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devildomcrybaby · 5 months

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𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖙 𝖒𝖊. 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖔

▸Astarion x Reader

Remember when Astarion asked Gale how was his sad, hopeless pining was going? Here we'll see how his pining went. For this purpose you and Astarion get stuck in a cave. Such a cliche.

Minors do not interact. 18+ only Warnings: explicit, blood, some little spoilers, Astarion and reader are so down bad for each other but also kind of rough, pain, blood drinking, piv, mentions of religious themes/gods.

Cold and dark. Everything is cold and dark. Everything except for you. You’re feverish, sweating and shivering at the same time. The only sound you can hear is the rhythmic drip of single drops of water sliding down the stalagmites above your head. Astarion pretends to miss the gulp you try to stifle. The air is thick with humidity, but that’s not the reason you feel like it’s hard to breathe. You throw your head back slightly, resting it against the coarse surface behind you, sighing heavily, eyes purposelessly fixed on the first flare they encounter.

Proper pronunciation is the key to successful spellcasting. It is indeed. Fucking hell. You huff, cursing Gale under your breath. Have a wizard misspell a single Latin word and find yourself stuck in a grim, slimy hole, almost as narrow as a coffin and not even as comfortable. Yes, I’m aware a wooden surface is not comfortable at all, I’ll leave to your imagination how comfortable can a spiky craggy wall be. Let’s be honest, you’d be complaining half as much if you were stuck in that hole alone. Of course your pale vampire companion would get caught in the spell as well. There’d be barely any room for one person to stand in that tight space, let alone two. However, it’s not the lack of space or freedom of movement that bothers you the most, ironically.

Astarion has always made you feel somewhat uneasy, like you want to crawl away from him, crawl away from your own skin too. But you always got the chance to do so before. You could always avert your eyes when he stared at you too openly, always walk a little faster when you could feel the faint warmth of his body as he shuffled too close to you, always pretend you had something else to do, someone else to talk to when his words sounded too sharp, too violent, even. Maybe the only violent thing was the feeling burning in your stomach each time his fingers lingered on your skin a bit too long, each time his usually biting words sounded a bit too sweet.

You felt like a little child trying to get the stern teacher’s attention and miserably failing every single time. And you know he notices. Notices how you go against yourself giving attitude to a deep gnome you just saved from goblins when you wanted to ask him how he was instead, how sad your eyes are when you tell the tieflings you seek to help to get to digging their own graves just to humor him. But he also notices the smirk you fail to disguise when teasing Laezel, keeping her caged a little longer asking her to say ‘please’ before setting her free, even though you already decided you wanted her along, notices the look of satisfaction on your face when you thrust your blade in Fezzerk’s stomach after he shot an arrow in Karlach’s leg. Maybe you’re not so different from his sordid broken self, after all. And he notices how itchy and restless you are now despite being impossibly still, spreading your legs to put some distance between the two of you when your thigh meets his knee for a moment too long, pressing your back against the wall behind you when your chest grazes his. You’re too caught in your own feelings, trapped in the thoughts crowding your mind to pay attention to the man in front of you.

You have no clue, but Astarion too tries to distract himself. He uses a different strategy than yours though.

You are both nuisance and entertainment as you try to avoid him at all costs. So he does the opposite, challenging you in his mind, thinking he’d succeed in a task you’re fumbling egregiously. He fixes his gaze on every little detail his eyes can catch in the dim torch light leaking out the small openings in the slab. The little crease between your eyebrows when you frown and sigh in frustration. The way your hair waves when meeting your shoulders. His fingers twitch as he suppresses the impulse to move the locks away from your face to expose more of your neck and shoulders. The reddening tip of your nose. How the Wavemother's Robe reveals your clavicles and reflects the poor light allowing him to see this little of you. But then, then he notices the dark shade of red of your cheeks. How you purse your lips when you glower. If only he could he’d bite them and make you bleed. The curve of your hips and the shape of your breasts. Your bare thighs. Should have worn the Blazer of Benevolence damn you and damned be the dead Water Queen. Had he always failed to catch how your armor perfectly traces your body, letting him, letting anyone see you as if you were disrobed, until now?

