sounded more like a promise. “It’s been… Well, it’s been a few centuries since I really had interest in anyone. Not since…” You.

“Ahhh.” Astarion nodded sagely. “Your lover. Your…friend. Your best friend.”

You nodded. “Yes,” you said quietly. 

“What was his name?” he asked.

Shit. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t think of a name other than his fast enough. His name formed on your lips for a moment and you stopped yourself quickly. “It doesn’t matter.” Astarion raised his brows in a way you could only describe as judgemental. You sighed and backtracked. “It’s not that he doesn’t matter. He does. He’s all I think about, every day. Hells, I even see him out of the corner of my eye when I shouldn’t because he— He’s been gone for years. But…right now…my problems aren’t the ones that matter. Yours do.” 

Astarion scoffed and made to get out of the stool. Panicking, you grabbed his arm. He froze and looked at your hand on his wrist. You softened your touch.

“Please, don’t leave,” you said, your voice trembling a little. You had just gotten him back; you’d be damned if you were going to let him slink off so soon. “I mean it. I want to hear your story. You look like a man with plenty of interesting tales.”

After a moment, he relaxed. You let go of his wrist and he caught your hand before you could pull it away. He blinked again at the instinctual movement and let go of your hand. You didn’t move away. 

“Is this how you entertain yourself? Trading alcohol for stories?” he asked, attempting to tease, but his voice was shaking a little too much to be suave. 

You shrugged. “Not exactly. Only the best stories warrant a free bottle of alcohol, and only at the end of the night.”

He laughed sardonically. “I doubt my stories would fit that bill.”

“They might,” you prompted. You covered his hand briefly, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. “Talk, I’ll listen.”

~❊~

So he talked. Over the course of the night, between other patrons and your busy hours, Astarion told you stories. Some of them, most of them, were lies and exaggerations of what had actually happened to him, which were stories he’d never tell anyone. He watched you make cocktails, pour wine and mead, and serve your customers with a smile; each drink, whether it was for him or not, got him to open up more. There was something about you, the way that you worked while also paying attention almost solely to him, that comforted him.

Halfway through the night, just after a midnight rush, he sat alone at the bar again. You served him yet another glass of wine with a smile and a hint of adoration in your eye and something in him cracked. 

“It’s been like this for two hundred years,” he said quietly. He could feel the liquor in his veins instead of blood; it felt like honesty. “Night after night in taverns, searching for people. Random people, mostly. Sometimes looking for…specific people. People he wanted me t…to bring back to him.” 

You paused midway through wiping down the bar, noticing his change of tone. “He? Who’s he?”

“My master,” he whispered. Slowly, he met your eyes. “Cazador. He…he’s a… A vampire.” He watched you, expecting your face to fall in fear as he added, “I’m one of his spawn.”

You just nodded and poured him more wine. He gulped it down. You refilled it just as quickly.

“You’re not afraid?” he whispered. “You’re not going to kick me out?”

You shook your head. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Astarion scoffed. “You don’t know that, you don’t know anything about—”

You put the bottle down a little harder than he had been expecting and he flinched. He looked up at you, silent.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you repeated, meeting his gaze. “Trust me on that.”

He wanted to protest. He wanted to argue that he was a dangerous creature of the night, that you were just a bartender, that you wouldn’t be so quick to trust him if you knew what he’d done to two of your patrons and would do to a third tonight, but for some reason, he couldn’t make himself say it. He looked you in the eye and suddenly felt very strongly like you were right. He wouldn’t hurt you. Something about you made it impossible to even consider hurting you.

The gears in his head began to turn.

“So,” you said. “Cazador, this master of yours… What does he make you do?”

“I…” His throat seemed to close up, his mouth dry. “I bring back…food. People for him to drink from. Sometimes it’s random people I deem…worthy enough of my time that also meet his standards. Other times he sends me after specific people. And if I don’t bring them back, he—” Astarion looked down at the bartop as another patron walked in and took a seat at the far end, eyeing him conspicuously. “It’s not a pleasant thing he does to me.”

You pushed yourself off the bar. “I would think not.” You glanced at your new customer. “Let me handle him, and I’ll be right back.”

