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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 2 days ago

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drown myself in someone like you

Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Astarion/Reader (Gender-Neutral) Rating: Mature Content Warnings: None Additional Tags: Blood Sharing, Blood Drinking, very minor spoilers Summary: You have a final quiet afternoon before heading out towards the Moonrise Towers, and Astarion steals you away from the other party members to enjoy the sun together. You might or might not be hopelessly in love with him. You also might or might not find sharing blood the hottest thing in the universe. Crossposted on ao3 here, please leave a comment, I thrive on them 💞

The Ancient Sigil Circle spits you out, this time more gentle than some others, in the now-familiar greenery of the Emerald Grove Environs, and after days spent in the Underdark, the light hurts your eyes. You throw your arm up instinctively, shielding yourself from the blinding sun, and your companions do the same, cursing under their breath. Regardless, it feels good to be out of the darkness, and though Shadowheart could probably argue on the matter, she doesn’t, instead squinting at the clear blue sky and throwing one of her unamused remarks — they never fail to make you laugh soundlessly, — at Gale.

Next to you, Astarion hisses quietly at the bright light, his fangs showing, but you can see his shoulders relax for the first time in a while. The territory around the Grove is now familiar, and even relatively safe, while the Underdark proved to hold danger at every turn. In the days that you’ve spent there, you never once saw Astarion relax, despite him keeping up his usual flirtations and displays of vain narcissism. Now, he seems to finally breathe with his chest.

“Give me a break,” he says, frowning, noticing you looking. “I did spend two hundred years in a crypt, you know. I’m still getting used to the sun.”

You shake your head, smiling at him with adoring benevolence. His frown shatters against it, and the corners of his lips curl up in response, just a little. He hates it when others see even the slightest weakness in him, immediately building up walls, but you’ve learned to see through them, find your way around. And he lets you, opening up from one day to the next, slowly trusting you with little pieces of himself.

Sometimes, his first instinct is still something sharp and dangerous, like one of his daggers that he — quite literally, — sleeps with, but you offer him softness, instead, and every time, he lowers his defences almost instantly.

“Come on,” you say, your eyes finally adjusting. “We didn’t scour all those chests and boxes in Grymforge for nothing. Arron will be happy to see us.”

Arron is happy to see you, and, as usual, he is even more happy to buy everything you’ve managed to find, steal and earn but don’t really want. As usual, the trade process includes everyone in your party frantically trying on all the armour you’re looking to sell to see if anyone actually likes anything, and weighing up weapons in their hands. Why you can never do it before you get to a merchant, you don’t know.

You are, however, quite content with both your armour and your weapons, seeing that you’ve changed them out quite recently, and so, while everyone else is busy, your eyes, almost of their own will, scan over the heads of your friends to find the familiar winter-white locks.

Astarion, more than happy with his two daggers and the colourful clothes — it is beyond you how he manages to be the best at stealth out of all of you, though it might have something to do with him being a vampire, — watches the party from a little ways off, leaning against one of the stone walls.

The sun has now started to slowly set, and the light plays on the golden circlet he now wears on his forehead. You’ve gotten it for him. The gold matches the threads on his clothes, and the gem in the middle nearly seems to reflect the vampire’s mood, the hue shifting subtly from time to time. But then again, maybe it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

The circlet looks beautiful on him. The ability to cast a complex spell that it grants is but an added bonus.

As you approach, Astarion’s red eyes focus on you, and he tilts his head, just a little, smiling at you.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says, moving slightly to the side to indicate making space for you. The wall has more than enough room, but that little movement tells you he wants you to stand close to him. “I do hope you haven’t come here to try to persuade me to try on the armour with everyone else. I don’t think I fancy putting on something that was taken off a corpse.”

You shake your head, raising your arms in quick surrender. You were never planning on trying to talk him into picking a new armour, but you indulge him, nonetheless.

“I prefer you without it, anyway,” you say, coming to stand next to the vampire, one shoulder leaning against the rock.