“I’m getting bored”. You’re almost startled when the silence is broken. “Aren’t you?” he adds, his voice lowers asking the question, in that bewitching way you know he got to master through the centuries. The words are simple, trivial, yet you wonder if this is the voice Ulysses heard as he got inside Circe’s lair, maybe the voice that lured sailors to their deaths in the Mediterranean Sea. You falter, his words not quite registering in your brain. He slips a hand between your hair and your neck, then slides his thumb over your pulse point. He doesn’t get that much closer yet, just enough so that his chest brushes yours. Time slows to a crawl, you hear your heart thumping in your ears, your vision is blurred for a second. You blink twice and you see him. In the umbral tangerine light, his features look even more graceful. Or have you already forgotten what he looks like, in your steady effort of avoiding to even glance at him at all costs? Since when have you been stuck in that bleak hollow? Was it minutes? Hours? Had the sun set already? “And I thought my presence would be enough to occupy you” you attempt a joke, keeping your voice as firm and emotionless as you manage. “It is”. His tone is serious, he lowers his face towards yours and his breath hits your parted lips. It’s been for a while, he thinks. Astarion isn’t honest with others, not most of the time at least, but he’s honest with himself. He doesn’t care for sex. He never did, at least since he has memory of. Maybe he did once, at a time when he was just any other elf free to make his own nasty choices. He doesn’t really know, come to think of it. The shadows of his former self getting blurrier day after day, until the days became months, years, centuries. He didn’t care since it became merely any other act he had to perform, exactly like the soothing smile he perfected to persuade his targets to follow him back at the palace, neatly crafted to conceal his embellished lies. Even his mannerism was devised to convey the mask embroidered on his skin. He did feel the atavic impulse, of course he did. Albeit that’s where it ended, at a physical urge. No true desire guided his hand as he undid his breeches. He wasn’t really allowed to desire anything at all, even his body got accustomed to that by then. It’s entirely new to him, this yearning to get close to another individual, to seek the comfort of the warmth of another.

“Allow me”. Not even for a moment does he entertain the thought that you might find it inopportune how close he is all of a sudden when you never even dared to hold his hand before. He fundamentally doesn’t care right now. He just feels and it’s devastating. Adventure after adventure, a long forgotten, perhaps unknown, feeling sneaked inside his rotting heart. His hand slides up to your jaw as he brings his lips to yours. You don’t question it for a second, still dizzy, your lips move against his of their own accord. It’s slow, tentative, like he forgot how to do it. But he hasn’t. You just leave him a small opening, tongue meeting his slightly more emphatically and he’s devouring you. His fingers grab your hair at the root, his tongue demands that you surrender and follow. He pushes his body against yours, your back pressed against the cold scratchy wall. His knee demands access between your thighs until your crotch is right above it. You break the kiss gasping against his mouth when the cool chainmail is pressed to your core. Maybe he took it as an attempt to get away from him, maybe he just followed a deep-seated instinct to have you against him. He pulls your hair hard, his other hand on your thigh, his fingers dig painfully in the bare flesh. His mouth is quickly against yours once more. It’s harsh, raw, and desperate. He’s not playing a part, he’s not kissing you to get you on his side, to have someone protect him from the harsh judgement (and he’d be lucky if it was just ugly glares and a few wisecracks and not a stake through his heart as he sleeps) of those who now know he’s a creature of the night. He’s not bribing the oh so powerful leader with his swift fingers and perfectly refined technique. This isn’t for you, nor for a master waiting for him in a place he's forced to call home, nor for a prying audience he has to entertain. This is for him. He doesn’t know why he needs it, needs your yielding body pressed to his. He only knows he does. He kisses you again and again. He doesn’t get bold, doesn’t need to. Kissing you, having you pressed against him in a cramped space where no one can interrupt the two of you, where no ally or foe can take you away from his merciless grasp, is enough.

But that’s when it hits him that Karlach and Laezel are still out there in the sewers trying to find a crack in the stones they can exploit, to crash them all and set you free. And Sorcerous Sundries where Gale is trying to find a way to undo his disastrous spell is only a few miles away. It’s not true that he has all the time in the world, that he has you at all. Such a ludicrous thought that no one could take you from him if even for this moment.

