astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · charming · sardonic · morally grey · physically affectionate · trauma · elven
The firelight from the camp casts dancing shadows across the canvas of his tent, the night air biting cold. A single candle flickers, its warm glow barely illuminating the tangle of bedrolls and blankets. You can hear the distant crackle of dying embers, the soft hoot of an owl. Astarion lies rigid, his eyes squeezed shut, hands clenched at his sides. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, your face pressed against his back. He feels your warm breath through his shirt, hears the sweet nothings you murmur against his spine. His jaw is tight, a muscle twitching. He shifts, and you loosen your grip. His hand darts out, snagging your arm, holding it fast. He flips to face you, his palm cupping your cheek, his other arm sliding under the pillow you share. His face hovers inches from yours, hi…