Astarion nodded and slowly sipped from his glass. He watched you closely as you took the other man’s order with a smile and got to work on what looked like a complicated cocktail. 

You weren’t afraid of him. Why? Why didn’t you kick him out? Why didn’t you see his red eyes and his fangs and realize that he was a danger to you and everyone else in this establishment? Why didn’t you fear the things he could do to you?

Why did he look at you and know with absolute certainty that he would never hurt you, that he couldn’t hurt you even if he tried? 

While you worked on his drink, the other man turned to Astarion, leaning on the bar in a way that made Astarion stifle a scoff. This man was a caricature of the sultry grace Astarion oozed—and he was faking it most of the time. 

“So,” the man drawled to Astarion, “what brings you here?”

You looked up from the cocktail, frowning at the man, who somehow didn’t notice your glower. You glanced at Astarion.

“Sorrow,” Astarion said dryly. 

“Oh, really? Perhaps I could…help you with that,” he said, his tone lacking subtlety. 

You cleared your throat, getting the man’s attention. “Not at my bar,” you said waspishly. “If you’re going to continue to accost other customers, you can pay for the drink and get out.”

The man sneered at you, and for some reason it started a fire in Astarion’s gut. “Look here, little miss, I’m a paying customer looking for paying customers of my own and I will not be—”

So quick Astarion could barely keep track of it, you grabbed the man’s wrist, flipped his hand, and pushed back his sleeve. There was a tattoo there. You scoffed. “Just as I thought, you’re one of Niess’s harlots? I’ve told your master that none of his workers are allowed on the premises. Get out before I force you into another line of work by removing your anatomy.”

The man’s face drained of blood. Astarion could hear his pulse quicken and a tense hunger curled through him. “You wouldn’t dare—”

“Out,” you ordered. You held out your palm.

Grumbling, he slapped what he owed into your hand, threw back the drink, and sashayed out the door. Into Astarion’s ear, he whispered, “Catch you outside, handsome.” He trailed a finger over Astarion’s shoulders and he shuddered with disgust. 

“I’m sorry about him,” you said, taking away the empty glass and cleaning it. “If I’d known what he does, I wouldn’t have let him sit in the first place.”

“Not a fan of prostitutes then, huh?” Astarion asked, voice grim and dry. His skin was still crawling from the man’s touch—and, he realized, from the prospect that you might order him out once you found out exactly what it was he did.

“Just those kinds,” you said. “You know—the ones who won’t take no for an answer? Niess has always been a problem. His flophouse is just down the street and he’s constantly sending his workers out to taverns and on the streets. It wouldn’t bother me so much if they weren’t known to— Well, there’s no delicate way to phrase this, actually. If they weren’t known to rape patrons who tried to say no. Niess himself does it more often than his workers, but…I won’t take that chance here.” 

Astarion shuddered violently. He felt like he might be sick, which he wasn’t even sure was possible.

Your shoulders slumped and understanding dawned on your face. “That’s what Cazador has you doing, isn’t it?”

Hands trembling, Astarion nodded slowly. “Y…yes.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t got much choice in the matter?” you asked gently. You reached over and offered your hand. Astarion took it and immediately felt comforted when you squeezed gently. 

“No,” he said. “I… I seduce the people he wants me to bring back. Seduce them, sleep with them, promise them wonderful luxuries and…deliver them to his fangs. That’s only when he wants me to bring people back. Sometimes my siblings bring back enough so he…he hosts a party where I am the entertainment.”

He could see your heartbreak on your face. “Oh, Astarion… Honey, I’m so sorry.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. Gods, he could still cry? He thought he’d shed the last of his tears over this ages ago. At least, the tears that weren’t coaxed out of him during the rougher parties where he was used until there wasn’t anything left and he was aching and numb at the same time, or when a whip split open his skin in the same spot just one too many times. 

You reached up and wiped his tears away. He sniffled and looked up at you through his watery gaze. “Thank you,” he muttered. 