Astarion’s eyes gleam with satisfaction at your words. Over the time you’ve spent travelling together, the easy flirtations between you became almost habitual, to the amusement (often) and horror (also often) of the other party members. You’ve long lost track of all the times one of the others have approached you only to pester you about falling under Astarion’s charm. You don’t really care though. They do it all in good faith, and never out of any malice, and well, you have fallen under the vampire’s charm, so you suppose you’ve earned it. Gale, at one point, seemed jealous that you'd chosen Astarion over him, but lately, you’ve settled into a comfortable friendship again.

You stay silent for a little while, basking in the sun, and had you had a little more courage, you might’ve reached over to hold the vampire’s cold hand in yours, just so his presence can feel a little more acute. During one of the fights in the Underdark, you really thought you might lose him. That is, until he’d somehow gotten back on his feet and dealt the final blow to the quite menacing enemy.

But as much courage as you have facing just about every evil you can think of, you don’t seem to have enough when it comes to even the slightest admission of your feelings. You don’t think Astarion would mind, seeing that you’ve taken to sleeping next to each other almost every night, yet something stops you. Perhaps, it is how it always is, the first time you find yourself caring for someone this much.

“Are you ready to head for the Mountain Pass?” you ask, finally, turning your head to look at him.

Astarion’s discerning eyes meet yours, and you wonder if he’d been watching you the entire time.

“I— the closer we get to Baldur’s Gate, the more I find myself turning at every shadow,” he says, at length. “We’ve already run into one hunter looking to drag me back to Cazador, who is to say how many more will he send after me? But trying to postpone the moment will not lead us anywhere, and the hunters will come one way or the other. So while I am not trembling with excitement to head for the Mountain Pass, I am ready.”

The honesty in his voice does something to your very heart. Ever since you’ve learned about Cazador, you couldn’t quite fight the burning urge to rip him apart with your own bare hands. You’ve never told Astarion, of course, but you have a feeling that he knows. And tries to protect you in turn.

“Anyways,” he says, perking up suddenly. “Before we all march to what is probably our certain death, I think we should enjoy this moment of peace. It’s not often that we get to have one.”

Before you know it, your hand is already in his, somehow, and your heart does an unbidden acrobatics check in your chest. His fingers are cold to the touch but on your suddenly burning skin, they feel better than you dared to imagine, just minutes ago.

“Come with me,” Astarion says, stepping away from the wall.

Everything in you wants to oblige immediately, and it’s hardly the vampire charm working its magic. But as the leader of the group, you have to think your actions through with a little more farsight, especially considering that it’s you that’s trading with Arron.

You steal a sideways glance towards the group and overhear Gale suggesting letting those left at the camp see if they like anything, as well. Maybe, he says, Wyll will like the leather skirt of the Bloodguzzler Garb, what do they know?

Astarion follows your gaze, brushing his thumb over the underside of your wrist and sending a shiver through your entire body.

“You do know that they pay us no attention when we’re not on the road, don’t you?” he asks, voice sweet as honey. “And don’t you worry about the trade, Shadowheart drives a hard bargain.”

She does, you have to give him that. However—

“They do pay attention to us,” you say, because self-importance is your well-earned right as the leader of the group. “At least—”

“Alright, watch,” Astarion says, cutting you short. He puts his other to his mouth, so his voice carries, and turns towards Gale and Shadowheart, caught up in the middle of bickering. “I am stealing away our leader to drain the blood from their body and usurp their place in this group!”

Arron gives the two of you a slightly concerned look out of the corner of his eye, but your companions don’t seem to pay you any mind at all. Without turning his gaze away from Shadowheart, Gale waves a dismissive hand at you, way too busy trying to prove some kind of point.

“Have fun!” he calls after you.

“See?” Astarion says, turning his gaze back to you. “Now come on, I don’t want to stand here all day.”

***

You follow him, hand in hand, deeper into the Grove, without the slightest idea of where you’re going or with what purpose. A part of you suspects that he didn’t even lie when voicing his intentions to your friends, but you find that you’ve already accepted your faith should it come to pass.

