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“when he was done, he would close his eyes and begin to snore softly and dany would lie beside him, her body bruised and sore, hurting too much for sleep„
daenerys killing khal drogo. my commission by luddrawns on ig/twt
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Astarion x Reader
・❥・You bring him frogs and hedgehogs; he brings you smirks and reluctant affection.
The first time, he thought it was a joke.
Astarion was lounging by the fire, polishing his dagger with that casual elegance only he could manage, when you marched into camp with your hands cupped around…something.
“What,” he drawled, “is wriggling in your hands, darling?”
You crouched in front of him and revealed the prize with all the pride of a victorious dragon.
“A frog.”
Astarion stared. Slowly. Then blinked.
“A frog.”
You nodded eagerly. “He was just sitting by the river, and I thought of you.”
There was a pause - a long, incredulous pause - before he leaned back on his elbows, a wicked smile curling his lips.
“Of me? I can’t decide if I should be flattered or insulted.”
“He’s cute,” you argued.
“…Yes. And he eats bugs. I see the resemblance now.”
You stuck your tongue out and went to release the frog, but the sparkle of mischief in his red eyes lingered all evening.
………………
The second time was a squirrel.
You held it out like a rare treasure. “Look! He let me pick him up!”
Astarion didn’t even lower the book he was reading this time. He only peered over the top, voice smooth as silk and dripping with disdain.
“Darling, unless you intend to train a small army of rodents to do our bidding, I’m not sure what you expect me to do with that.”
“He’s soft.”
“Mm. And he probably has fleas.”
You made a face but stroked the squirrel anyway, letting it scurry back into the woods. You swore you caught Astarion watching, lips twitching as if he was holding back laughter.
………………
By the third time, you thought he’d be used to it.
You crept up behind him with your latest find - a hedgehog, balled up in your palms.
“Astarion…” you whispered dramatically. “I have a gift.”
He sighed without looking up from his dagger.
“Let me guess. A feral pig this time? A bear cub? Oh, I do hope it’s an owlbear, that would really complete the menagerie—”
You plopped the hedgehog right into his lap.
Astarion froze. He stared down at the tiny spiny ball now sitting politely on his trousers. The hedgehog sniffed, then sneezed.
A soft sound escaped him - half scoff, half laugh.
“You…are absolutely incorrigible,” he muttered. But instead of shoving the creature away, he extended one elegant finger, letting it sniff him.
“…Alright, I admit it. He’s rather…distinguished. A fine gentleman.”
“See?” you whispered, grinning. “You like him.”
“I tolerate him. There’s a difference,” he sniffed but the smile ghosting across his lips betrayed him.
………………
That night, as the hedgehog trundled off into the shadows, Astarion lingered by the fire with you, watching the sparks drift upward.
“You are an utterly ridiculous creature, you know that?”
You nudged him with your shoulder. “You kept him in your lap for almost an hour.”
He hummed thoughtfully, eyes glittering in the firelight.
“Yes, well. Perhaps I’m growing…attached. Don’t get used to it.”
The next morning, he left a single wildflower on your bedroll.
When you raised an eyebrow, he only smirked.
“Consider it a return gift, my dear. I thought of you when I saw it…though, unlike your frogs and squirrels, it doesn’t have fleas.”
Astarion x Reader
– Even in a world of blood and battles, you and Astarion find a little nightly routine.
The camp had gone quiet. The fire burned low, casting its lazy glow against the canvas of your tent. You were smoothing down your bedroll when the familiar whisper of boots brushing the grass reached your ears.
“Well,” came Astarion’s lilting drawl, his silhouette tall and elegant against the tent flap. “If it isn’t my favorite companion in crime — already tucked in, like some dutiful soldier. How very quaint.”
You laughed softly, tilting your head at him. “Not all of us thrive in the dead of night, Astarion. Some of us need actual rest.”
He pressed a hand to his chest with mock offense. “And deprive yourself of the riveting company I provide after sunset? Scandalous.”
Despite the teasing, he stepped inside, crouching with practiced grace. His eyes — red, sharp, endlessly watchful — lingered on the small tin of balm you kept by your bedroll. You were uncorking it, rubbing some into your palms before working it into your arms, worn from travel.
He arched a brow. “Is this… part of the human ritual? Greasing yourself up like a roast before sleep?”
You chuckled. “It’s for sore muscles. Keeps them from aching in the morning.”
“Mm. Delightful. Do go on.” His smirk curved wickedly, but he stretched out beside you anyway, reclining like a cat claiming its corner. He always did this, slipped into your space as though it belonged to him.
Without asking, he plucked the tin from your hand, dipped a pale finger in, and began to work it into your shoulder. His touch was deceptively light, careful, as if he knew how fragile mortals could be.
“See?” he murmured near your ear. “Not so bad, is it? You fuss with your little ointments, and I, magnanimous creature that I am, assist.”
You leaned into the touch despite yourself. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
He gave a quiet laugh, breath warm against your temple. “Guilty. But then, pampering you is infinitely preferable to watching you hobble around in the morning, groaning like an old man.”
You elbowed him lightly, and he hissed, feigning injury. “Careful, darling. I might just withhold my services.”
When he finally drew back, you noticed the faintest shift in his expression — something softer beneath the mask. He reclined on his side, head propped on his hand, watching as you adjusted the blanket around yourself.
“Tell me,” he said suddenly, voice gentler now, “why do you bother? The washing, the creams, the rituals. Every night, as though tomorrow is promised.”
You met his gaze, steady despite the weight of the question. “Because it makes me feel… human. Grounded. And if tomorrow isn’t promised, then tonight should still feel like mine.”
For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then Astarion smiled. Not his sharp, mocking grin, but something quieter. Something almost real.
“Well,” he said softly, reaching to tug the blanket snug around your shoulders with surprising care, “then let’s make tonight yours.”
And though he stayed awake long after you drifted off, he didn’t leave. He lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath, and for once, allowed himself to simply exist beside you.
Imagine Tav having previous sexual trauma and trusting Astarion enough to go to bed with him only to be devastated and feel dirty when he admits that he was using them for protection.
Even if he changed because he loved them doesn't erase the fact that it happened.
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daemon “well she’s my wife” and mysaria “well she trusts me more than you” going back and forth until alicent gets brought up and both their dumbasses just gotta sit there like this because she still tops overall
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