He gives you one last heated kiss before pulling away, his hands holding your face. As he sees your swollen lips and heated cheeks, he feels the need to kiss you until it hurts. He’s searching for something in your eyes, and you really hope he finds it. You’d show him, if only you knew what that was. Please, you think. And then he sees it. Or maybe it’s all a figment of his imagination bending reality to his own desires.

“I spent two hundred years using my body for the pleasure of others. It never belonged to me, you know”. He says it so simply, as if he was telling you it was windy today. “It was only one of the many means to achieve my master’s ends. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. I didn’t have wants for so long I forgot I could have any at all. Each and all of my needs…disregarded, every time”. He sounds so exasperated when uttering the last two words, dry voice, and bitter stare. For a moment he's not really looking at you, his eyes hollow, torrid shadows unknown to you riveting him. Then his look clears, and he sees you again. “But now, now I’m allowed to want again. And I can take what I need”.

You get a pit in your stomach hearing his words, a pull you don’t quite know how to name makes you want to hold him, thread your fingers through his hair, kiss his cheek and tell him that it’s never going to be like that again, that you won’t allow it to be like that again. Pathetic! hisses a voice in your mind. You’re not used to intimacy, to showing affection without feeling shame. Certainly not to Astarion no less. Then the rest of his words sink in as he slides two fingers in the neckline of your robe, slowly, his gaze lowering on his hand touching your skin. Time slows down once more, your heart is pounding in your chest. You shiver when his cold fingers slip further in your armor, circling your hardened nipple again and again until you give up on acting unaffected and he hears your little gasps and strangled whines.

“A-Astarion, what are you…?”

“What am I doing, dear?” he finishes the sentence for you. You’re a little…incapacitated at the moment, it seems. “I think you know it very well”. His voice dangerously mellow.

You’d widen your eyes hadn’t pleasure made you dozy. You blink a few times, but your eyelids drop, heavy. You part your lips, the sigh you exhale reaches your ears muffled. You don’t argue for a little while, your arm reaches above your head, your fingers gripping the coarse crags that grates your skin as soon as you touch them, wetting the already dump surface with little droplets of blood. Your chest raises and falls with each ragged breath, your toes curl in your dank boots. You raise a leg, hooking it on his thigh so that you can – in your opinion unnoticeably – grind against it, chasing more and more of the sensations he was so graciously extending you. A sly smirk creeps on his face seeing you falling apart because of such a trifling contact. Aren’t you precious, acting like you’ve never been touched before. He delights in the idea for a moment, that his hands are the only ones that ever grazed your bare skin (not for slicing it, burning it and freezing it of course, or he’d have the competition of quite a few goblins, drows and Dark Gods’ favorites). He grabs the neckline of the robe pulling it down further. The tip of his tongue slides up your breast stopping on your nipple to circle and suck it. You swallow, trying to clench your thighs but only ending up squeezing his. Astarion casually bites your nipple before continuing his ascent licking your chest, your neck, your chin and your parted lips. His hand grabs your hip tightly, pressing you against him further, then his fingers find your chest again. He pulls back to look at your face, your half-lidded eyes slowly opening to meet his.

“Your hands are really pretty. Your fingers…” you pause, your voice soft, barely a whisper “…feel nice.”

“I had a feeling you liked them”. Astarion’s tone is amused, smug. Of course it is. He kisses your cheek, your temple, he’s almost nuzzling into you. “Would you like me to touch you a little further?” he thumbs your nipple, squeezes your breast a little, then presses his hand against it, slides it down your body until his fingers find the slit of your armor. You gasp as soon as they graze your inner thigh. The corner of his mouth twitches before stretching in a smirk.

“Well, that's a little dramatic, don't you think? I haven’t even touched you yet”. His voice is affectionate, but it’s evident how presumptuous he is. You feel your cheeks heating up, you scoff and turn your head to the side.

“Ain’t nothing special, you know? Been done a thousand times before you, vampire” you glare, your lips pursed.

“Oh? Do you come undone this easily at any hand’s touch? How disappointing”.

“No! I…” you turn to face him again, more flustered than ever, concern evident on your face. Have you offended him? Does he think you don’t like him, that you’d like just anyone doing this to you? That he’s just a tool for your own enjoyment? Couldn’t be any further from the truth.

