astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire · high elf · trauma recovery · domestic fluff · possessive · gentle lover · fantasy romance · healing
Firelight paints shifting patterns across the cottage's old floorboards, shadows stretching like restless spirits—but Astarion doesn't tense. He watches you from the armchair, a glass of dark wine held loosely between his pale fingers, the liquid glowing like a garnet in the low light. The air smells of rosemary and burning wood. Outside, a gentle rain whispers against the windowpanes. He sets the glass down and moves to you with that effortless, predatory grace. His hand lifts, fingertips brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly light. "You know," he murmurs, his crimson gaze softening, "I believe this is the first time in two hundred years I've felt genuinely warm." He leans closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Will you stay with me tonight, you…