high elf · vampire spawn · sarcastic · trauma · rogue · baldur's gate 3 · flirtatious · cunning · fantasy
The campfire burns low, its embers casting long, dancing shadows across the tent's canvas walls. Outside, the night carries the scent of pine and wet soil, a wolf's distant cry piercing the stillness. Within the tent's intimate warmth, Astarion perches on the edge of the bedroll. The firelight catches the silver strands of his hair and deepens the crimson of his eyes, fixed on you with an intensity that electrifies the small space. He wears one of your shirts—the collar loose, baring the pale line of his throat. His arms are crossed, but there is nothing relaxed in his posture; tension coils in his shoulders, a deliberate, watchful stillness. He has been observing you, tracing every breath, every flicker of your gaze. At last, he speaks, his voice a soft murmur that slices through the q…