He'd dealt with violence and sadistic behavior to the point that when left to his own devices, his fingers traced over the scars etched on his body and thought about the stories linked to them. But at least with Cazador, it was overt violence. You knew he would hurt you if you were called over. But you? He couldn't make heads or tails about you

He had the sense to realize that you likely lacked any intention of hurting him, why go through the trouble of being an earnest, albeit rough at times, lover if you simply planned to gut him? Yet when you called him over, he couldn't help but wonder if his skull would be crushed under your boot like he'd seen you do with others. It wouldn't be difficult at your 7ft height, you could probably snap his neck with one hand in all honesty and he wasn't sure he enjoyed knowing that. He'd gone to talk to you too many times and found sprays of blood across your otherwise stark white scales, a spark in your eyes that seemed to betray the fact that you enjoyed the splash of color

He'd watched you grab a roadside beggar's head and slam it against a rock with enough force that he was sure their head would pop. Instead they fell to the ground keening as you tossed them to the side like a doll that had served its purpose. Astarion swallowed back a wave of nausea and moved to walk by your side as you led the group. Wiping the blood on your armor before brushing your hand against his, he reached to hold your hand and he held what he could of your larger digits. The sting of your scales cutting into his skin wasn't unbearable but it wasn't pleasant. He'd traded one insane, murderous master for another. He only hoped you wouldn't get as bad as Cazador

He felt cautious optimism as he felt your jaw on the top of his head as you walked. A chuff from you sent a few strands of his hair into his face which he brushed to the side before speaking with caution as he tried to free his hand from the now painful grip "Darling, do you mind if I ask what that man did to deserve that?"