Astarion moves quickly and soundlessly, following a path known only to him, and refuses to say where you’re headed until, finally, the two of you duck under low-hanging tree branches, and find yourselves greeted with a little clearing full of tall grass and sun. It’s shielded from the rest of the Grove on all sides by lush greenery, but to the South, where the trees are a little more sparce, you can just about make out the view of the rocky cliffs below.

Astarion lets go of your hand and heads to the middle of the clearing, where he flops down happily into the grass. Without turning his head, he pats the space beside him. Then, apparently having given it some thought, he sits up and sheds his colourful doublet to reveal the half-unlaced white chemise underneath.

You’re used to seeing him like this, every evening, and you’re also used (almost) to seeing him without any clothes at all, but something about the gesture, easy and relaxed, makes you all but sway. Controlling the functionality of your knees very carefully, you come to sit next to him, putting your weapons on the grass next to you.

“I never knew this place existed,” you say, casting another glance all around you. “How did you find it?”

Astarion puts one of his arms behind his head, looking up at you through dark lashes before closing his eyes and turning his face to the sun, still warm.

“Hunting,” he says. “After the nautiloid crash, I was ravenous, to tell you the truth. When we made it here, on our first day travelling together, I had to find at least something for myself. Of course, I did not yet know of your delicious generosity.”

The last two words are a purr in his throat, and you can feel another shiver run through you. For weeks now, you’ve let him feed on you, and you would not be able to deny the bond of shared blood even if you wanted to. You’re now completely used to feeling a little lightheaded from the blood loss, and it barely even impacts your ability to fight. Astarion’s happiness, however, improves his ability to fight drastically.

Every time you watch him rip into someone’s throat, you can’t help but compare it to the way he sinks his teeth into your neck — gentle and deliberately slow, turning the whole act into something much more than just feeding. He never takes more than he needs now, it’s not like it was that very first night, when he could’ve easily killed you, had you not stopped him. Now, you sometimes find yourself unwilling to let him go, and though he tends to oblige, for just a moment, in the end he always pulls away despite your weak protests, laughing under his breath and placating you with a kiss.

Despite all his defences, he’s incredibly easy with his affections.

“Who knows what awaits us further down the road,” Astarion says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I wanted to spend what might just be our last chance of a truly peaceful evening here.”

Before you can stop yourself, the words are already out of your mouth.

“With me?”

Astarion doesn’t bat an eye. “Of course.”

You mean to say something, you really do, but you find yourself too preoccupied with keeping your heart inside your chest, and by the time you manage to make sure it’s not going anywhere, Astarion is talking again, his fingers trailing idly over your side. You can’t feel the touch through the armour but it doesn’t stop you from watching the movement.

“Come on, take that off,” the vampire says. “It’s not for me to say that you should enjoy the sun.”

Oh, he will be the death of you.

You oblige, undoing the buckles of your armour with practised, easy movements, and once you shed it, remaining in a well-worn but all the more soft shirt, you really do feel the warmth of the sun more. It’s not too hot, not like during the middle of the day, but just enough to warm your skin, suddenly making you feel like you could lie down in the grass and just sleep. Maybe that is exactly what Astarion has planned, you would not mind in the slightest.

You wonder how long it will take the other party members to realise that the two of you are gone. Gale might’ve told you to have fun but you highly doubt that he actually registered you leaving. Of course, once they notice, they will hardly worry, seeing that you’re in the safety of the Grove and you’ve disappeared together with Astarion. By the time you get back to the camp, they will have probably gossiped about your relationship and every single aspect of it. You don’t really care, not when you get the single most charming creature you’ve ever laid eyes upon in return.

You catch yourself staring way too late.

“You do remember that I took that mind-reading potion earlier today, don’t you?” Astarion asks, also having caught you looking.

Immediately, you feel your cheeks burning, and instinctively bring your hands up, shielding your head as if you can somehow stop him from accessing your thoughts that way.

“Don’t you dare,” you say.

Astarion squints at you, his smile growing wider, showing his sharp teeth.

“Oh, I dare,” he says.

