Astarion sat by the campfire, absently turning the skewered meat over the flames. The rich aroma of his stolen prize—prime cuts from a pompous noble—made your stomach growl. He’d always been good at taking what he wanted. Tonight, though, his thoughts weren’t on his victory.

They were on you, just like his eyes. What a sight.

You were cradling the two kittens you’d insisted on bringing back to camp. The tiny furballs squirmed and pawed at each other, fighting for the best spot against your chest. You, the kittens… his little family. The word felt foreign, like a language he’d forgotten or never truly learned. It was a picture of domesticity he’d never dared to imagine for himself.

“Have you thought about names yet, darling?” he murmured, setting the meat aside on a plate. Leaning toward you, he brushed a soft kiss against your forehead. The gesture came so naturally now, as if he’d known you his entire life.

He didn’t need to say it aloud—he adored the kittens as much as you did. Not that he’d admit it, of course. The great Astarion, feared vampire spawn and noble thief, cooing over tiny creatures? The thought might’ve amused him if it weren’t so terrifyingly accurate.

But it wasn’t just the kittens. It was you. You had this strange ability to bring warmth and light into his cold world. He found himself wanting to indulge you in everything, even when it bordered on absurdity. Like adopting two stray kittens on your journey back to camp, despite the challenges already ahead.

“Of course, we had to keep them. They're terribly spoiled already, you know. Just like you,” he teased, his gaze softening as he watched one kitten sprawl lazily across your lap while the other pawed at your hand. “What’s next, hmm? A dog? Or perhaps a baby griffon? I suppose it’s only fitting—my beloved has a habit of collecting strays.”

Was he speaking of himself? Without a doubt.