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tripleyeeet · 8 months

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I'M STARVING, DARLING (8)

SUMMARY: For the first time in a long time, you and Astarion find yourself experiencing a sense of normalcy through the chaos.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,346

WARNINGS: Sexual tension (there always is with these two, whoops), a bit of bloodsucking, mentions of past abuse, angst if you squint.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this took so long! I'm back from vacay at work and died for four days straight but now we're back! Sort of!

Updates from now on might not be as frequent but I'm going to try and post weekly; maybe on Saturdays?

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

“Don’t you dare.”

At this point, you’ve been lying there for what feels like hours, locked inside his arms —unable to bring yourself to move thanks to the comfort you feel surrounding your frame. A comfort you haven’t felt in a long time as you listen to the raspy way his voice tickles your neck, prompting you to sigh and give in, knowing that resistance is futile.

“They’re going to kill us, you know.”

Shifting awkwardly to face him, you try not to smile when he peaks one eye open, quickly closing it when he catches your own. “I’d like to see them try considering I’m already dead.”

“Yes, well I’m not.”

He huffs, clutching you further into his chest. “And that’s my problem?”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully smack his face before wriggling from his grasp, moving to sit upright with a groan. As you do, you quickly remember the events of last night and slowly roll your bare shoulders, feeling them click in and out of place before you raise your arms to the sky with a yawn.

Despite your better judgement, you stayed up far too late, enjoying the ever-growing intimacy the night had to offer. All of the lingering touches and longing gazes mixed between small bouts of passion and a rather lengthy dip in the tub were nothing short of worth it. In fact, if you were honest, it was better than anything you could’ve imagined. A proper break from the chaos you’d been unwillingly thrust into as of late.

You knew because of that it’d be hard to wake up. To let your mind move from fantasy to reality as the sun hit your face and the reminder of the oncoming doom filtered through your tired mind.

What you weren’t prepared for however was Astarion’s lack of restraint as his curious fingers begin to slip across your back. Carefully drawing up and down your spine, his fingers move in delicate motions, sending an onslaught of shivers down your spine that have him chuckling under his breath, shuffling closer toward your frame.

“If you told me last night I’d be enjoying such a delicious view…”

When you turn to give him a narrow-eyed look he trails off, looking at you with feigned innocence as he kisses your shoulder blade, allowing his lips to linger as you stare him down.

“You’re lucky you're cute.”

“And you’re lucky my blade’s still attached to my clothes. Otherwise it’d be at your throat threatening you back to bed.”

“Kinky.”

Immediately he snorts, pressing his forehead against your back. “For fuck sakes— come back to bed, please. I won’t ask you again.”

Biting your lip, you look around the room for a moment, picking apart the disaster of discarded clothes and muddied floors mixed between half-opened packs of supplies. Somehow despite the disarray of it all you still manage to smile as you crane your neck back, knowing that you should get up but ultimately give in to temptation, shuffling around Astarion’s frame to rest your head back on your pillow.

“Fine. You win.”

“Win?” He slips effortlessly into your side, leaning over to place a chaste kiss to your cheek before tracing the edge of your jaw with his finger. “And what pray tell is my prize?”

“My company.”

He scrunches up his face in false disgust, softly taking hold of your chin. “I was hoping for something a bit more exciting.”

It’s apparent then that he’s looking for a repeat of the hours prior. More moments of shared ecstasy before the inevitable shift in focus occurs and you’re most likely left wanting for another few weeks.

It’s tempting for sure. Especially when he slips a leg between your own, gently pushing his thigh against that spot that has you swallowing hard as you close your eyes.

“You and I both know—“

He cuts you off with a long kiss. One that’s devoid of anything other than the hunger of a starved man, reaching for that initial bite. It’s all tooth and tongue —a mess of movements that have him shifting upright to straddle your leg, breathing hard against your open mouth as he slots his teeth against your lower lip, making you groan.

“Sorry darling, what were you saying?” His grin is wicked when he pulls away, using the moment of dazed confusion to stroke your cheek as you open your mouth to speak. When nothing comes out he merely chuckles and places a much softer kiss in the same spot, resting against you for a second or two before pulling away.