Since you met him, you basically made a purity pledge, damn spawn. And not by your will, for certain. You’re not sure how or when it happened, but at some point, in this disgraced journey of yours, any other creature’s touch almost disgusted you. Elf, drow, human, tiefling, man or woman, tall or short, fair or dark, shy or outgoing, it didn’t matter, if it wasn’t him. You eluded any other’s touch to preserve yourself for a caress that was forbidden to you. Forbidden by who, you might ask? By yourself, by the circumstances, by the gods, even. The more you craved, the less deserving of attaining you felt.

“I know you don’t” he whispers back. Astarion presses his lips to yours once again, his kiss lazy and deep. His fingers find your underwear, the fancy one you just got from Figaro’s Facemaker’s Boutique that you find rather uncomfortable when fighting.

Astarion’s index and middle finger graze your panties a few times, tentatively?, you wonder. No, he doesn’t need to attempt. He knows. Tauntingly is more like it. You hold your breath until he moves your panties aside to rub his fingers up and down your clit. You almost hiss at the contact, his fingers are cold and it feels better than it should. He begins to rub lazy circles around it, relishing the sight of you at his mercy and the little sounds you try to choke back down your throat.

“S-shouldn’t do that” you say, and you grip his wrist tightly, nails digging in his skin. “Stop, I’ll…” he doesn’t move a fraction of an inch, still touching you deliberately as you squirm in his arms.

“Cumming already? You’re so easy. Doesn’t quite suit a leader”. He mocks, his other hand reaches for your breasts again. You hiccup and throw your head back so ungraciously that you hurt yourself. “Shouldn’t you be unswerving, aloof, unresponsive? As unmoved as possible by…extraordinary circumstances?”

“I detest you” you breathe out, ignominious sounds of pleasure leaving your lips.

“Doesn’t really sound like you do, darling”. Astarion hisses when your nails sink so deep in his wrist they draw blood. He refrains from grousing about it though, too engrossed with the sense of power of having rendered his revered leader a whimpering mess, chasing these little moments of weakness of yours. They never last long. You grab his shirt tightly and drag him towards you. His eyes widen, he’s almost startled. You let out a strangled scream before sinking your teeth in his shoulder. You come undone and the taste of his blood fills your mouth, your lips close around the wound, and you suck like he’s done to you many times before. You always liked to cut up pretty things after all. To have your mouth dirty with blood. Each time it left you wonder whether a heaven exists and if it does, whether its gates already banished you once and for all. And if you were indeed banished, was it the last kill or the one before that, that condemned you for eternity? Lost in thought you cling to him, your hands find his shoulders. Your breathing is still quickened, your heart beats so frantically that Astarion can feel it against his ribcage. He knows that you’re not gentle or delicate always. He doesn’t need you to be. He holds you close and kisses your head, a hand comes up to caress your hair. He twists it around his fingers, handling it like he would a precious piece of fabric. And when he’s satisfied, he pulls, hard. Your head is yanked back. You’re met with glistening red eyes. He looks like a mad man, and you know that so do you.

“You’re hideous” he says, and it’s not mean. He’s smiling as he speaks, he licks his blood off your lips, then his tongue demands for yours. He undoes his pants, and you can feel it, hard and wet against your thigh. “I know you want to hurt me. And hurt yourself on me too”. He kisses the corner of your lips and grabs his dick to rub the tip up and down your drenched pussy. Your body twitches each time he brushes your sensitive clit. “May I?”.

You nod and the next thing you hear is your own scream of pain before actually sensing the familiar burning feeling. Astarion grabbed your hips tightly and pushed them down harshly, entering you in one swift motion. You hold onto his shoulders, nails digging in your freshly made wound. He groans and you hiss. You catch your breath adjusting to his size and whisper in his ear.

“That was evil” you utter, your breathing accelerated. You clench around him, more because of the not so pleasant feeling rather than to tease him and he grunts.

“Forgive me, I might have gotten the idea that it was gonna slide in nice and easy”. With a sardonic smile on his face, he delicately grabs your jaw wetting your cheek with his glistening fingers.

You scrunch up your face. “You’re disgusting”.

