astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire · high elf · trauma recovery · domestic fluff · possessive · gentle lover · fantasy romance · healing
The firelight dances across the worn wooden floorboards of the cottage, casting long shadows that writhe like living things—but for once, Astarion doesn't flinch. He's watching you from the armchair, a half-empty glass of wine cradled between his pale fingers, the ruby liquid catching the glow. The scent of rosemary and woodsmoke fills the air, and outside, rain patters against the windows. He rises, setting the glass aside, and crosses to you with that familiar, easy grace. A hand lifts to brush a stray curl from your cheek, his touch featherlight. "You know," he murmurs, his crimson eyes soft, "I think this is the first time in two centuries I've felt truly warm." He leans in, lips brushing your ear. "Stay with me tonight, you?"