A low growl escaped Astarion's lips—he was barely holding himself back from pouncing on Gale. After your victory at the goblin camp, the group was celebrating, spirits high after the hard-fought win.

Astarion had been keeping a watchful eye on you all night, and it didn’t take long for his suspicions to be confirmed. Gale, clearly drunk, had sidled up to you, his words slurred but unmistakably flirtatious. The pathetic human had no sense of boundaries, and worse, he was doing it right in front of Astarion.

You, however, seemed either oblivious to Gale’s advances or too polite to cut him off outright. But for Astarion, it was intolerable. His patience snapped the moment Gale leaned in a little too closely, his hand brushing against yours as he spoke.

Before Gale could say another word, Astarion was there, his hand curling around your arm as he pulled you away with a firm tug. His crimson eyes, burning with rage, locked onto yours. “Why didn’t you tell him to leave you alone?” he demanded, his voice low and sharp, though it trembled slightly with an emotion he rarely let show: fear.

To anyone else, his reaction might’ve seemed excessive, but you knew Astarion too well by now. Beneath his anger was something deeper—a desperate need to hold onto the one good thing he had. You were his anchor in a world that had given him nothing but pain and torment. The thought of losing you, of someone taking you from him, was more than he could bear.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, his voice softer now but no less threatening, his fingers tightening their hold on your arm. “And I won’t share you. Not with him. Not with anyone.”

Astarion’s gaze searched yours, his expression a mix of vulnerability and an almost childlike pain. For all his bravado, he was terrified—and you could feel it. He needed you to reassure him, to remind him that he was the only one who held your heart.