For a few moments, it was just the two of you in your own little world. Astarion felt strangely…comforted. He wanted to collapse into your arms and stay there for a fortnight or longer and tell you absolutely everything. The thought of it, of finally feeling arms around him that didn’t want anything from him, made his whole body shudder with a sob. You cooed softly, cupping his cheek and catching his tears with your thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “The wine’s making me emotional, I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “Please don’t apologize. Not for this. You’ve been through so much and…you don’t deserve any of it.”

“You don’t know that,” he said.

“I do,” you said with such certainty that he paused in his protest, the list of his wrongdoings on his tongue fading into nothing. He looked at you and found sympathy in your eyes. Sympathy and love, genuine love, not the manufactured version he so often found in his victims’ eyes. If he had possessed a working heart, it would have stopped beating at that moment.

“I know you,” he whispered. Hope washed over your features. “Who are you to me?”

You opened your mouth but were interrupted by a server calling your name. You let go of his hand after one final squeeze and went over to her, taking a list of drink orders from her. You made them in your corner and Astarion watched, taking in your familiarity. 

He could see himself running his hands through your hair, taking the braids out and scratching your scalp with his nails. He could picture you laying in a soft bed with him, your bodies tangled together and with damp sheets. He could imagine you sitting across from him at a dinner table, two other shadowy figures in his mind between you both. He could feel your hand clasped in his as you sat next to each other, both dressed in matching finery, your face turned away from him but your thumb stroking his skin reassuringly. 

You were a part of his life. Or you had been, once. He was sure of it now. You had to have been someone special. Perhaps…

His stomach seemed to lurch. Oh, gods. Here he had been, flirting with your patrons, talking about his nightly sexual conquests, while you had been gazing at him so lovingly because he…

No, it couldn’t be! He’d remember you, wouldn’t he? If he’d had a best friend, a lover, he would remember them. 

You don’t remember your own parents, he reminded himself. 

Astarion looked at you while you worked, keeping your eyes down and trying very hard not to meet his gaze but sneaking little glances at his figure whenever you could.

His body tingled at the remembrance of lips on his neck, gentle and loving and wanted, kissing all the way down his stomach. It was you. It was you.

~❊~

He knew. He’d figured it out, you were certain of it. You could see him out of the corner of your eye and you watched the realization take over his face and body. 

How much does he remember? you wondered as you worked, slammed with yet another rush hour and too busy to even stop and think, much less talk to your undead lover. 

A tiny, unbearable flame of hope had started in your chest. He was here, sitting right in front of you, and he remembered you now. You were so close to having him back for good—and yet it was impossible. He was a vampire, cursed to the shadows and owned by a master worse than Niess. Even if you spent the rest of your long life working the night shift, Astarion would always have to return to his master with a victim in tow. How could you keep him at your side like that?

A thousand ideas popped into your head over the course of the night: kill his master. Run away from Baldur’s Gate. Continue as you were and let him leave you every night and every day to serve Cazador. No. You couldn’t do any of those things, and you certainly would not let Astarion keep slaving for a man who quite clearly abused him, even if Astarion hadn’t said it himself. 

You kept track of time as best you could. It was nearly closing time when the flow of drink orders stopped, accompanied by groups of people leaving the tavern, calling their drunken goodbyes to you as they swayed toward the door. 

Eventually, you returned to Astarion, who was still looking at you with that expression of dumbfounded realization as he had been the whole night. His last question was still bouncing around in your head: Who are you to me? 

You folded your arms and leaned on the bar. You met his gaze, looking into eyes that had once been a beautiful honeyed gold, and said, “I was your fiancée, once.”

A choked sob came from his throat. He reached out and you let him take your hand. “I know,” he whispered. “I… I remembered you.” He kissed your hand and you sucked in a sharp breath. “My darling. My love. My wife, oh gods, you were going to be my wife.”

You squeezed his hand. “Honey… I missed you. I missed you so much. I saw you everywhere, I thought you were just a figment of my imagination but maybe—maybe sometimes it was you.”

“Two hundred years,” he whispered. “Two hundred years without you. How did I… How did we manage it?”