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re easy,” he muses, moving his thigh against you. “Desperate even.”

Immediately, there’s a part of you that wants to argue that the feeling of your legs suddenly tightening around his own as your breath begins to falter isn’t the result of your desperation, but his. That you’re merely just a victim to his charms like always. However, the bigger part of you knows he’ll probably make you feel otherwise. More than likely, he’ll retort with something far too clever and make you second-guess your words.

So instead, you merely give in to his claims, humming quietly as he explores your frame, quickly laying waste to your neck with an open-mouthed kiss that makes you crave that feeling again. The cold nothingness brought on by his teeth latching against you.

Despite its somewhat violent cause, you still long to remember the feeling. The incomparable bliss of that icy jolt before total numbness occurs, leaving you lightheaded and empty. Suddenly, it takes over your mind, flashing amongst the current movements of his mouth trailing down your torso.

All of it’s enough to say his name. Quietly through the haze of desire, you feel him pause and look up, raising a brow at your heavy chest as you cup his cheek. “Are you hungry?”

He looks at you confused. “If this is some sneaky way of trying to get out of bed, I can assure you—“

“No.” You shake your head, moving it slightly to the side to showcase your throat. “Are you hungry?”

For a moment there’s an undeniable tension that grows. Festering amongst naked skin and scratchy sheets, it builds by the second, making your chest ache with the kind of nervous anticipation that has you wondering if maybe you shouldn’t have spoke.

He may be a vampire but thus far he’s managed to keep himself from feeding on you since that first time. Something you were both surprised and disappointed by, considering you had expected him to ask for more. Especially after the reaction of his previous feed. It was obvious that it was enjoyable. A moment of pure decadence that left him wanting more despite the consequences.

“Wait a minute, am I dreaming?”

His face is suddenly inches from yours, his breath wafting against your face through a grin that makes you chuckle. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m sure I’ve dreamt of this exact scenario once or twice.”

“Have you now?”

He hums with a nod, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “Yes. However, the only difference is that I was in a castle and Cazador’s head was on a stick in the corner.”

You snort and wrap your arms around his head, pulling him closer. “Sorry to disappoint. Hopefully you can consider my offer the next best thing?”

“I suppose. But only because you were my first.”

First?

Immediately, you wonder if it’s a slip of the tongue —another one of his flirtatious lies sent to woo despite already having you. Given the nature of his past, it wouldn’t be all that surprising. Considering his role under Cazador’s thumb was to charm and lure, you know that lies like this are still second nature. A mechanism of lust ingrained into his psyche.

Plus, it’s not like it’s possible for you to actually be his first. Having spent most of his time in spaces like this, a bit of bloodletting was bound to happen at some point. It was inevitable really when you think of Astarion’s voice and face and overall ability to manipulate.

Surely it’d be hard to resist. But then it dawns on you —the severity of his abuse. The tightened leash so carefully tied around his neck for hundreds of years. There’s no way Cazador would’ve allowed him such pleasantries. Despite his efforts —despite the countless opportunities to take his fill, it quickly becomes apparent that he wouldn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

Because despite the allowance to explore the city, he was still considering nothing.

It makes your heart simultaneously skip and break, watching the sudden nervousness that clouds his features. The way his cheeky grin sort of falls out of place, showcasing an underlying fear that has him licking his lips and searching your face.

“Is that true?”

All he does is nod his head, looking at you with such sincerity that the only way you’re able to respond is to inhale slowly. To stop and stare and subtly nod back, hoping that he understands.

When he does you’re met with nothing but anticipation. A breathless series of moments leading up to Astarion’s mouth against your throat, warming up the skin with languid licks that have you closing both your eyes, waiting for the pain.

“I don’t understand what I did to deserve you.”

The edges of his teeth scrape gently over your skin, making you swallow and sigh, unable to answer because you’re too busy preparing. Too busy expecting the pain before it eventually subsides into that numbness you so desperately crave.

“Thank you, for this. Truly.”

His voice feels like velvet on your skin. The way it coasts the expanse of it in the softest of praise before it’s surpassed by that first initial jolt, ripping through your flesh in one quick push. Groaning lowly, you feel the presence of his teeth slide inside before you can even process, his lips haphazardly slotting over top to suck.