You’re too busy burning alive to even attempt to build a barrier around your mind, so you just look at him, defeated, lowering your hands. You’ve deserved it for staring, you suppose.

However, all you feel is the gentlest brush over your mind, barely enough to even register, and then it’s gone.

“I’m not going to read your mind! ” Astarion laughs, shoving you gently in the knee. “Besides, I don’t need to. I know you’re thinking about how lucky you are to have me.”

Well, maybe he did read your mind after all.

Your face must give you away, because Astarion’s suddenly changes, and he looks at you with the same adoring benevolence that you gave him, no more than a few hours ago, when he was complaining about the sun being too bright.

He sits up, reaching over to brush his thumb over your cheek and tip your chin up. There is a tiny flower stuck in his hair, right behind the point of his ear, and as much as you want to reach over, you already feel like the earth is about to split beneath you and swallow you whole.

“Oh, you are the sweetest thing I’ve ever met,” Astarion says, everything about him giving away just how utterly pleased he is. “How do you manage to be such a good fighter, if all you do is think about me all the time? Though… I must admit, you rarely leave my mind, too.”

Your cheeks feel so hot that you wonder, distantly, if you’re burning him, but Astarion spares you the need to reply, sliding his fingers into your hair and pulling you in closer. His lips are soft and warm when they cover yours, and the kiss is slow, as gentle as the sun above you.

You part your lips when you feel the hot touch of his tongue, and as the kiss deepens, you feel yourself melt into the vampire completely, tilting your head just a little to be even closer. One of your hands comes up to rest on his shoulder, the collarbone prominent under the soft fabric of his shirt; the other is somewhere on his thigh, helping you keep your balance even as you lean closer. Breathing doesn’t seem so vitally important anymore.

“ The sweetest, ” Astarion murmurs into your lips as he pulls back, just enough to break the kiss but nearly touching your lips still. “You put us both in terrible danger, you know. Allowing for this to continue.”

His lips are on yours again, still slow and soft, but now you can feel the heat hidden somewhere underneath, dormant for the moment but easily stirred. Your hand slips into Astarion’s soft hair, and you can’t quite deny yourself the pleasure of pulling softly on the white locks, coaxing the most beautiful little sound out of his throat. While he holds incredible power over you, you’ve also had time to learn about the things he likes.

“So do you,” you reply, when the kiss breaks again. “You’re as accountable for the danger as I.”

He could argue just to wind you up, you know. But instead, Astarion just chuckles in what seems to be agreement as his lips move down to your neck.

Immediately, your heart begins beating faster, familiar anticipation making you feel lightheaded. You lean forward, closer to the vampire, eyes fluttering closed.

Astarion moves closer in turn, your legs intertwining, and tips your chin further up, his palm moving from your hair to the opposite side of your neck, thumb pressing gently but firmly into the sharp angle of your lower jaw.

The kisses are hot but deliberately slow, Astarion knowing perfectly all the most sensitive parts of your neck and using that knowledge against you. Every time you feel the slight pressure of his fangs on your skin, your heart skips a beat, waiting for the familiar pain of a bite. But the vampire takes his time, making his way torturously slowly to the curve of your shoulder and moving the fabric of your shirt out of the way. Without even thinking, almost instinctively now, you crane your head further to the side, giving him better access to your neck, offering it to him. In response, you are rewarded with a sharp, hot exhale over your skin, almost a moan as he holds himself back.

Still, your disappointment with that must be palpable, for a moment later, Astarion pulls back, shaking his head and laughing softly. It makes the corners of his eyes wrinkle, but he tends to get defensive when you tell him that.

“Patience is a virtue, my love,” he says, but his blown pupils tell you that he could also learn a thing or two about it.

“I have plenty of others,” you reply, finding your way to his neck to repay the vampire with his own coin.

His skin is velvet-soft beneath your lips, and you have to make an unmeasurable effort over yourself not to leave a mark on it. You’re not sure how he would react and, well, you’re not fifteen years old to allow yourself such frivolities while travelling with others.

