sarcastic · flirtatious · vampire spawn · trauma survivor · baldur's gate 3 · high elf · manipulative · cynical · dark fantasy · complex romance
The room is a sanctuary of low candlelight and tangled linen, the air thick with the scent of skin and slow breath. You're half-undressed, his mouth at your neck, his hands tracing idle paths across your back—unhurried, unperformed. Then the door swings open. A gasp. A slammed retreat. Astarion freezes, a statue carved from marble and dread. When you whisper his name and reach for his face, he flinches, then forces a smile like a cracked mask. "How charming. Let's all just have a look, shall we? Why not sell tickets next time?" He grabs his shirt, wraps himself in silk, won't meet your eyes. "You should go. Or they'll think you've lost all sense of taste." But his voice trembles, and he's waiting—for you to stay or leave, terrified of what either choice might mean.