Without much warning you find yourself lost. Laying slack against the bed, unable to even bring yourself to grab his hair like the first time, you merely ride the wave of pain and pleasure that repeatedly breaks against you. Allowing it all to sink in with a quiet hum that has him smiling against your throat, lapping up bloodshed after bloodshed until he hears the door crash open.

“It's way past sunrise what the hell are you —oh fucking— Astarion, seriously?”

Both of you look over in horror to see Karlach looking down at the floor —her one hand covering her face as she disapprovingly shakes her head, realizing what she’s just witnessed.

Upon noticing, you know she isn’t all that surprised —just disappointed. A feeling that makes you sick to your stomach as you work to sit up, swearing under your breath and reaching for the nearest sheet despite your head starting to spin.

“I know we’ve been without proper shelter for months but for god's sake Karlach doors exist for a reason!”

Mortified, you look between them as Astarion scolds, noticing the subtle smirk that rises over Karlach’s lips. “Well, maybe if the two of you got up when you were supposed to instead of lying around sucking each other off I wouldn’t have to fucking come up here in the first place!”

“To be fair, we never got to the part where I suck him off.”

Immediately, Karlach groans while Astarion snorts, prompting you to press your lips together to suppress a laugh as the energy in the room shifts toward your favour.

“You two are just —just… come downstairs, please. Gale was supposed to cook breakfast but his hand’s still sore from the fight yesterday.”

“What the hell does that have to do with us?” Astarion asks but unfortunately, you already know the answer.

“You know how protective he gets over the cooking duties.” Annoyed, Karlach rolls her eyes, dropping her hand from her face to motion to you. “He won’t let anyone else but Blood-Bag over here do it.”

Both of you groan but relent, telling Karlach you’ll be down soon before she grumbles a low you better be before shutting the door.

When she’s gone you let out a sigh of relief, moving to sit up and shuffle towards the edge of the bed, trying your best to ignore the aching in your neck and the piercing gaze of Astarion’s frustration honing in on his handiwork.

“Don’t even think about it,” you tell him then, narrowing your eyes at the hunger that lingers beneath the surface, threatening to rise all over again at the sight of your bloodied skin.

Despite this, you know he’s most definitely thinking about it. Intensely and angrily, it’s probably the only thing he’s thinking about as he watches you push off the bed and move to your pack to grab a washcloth.

“Can’t I just finish you off?”

As you wipe down your neck, watching the way he frowns at the waste of blood you groan. “Astarion—“

“Please?”

He’s at your side in an instant, wrapping his greedy hands around your waist, pulling you in all over again. Convincing you that despite the importance of your compatriot’s breakfast, his fill still reigns supreme.

“Fine but—“

“I promise to return the favour.” He cuts you off with a smirk. One that’s laced with lust and quickly finds its way back to its home, stopping at the entrance with bated breath.

You can’t help but roll your eyes through your suppressed grin in response, feeling his fangs hit your neck only to stop when the door rings out in a series of knocks causing you both to close your eyes and groan, knowing it’ll have to wait till later.

A fact that stirs an anger in both of you as you begrudgingly clean and throw on your clothes, attempting to ignore all the tension as you head downstairs to the communal kitchen space.

Inside there’s about half a dozen bodies, slaving over pots and pans and chatting with their peers as they await their meals. In the corner, Gale and Shadowheart stand chatting amongst themselves, unaware of your presence until you’re standing before them, hands crossed grumpily over your chest.

“Ah! About time you two showed up! We were beginning to think you’d abandoned the crew —or worse.”

“What could possibly be worse than leaving all of you behind?” Astarion asks dully, prompting you to shoot him a glare that has Shadowheart cocking her head.

“Where’s Karlach? Did she find you?” she asks.

Both of you nod, trying your best not to reveal the events of her findings before quickly changing the subject, signalling Gale to go into some long-winded rant about the importance of breakfast.

After that Astarion zones out completely. Standing alongside you, you can tell his mind is elsewhere as you and the wizard discuss the various ingredients you have on hand, working together to ultimately decide on a simple breakfast hash you could’ve easily whipped up without the lecture.