However, nothing stops you from biting him, not nearly enough to cause any damage but sufficient to make him gasp softly, tilting his head slightly to indulge you.

You want to pull him even closer, but limit yourself to brushing your hand over his back, the raised lines of his deep scars tangible through the shirt. You still don’t know what they mean, and neither does he, but there will be time to find out. There must be.

Mirroring Astarion’s path, you trace the column of his neck, place a kiss on his collarbone, making him all but purr with satisfaction, and hide your face in the curve of his shoulder, where his now-familiar scent is the strongest. He smells of heady vanilla, and expensive red wine, and the campfire, and you adore that smell more than any other in the world.

Without looking, you reach up to find the laces of Astarion’s shirt, pulling on the top one to slip it out of its eyelet, but before you can do the same to the next one, the vampire intercepts your wrist gently, pulling your hand away. His thumb brushes over the underside of your wrist, and you feel a shiver run through you, again.

“You know, I couldn’t help but notice,” Astarion says, looking down at your wrist and then finding your gaze. “How sensitive you seem to be here.”

The last time he said something like that, neither of you got to sleep at night. The thrill makes you momentarily postpone your plan of undressing him.

“ Delicious ,” the vampire says, every syllable dripping with perfect seduction.

He brings your wrist closer to his chest and leans down, pressing his lips to it. The kiss zaps electricity up your spine, making you lose all control of your breathing instantly. You bite your lip, hard, from the inside, watching in mesmerisation as Astarion trails a line of kisses towards one side of your wrist, and then moves back, to reach the other. Your skin burns under his lips, and in the back of your mind you think that this is yet another weapon that you are willingly placing into his hands to use against you. You don’t care. Not when your entire body shivers at every touch.

You never imagined you could react like this to something as simple as kisses, not to mention on your wrist, but Astarion seems to know exactly what he’s doing.

It’s easy to want him. With his looks, his sweet words and his undeniable charm. But he knows how to make you need him time after time, using all your weaknesses against you yet making you feel anything but defeated.

The slight pressure of Astarion’s fangs on the delicate skin of your wrist makes you press it closer to his lips without even thinking, and in response, you’re met with the red gaze of the vampire’s eyes, the tint of them leaning slightly more towards deep burgundy, betraying his own emotions.

He studies you for a long second, before his gaze flicks back to your wrist, and then to you again.

“May I?” he asks, voice nothing but pure honey.

Your own voice is hoarse in your throat when you say: “Please.”

The sharp pain of the bite comes almost immediately, and though you instinctively try to pull your wrist back, Astarion holds it in a gentle but firm grip, preventing you from hurting yourself. You can feel the delicate skin split beneath his teeth, and as the blood rushes forth, the familiar feeling of both heat and cold envelops you. Where Astarion’s lips are pressed to your wrist, a thin line of scarlet running down from the corner of them, your skin seems to be ablaze, burning hotter with every second, while everywhere else, a gentle, comforting cold spreads, slowing down your heart and thoughts.

Your breath comes quicker, heavier, making it harder to focus, but you cannot look away from the vampire, watching, enthralled, as he feeds on you.

A thought, already familiar but always kept under lock and key, crosses your mind, and it seems to flare with it, making you unable to think of anything else for what seems like an endless second. The thought of his blood, the taste of it on your tongue.

Before you met Astarion, you never even suspected yourself to be able to burn and crumble to pieces at an idea like that. But lately, you’ve been completely unable to get rid of the urge, stirring deep inside you every time his fangs are in your throat. It’s about the connection, you suppose. His blood mixed with yours, and yours — with his. You feel dizzy with how desperately you want it.

Astarion breaks away, his lips stained crimson with your blood. He wipes away at it with his thumb, then licks it off his skin. That alone looks hotter than most things you’ve seen in life.

“That was… incredible,” the vampire says. “As it always is with you.”

He leans in, pulling into a long, deep kiss. The taste of your own blood, shared between you, spills over your tongue, and you take it, barely suppressing a moan.