“I didn’t,” you answered honestly. “I kept going only because I had to. I pretended I was fine so your parents could take the time to grieve and I mourned only when I was alone. Everyone was always telling me how strong I was but all the while I…I was shattering like glass every night because you weren’t there to hold me together.” 

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. A few tears leaked out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I forgot you. I’m so sorry I didn’t try to escape him before I…before I forgot everything.”

“I’m sure you did try, Asty, you just don’t remember it,” you said quietly. “Or at least, I’d like to think you tried.”

“Asty,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten you called me that.” 

The last of the tavern’s patrons shuffled out, watching you out of the corner of their eyes. You were certain they thought you were trying to coax a very drunk and emotional patron out the door, if they even had a thought behind those eyes made glassy with liquor. 

The last server of the night began cleaning up. You squeezed Astarion’s hand.

“We’ve just closed, darling,” you said quietly.

“Closed?” he asked, a flash of panic in his eyes. “But I—I don’t have anyone to bring back to him! He— He’ll be furious.” The fear in his entire body made your heart break into two pieces. 

“Astarion, honey, I need you to calm down for a second—”

“You don’t understand,” Astarion moaned lowly. “You don’t understand the things he’ll do to me!”

“Darling—”

“You don’t understand,” he gasped again. 

“So help me understand,” you said quietly. “Come on, hun, talk to me. What will he do if you don’t go back?”

Astarion took several big gulps of air. While he calmed down, you told the last server to go home and began cleaning up yourself. You were nearly done when he began talking again from the bar, suddenly strangely calm, his voice dry and devoid of all emotion.

“He’ll starve me. He already does, but…he’ll take away all of it. The rats, the bugs… And he’ll beat me. No, no, he’ll watch while he has Godey beat me. Or he—” His voice caught in his throat. “Or he’ll…use me.”

You stopped and immediately went over to him. You opened your arms before you even got to his stool and enveloped him in a warm hug, holding his head close to your chest. Like a dam, everything broke. He sobbed into you.

“Hells, I’m going to be in so much trouble,” he whispered.

“No, you’re not,” you said firmly. “We’ll leave. We’ll run as fast as we can and never come back.”

He was shaking his head before you even finished your sentence. “No, no, we can’t, he’ll send someone after me.”

“Surely he has other spawn to torment—”

“I’m his favorite,” Astarion bit out, voice trembling. “He…he likes my screams, my suffering, the best.”

You fought down bile. “Oh, gods…” You hugged him tighter. “I wish I could—” 

You had a terrible idea that stopped you cold. An idea that would save him from his master and keep you together for the rest of your very long lives. 

“Come home with me,” you whispered. He began to protest, but you continued, “Come home with me and we can spend one last night together as we are. And then when the time comes…take me to him.”

Astarion went stiff in your arms. He pushed away from you enough to stare into your eyes. “What?” He sounded as horrified as he looked. “You want me to give you to him? No, absolutely not. I can’t! I can’t subject you to the same torture I go through night after night, I can’t do that to you! I love you, gods damn it all, even if I didn’t remember it for so long. The man I was when you loved me would never have brought you to Cazador.”

You cupped his cheek. “I still love you, Asty, I’ve loved you every day since you died. You might be changed, but deep down you are still my Astarion.” You showed him your hand, on which there was still a ring—delicate and beautiful and oh so lonely on your finger. “You are still the man I dreamed of marrying.” 

“You kept it,” he whispered, touching the ring. “All these years even though— What, you never wanted to start over with someone new?”

You shook your head. “Never. It was always you, Astarion. And it always will be. So just take me to him. Give him to me, keep yourself safe for the night. And I can stay with you this way. I will always be there to soothe your suffering if you bring me to him.”

He shook his head. “No. No, I can’t, darling, I—” His voice broke. 

“Please, Asty,” you whispered. “I cannot bear the thought of you being hurt because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he protested.

But you shook your head. “I kept you talking all night, love. I kept you at my bartop when you had a job to do. Please, darling.” You brushed his hair behind his ear. “Let’s go home.”

For several long moments, Astarion just stared at you. Then, in the quietest whisper you had ever heard, he said, “Alright.”

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

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Thanks for your patience, loves!

— Case

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