“Do you want me to supervise or?”

You shake your head. “Seriously Gale. I’m fine. I’ve been cooking since I was five. Go rest with the others.”

It takes some further reassurance; mostly from Shadowheart who insists that you’re right because of how starving she is. But eventually, he manages to set aside his pride with a sigh, muttering something about spices before being dragged away, leaving just the two of you.

“I swear I’ve never seen a more uptight wizard.” Astarion shakes his head while you wander over to the nearest prep table, producing a cutting board and a blade from Gale’s leftover pack. “I mean, I know they’re all pretty tightly wound but him—“

“Can you start peeling potatoes for me?”

He looks at you like you’ve just insulted his character. With widened eyes and open lips, he takes a minute to look around the room to see if you’re speaking to someone else before he realizes he’s the only one there. “Me?”

“Yes, you. C’mere.”

He does, but only to further stand there and stare, letting out a laugh. “Oh darling, I don’t cook. Hunt, yes, but obviously considering the fangs and all that you and I both know I no longer have a need for culinary skills.”

Ignoring his words you hand him the knife and motion to the spot next to you, watching as he reluctantly obeys. “Peel these then cut them into chunks about this big.” You show him the sizing with your fingers, hoping he’s smart enough to understand before tossing a couple of potatoes in front of him. “Then cut these peppers about half that size.”

As you hand over the peppers, Astarion continues to look at you in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, darling.”

“Dead, actually.” You grin mischievously, procuring some eggs that Gale managed to trade off of one of the other cooks before you arrived along with a bowl. “Besides, I recall a moment earlier when you said you’d return the favour?”

“Sexually,” he states. Then, he grabs the nearest potato and begins to peel, shakily slicing off a piece of potato skin. “Also, if I recall we didn’t even finish your end of the bargain.”

“Yet.”

Realizing that you’re right, he merely huffs and continues to peel, wreaking havoc along the knuckles of his fingers in the process.

It makes you frown, watching him struggle as you crack your eggs and mix, remembering that he probably hasn’t done this in years. For the last two centuries, he was too busy hunting whatever he could find underground, desperately consuming whatever crossed his path —meaning he probably hasn’t used a knife for anything other than violence since before he was turned. A depressing fact that has you reaching for his hand and examining his wounds with tired eyes.

“Can I show you how to hold it?”

There’s a moment where he goes to protest but ultimately accepts, looking at you half-annoyed as you explain the angle at which the knife should sit in his hand and the amount of pressure you should use.

“I don’t know why you insist on having me help. I don’t eat any of it.”

As he speaks he still takes your advice, letting the knife carefully slide across the potato, avoiding his knuckles entirely, making you grin. “It’s not about eating. It’s about making something you’re proud of.”

“How can you be proud of something that will no longer exist in an hour?”

You shrug your shoulders, unsure how to explain as the two of you then work in silence. As he peels and cuts, you prep your eggs before moving on to the sausage, dumping the meat into a pan with some simple spices that most definitely weren’t on Gale’s list.

You discover then how easy this all feels. From the moment you woke up, it’s as if you’ve been transported to a new life. One where the threat of danger is lost just like the stagnant tadpole behind your eye. In your mind, there’s not a care in the world other than Astarion’s knife skills and the hungry bellies that impatiently sit and it’s nice. Simple. The kind of life you quickly find yourself longing to have as the two of you continue to cook, occasionally joking about your peers between flirtatious touches and suggestive comments that have your chest feeling warm.

“You know with some practice you might actually be a handy prep cook.”

Bumping your hip against Astarion’s you notice a flicker in his gaze. One that’s filled with something foreign and happy as the two of you begin walking out your freshly cooked meal. “I’d say you’re wrong but considering my toxic pride, I’ll merely agree.”

Before you can respond the whole table catches your attention. Their eyes are wide with want as you set the bowl of hash at the centre of the table, barely blinking before they’re shovelling it onto their respective plates and expressing their thanks; filling Astarion with a new kind of pride that makes him fully understand just what you meant earlier.

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#i'm starving darling #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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