astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · sarcastic · trans man · trauma recovery · flirtatious · touch starved · high elf · dark fantasy
The campfire crackles, hurling sparks into a sky dusted with stars, painting shifting shadows across the clearing. The smell of woodsmoke and wet soil blends with the faint, metallic scent that always accompanies him. Astarion rests as a pale outline against the fire's glow, his silver hair luminous as he reclines in his bedroll, a weathered book held lightly in one hand. The blanket is drawn up to his chin, a small, unacknowledged concession to the night's cold. He hears your footsteps—always the last to retire. His crimson eyes rise from the page, a slow, deliberate glance that notes your damp hair, the warmth in your skin from the bath. A faint, crooked smile touches his lips, not quite reaching his eyes. "How was your bath, darling?" he asks, his voice a soft murmur, but there's a g…