Your wrist is still bleeding, though the blood is stopping now, and Astarion holds it, gently, in his hand, supporting the weight and making sure you don’t move your arm. Even as he kisses you again, all but biting into your lips, he doesn’t let go. It makes your heart melt hopelessly.

“You’re thinking about something,” Astarion says as he pulls back, eyes dark. “And it’s getting so loud that you really are tempting me to see what it is”

For an endless moment, you’re caught between the urge to fall through the face of the earth and the urge to just tell him. The decision, however, is made without hesitation, because you feel too dizzy and too hot to second-guess yourself.

“Go ahead,” you say, because you’re not quite brave enough to voice your thoughts but no longer object to Astarion reading your mind. “See for yourself.”

He gives you a look, eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise, but Astarion doesn’t need to be asked twice, and a moment later, you feel the brush of his conscience over your thoughts, much more tangible than before. You make no attempts to hide any of them.

It only takes the vampire a second to find what he’s looking for.

“ That’s what you’re thinking about? My blood?” he asks, surprised but not at all displeased, leaving your mind to yourself. “Darling, you should’ve said earlier.”

Your bite has now stopped bleeding, and Astarion places a soft kiss atop it before letting go of your wrist. Instead, he pulls up his frilly sleeve and offers you his own. You never dared to imagine he would agree so easily.

“I can bite myself and give you my wrist, or, alternatively—” faster than you can track, he pulls one of his daggers from his belt, flips it to catch the blade mid-air, handing you the weapon hilt-first. “You can take the blood yourself.”

The second option sounds incredible but then again, so does the first. The only difference is that you currency trust Astarion much more than you trust your own trembling hands. so, you refuse the dagger with a move of your head, and the vampire slides in back into his belt. There’s a gleam in his eyes, a fire like you’ve never seen before.

“I cannot turn you, if you wonder,” he says with an indulging smile, bringing his wrist up to his lips. “So you’re free to take as much as you want.”

You watch him as his fangs sink into his own flesh, blood immediately painting his pale skin in crimson. Two thin trails of red run down to the side of his wrist and merge, dripping fast onto the soft grass. Astarion offers his wrist to you, watching carefully, hungrily for every emotion on your face as you take it into your hand, mirroring the way he held yours.

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you lean down, covering the two bleeding wounds with your lips.

The blood isn’t sweet, not in the way that the vampire usually describes it, it’s heavy with copper and salt, but when it spills over your tongue, your entire body reacts to it. Your fingers tighten on Astarion’s wrist, almost unbeknownst to you, and as your mouth fills with his blood, you swallow, drinking from him like he drinks from you. Somewhere above you, you hear the vampire gasp, softly, his breath shuddering, and all you want, other than this heady, intoxicating taste on your tongue, is to throw him onto his back and climb on top, pressing your bodies as close together as possible. If Astarion can still hear your thoughts, you don’t care.

You can’t drink like he does, and you can feel the vampire’s blood run down your chin, drip onto your shirt. Astarion is breathless next to you, and as you swallow again, finally ripping a moan out of his chest, he reaches for your chin with his other hand, gripping it hard and pulling you, forcibly, to his lips. He bites into them, demanding and hungry, slicing through the delicate flesh easily with his fangs and mixing his own taste with yours.

You’ve never been kissed like this, not once in your life, and you give in to him immediately, without even thinking, sliding one hand into his hair and staining the winter-white locks crimson. Your other arm, you wrap around his shoulders, holding the vampire close as he pushes forward, making you fall onto your back. Somehow, it’s even better than it would’ve been the other way around.

You kiss him back with just as much hunger, and the burning in your lungs from the lack of air does nothing to dissuade you. It’s only when Astarion breaks the kiss that you finally gasp a breath, your lips stinging from the bite.

“I knew I was lucky to have you,” Astarion says, his voice hoarse and breathless. “But I never could’ve dreamt of receiving such a gift.”

Before you can reply, he leans down to your neck again, hands reaching for the hem of your shirt, and all words die on your lips altogether, swallowed up by the heat of his lips.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion/reader #astarion #calton writes #I don't know if it's clear from these 5k words but he is going to be the death of me

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