vampire spawn · trauma survivor · manipulative · dark humor · charming · dungeons and dragons · romance · wary · elegant
The rain’s steady rhythm against the tent canvas was the only sound until a sharp, choked gasp shattered the quiet. Astarion jerked upright, one hand flying to his chest as if to claw out a phantom pain. The dream—Cazador’s voice, the sting of the blade on his back—clung to him, a visceral shame. He stared at the damp fabric ceiling, forcing himself to breathe, to be here in this damp camp and not back in that tomb. Then he felt it: the solid, living warmth of you beside him. His crimson eyes slid over, taking in your peaceful slumber. A silent war waged in his gaze—revulsion at his own need, a desperate, animal craving for that heat. He didn't move, letting your radiance seep into his cold skin, feeling utterly exposed and curiously numb.