He chuckles and rubs his nose on your cheek. “Want me to be gentle?”. He doesn’t move yet, an arm sliding around your middle. When he finally does his movements are slow and deep. You sigh in pleasure and put a hand behind his neck, cheek pressed to his.

“I want...I need you inside me like this. Need you to take and take until there’s nothing left. You don’t understand how much I ache for…” destruction. Destroy and be destroyed. That’s why you never dared to lay a hand on him before, terrified he’d crumble between your bloody fingers. But it’s different now. He’s hurting you too. Blood for blood, flesh for flesh. You look in his eyes, a wry smile looming on your chapped lips. He puts a finger under your chin, lifting your face to take a better look at your expression as if to make sure he heard you right.

“As you wish, lover”. He rests a hand against the rocks near your head, his other arm guiding your hips in a ruthless pace. You both grunt and whine and hiss, clawing at each other like one could escape the other’s grasp at any moment. Astarion’s head is dizzy due to the long-awaited pleasure, but still clear enough to ask if he could sink his teeth in you.

“You already sunk something way bigger inside me, do you really need to ask?”

“Naturally, I always ask first. I'm civilised, unlike you”. You don’t have time to reply, soon lost in the disorienting feeling of the pleasure building inside you and the familiar sting of his bite. The more of your blood flows down Astarion’s throat the closer to his orgasm he gets. His grip on you bruising at this point. As the familiar warmth spreads through your core, you cry out his name and it comes out as a prayer spilled from quivering lips. He screams the name of a god he knows quite well as he loses himself in you. Desperation and fury dripping from each syllable. You press your lips to his, as if it’d soothe his agony. His kiss lecherous and vicious just like his movements. But what you hear is not the wail of a martyr. It’s the cry of sore wrists tearing the rope that held them bound, the liberating cry of receiving a caress after only having known violent touches. You hold him close as a wordless scream leaves your lips and you cum together, hot liquid filling your insides and dripping down your things. Soon you’re left there, cold and sweaty against the slimy wall, staring at your vampire companion the same way Peter would have looked at Jesus, had he the chance of seeing his face once again after having denied him.

“It felt lonely, you know” Astarion says quietly after a while. To be treated like a ghost. The metaphor forming in his mind is not that far from the truth. You acted like a psychic child looking the other way at the sight of an unwanted presence as if obstinate neglect could make it disappear. Just like at the sight of a spirit, you got startled whenever you couldn’t avoid his sight, his touch. “To have you so close all the time…” he raises a hand to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear “…only for you to flee away as soon as I deluded myself that I could reach you”. You grab Astarion’s hand not to let him take it away from your face, pressing your cheek to his palm and closing your eyes. “It’s always been a terrible affair to me. To want. It petrifies me”. You pause. “As long as I crave nothing, nothing can mislead me. Nor be taken away from me. If I don’t cherish nor desire anything, what can be stolen from me? I’d replace it with something else anyway”. Your look is open and sincere, he doesn’t doubt you. “You…I knew I wouldn’t find you in someone else. I always kept you at a distance so I would have never known what I could have lost and now…”

“Such a silly little thing you are. Should have told me to part ways instead of ever guarding my side. I won’t forget it” he grazes your lips, then puts his arms around you and holds you close.

Despite his grip you soon feel that…something is missing. The wall behind your back crumbles and you slip from his arms, falling on your knees.

“Tch. I hate happy endings”. You grunt at the sudden pain of the bump and the scratches, before lifting your head and meeting Laezel’s repulsed grimace.

“There were quite a few…happy endings, it appears to me”. Soon follows Gale’s comment. “That does not strike me as a ‘need of saving situation’…would you perhaps like me to restore that side of the wall, leave you a few more minutes in heaven, as they say?”

“Given your record, Gale, I’ll pass” you get up and shake off the dust.

“How considerate. However, I’d like to inform you that we don’t really need a cave to set the mood”, retorts Astarion.

“Suit yourselves”.

“You better not set any mood anymore, Astarion” warns Laezel.

“Well, I didn’t really mind. That was a hell of a show”. Karlach stops in thought before adding “…which can be taken in two ways considering my opinion of the Hells”.

“I would have gladly missed it” sighs Shadowheart, as you all approach the stinky gooey hole that leads outside the sewers.

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