#tw insomnia

Of all the things that came with dating Steven Grant—soft smiles, awkward jokes, museum facts whispered at the worst possible times, the way he held your hand like it was something precious he might drop—there was only one thing that ever truly scared you.

His insomnia.

Being with Steven was easy in the way breathing was easy. He was kind without trying, gentle without expecting praise for it. He remembered how you liked your tea, always warmed his hands before touching your face, apologized when he bumped into furniture that very clearly attacked him first. Almost perfect, really.

Almost.

Because when the lights went out and the city quieted, Steven’s mind didn’t follow. It stayed awake, pacing, gnawing at itself. Some nights it felt less like sleeplessness and more like something cruel he did to himself—eyes rimmed red, fingers twitching, body exhausted but refusing rest. As if sleep were a door he no longer trusted enough to open.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You woke to a soft, repetitive click-clack sound, faint but persistent. Not loud enough to be alarming—just irritating enough to pull you out of a half-dream.

Click. Twist. Click.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Steven sat on the edge of the bed, hunched slightly, elbows resting on his knees. A Rubik’s cube turned in his hands, movements quick but unfocused, like he wasn’t actually trying to solve it—just keep his hands busy.

“Stevie…” your voice was thick with sleep, a quiet mumble against the pillow. “D’you know what time it is?”

He flinched like he’d been caught doing something wrong, shoulders jumping a little. The cube paused mid-turn.

“Oh—! I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He twisted around to look at you, eyes wide and apologetic. “I’ll stop, I swear.”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. “You already woke me,” you said, not unkindly. “What’s the matter?”

Steven hesitated. That was always the tell. He pressed his lips together, gaze dropping to the cube in his hands. When he looked back up, he wore it—that expression that made your chest ache every time.

The abandoned puppy face.

“I… couldn’t sleep,” he admitted softly. “Haven’t been able to for a while now. Thought I might, you know, distract myself a bit. Didn’t think it was that loud.”

You felt your annoyance melt instantly, replaced by something warmer and sadder. You reached out, fingers brushing his arm. “Steven,” you murmured. “You look exhausted.”

He gave a small, self-deprecating huff of a laugh. “Yeah, well. That’s sort of the theme lately.”

You sat up fully now, sheets pooling around your waist. “I can make you some hot chocolate,” you offered gently. “Help you relax a bit.”

He shook his head immediately. “No, no, that’s alright. Don’t want to put you through all that trouble.”

“It’s hot chocolate, Steven.”

“I know, but still.”

“What if I add marshmallows?” you tried, arching a brow.

He cracked the tiniest smile, then shook his head again. “Tempting. Very tempting. But no.”

You studied him for a moment, really looked. The tightness around his eyes, the way his leg bounced restlessly. “Did you take your pills?” you asked quietly.

His smile vanished.

“No,” he said, just as quietly. “Didn’t want to.”

You didn’t push. You never did—not right away. Instead, you shifted closer and gently took the Rubik’s cube from his hands, setting it aside on the nightstand. Then you opened your arms.

Steven hesitated only a second before leaning into you, allowing you to pull him back against your chest. You wrapped yourself around him, chin resting against his hair, arms snug and warm. He let out a shaky breath, tension melting as he sank into your hold.

“They make it worse,” he confessed, voice muffled against you. “The nightmares. The night terrors. I wake up feeling like I’ve been running for hours. I just… didn’t want that tonight.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple, thumb rubbing slow circles over his arm. “I know,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

He relaxed a little more, fingers curling into your sleeve like he was afraid you might disappear. You held him tighter.

“Tell me, then,” you murmured softly, voice heavy with care. “What do you need, Stevie…?”

There was a pause. You felt him think about it—really consider it. Then, almost sheepishly:

“…I think,” he said, clearing his throat, “I want the hot chocolate. With marshmallows.”

You smiled into his hair, heart swelling. “Good choice.”

You shifted carefully, keeping one arm around him even as you reached for the blanket. “Stay right here. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

He nodded, finally letting himself sink back against the pillows, eyes already a little heavier as you moved away.

And when you returned—mug warm, marshmallows floating happily on top—you found Steven waiting for you, Rubik’s cube untouched, gaze soft and grateful.

Some nights, love wasn’t fixing the problem.

Some nights, it was hot chocolate, marshmallows, and holding him until sleep felt safe again.

So Steven accepted the mug with both hands like it was something fragile, something important. The warmth seeped into his palms immediately, shoulders dropping a fraction as he lifted it to his lips. He took a careful sip.

“…That’s really good,” he murmured, surprised every time, like you hadn’t made it for him a hundred times before. “Perfect temperature.”

You smiled softly and shifted back against the headboard. After a second, you patted your lap.

Steven didn’t need to be told twice. He moved closer, curling into you sideways, his shoulder pressing into your stomach, one knee tucked up as he settled. You waited until he’d taken another sip before lifting your hand to his hair.

His curls were a little tangled—sleep-ruffled, fingers having worried at them earlier without him noticing. You slid your fingers in gently, slowly untangling them, smoothing and separating each curl with careful patience.

Steven melted.

His breath stuttered softly, tension leaving him all at once as his head tipped back just enough to give you better access. “Oh,” he breathed. “That’s… that’s really nice.”

You continued, unhurried, nails grazing lightly over his scalp. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, voice already slower. Lifting his head a bit to not spill, he took another sip of the hot chocolate, marshmallow brushing his lip. You laughed quietly and wiped it away with your thumb, and he smiled—sleepy and fond.

For a moment, there was only the quiet of the room and the steady rhythm of your fingers in his hair. Then Steven spoke again, voice drifting.

“Did you know,” he started softly, “the ancient Egyptians believed dreams were messages from the gods? Proper messages. Like… you were meant to listen to them.”

You made a small, encouraging sound, fingers continuing their slow, grounding path through his curls.

“They even had dream temples,” he went on, words stretching out lazily now. “People would sleep there on purpose. Try to invite certain dreams. Always thought that was brave. Letting yourself be that open.”

His grip on the mug loosened, so you gently took it from him and set it aside. He didn’t protest—just shifted closer, cheek resting against your chest, breath warm through your shirt.

“There’s this god,” he continued, barely above a whisper, “Bes. Little guy. Protector of homes. Children. Scared nightmares away.” A faint smile curved his lips. “People kept him near their beds. Thought he’d guard them while they slept.”

Your fingers slowed, cradling his head more than combing now.

“I like that,” you whispered.

“Me too,” Steven murmured, already halfway gone. “Feels… comforting. Like someone’s watching over you.”

His breathing evened out gradually, words dissolving into silence. You kept playing with his curls, smoothing them back, grounding him the way you always somehow managed to do.

“…You’re better than the pills,” he mumbled sleepily. “You don’t give me bad dreams.”

Your chest ached at that.

You kissed the crown of his head, arms tightening around him just enough to remind him you were still there. “Sleep, Stevie,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And this time, he let himself rest.

Steven fell asleep curled against you, curls loose beneath your fingers, mind quieted by warmth, soft touches, and stories of gods who chased nightmares away. The night stayed calm. The Rubik’s cube remained forgotten on the nightstand.

And for once, sleep felt safe.

you’ve been lying on your bed, tossing and turning, trying very hard to fall asleep, but to no avail. your lack of sleep drives you to focus on the case at hand, much to your frustration.

having to seemingly start again while being extremely sleep-deprived, not knowing how long you’ll have until the next victim turns up — it’s sending you into a spiral. you feel guilt thinking about your irritation of not being able to sleep when there are others out there getting murdered.

after thinking about all the people you’ve failed to save and your competency — or lack thereof — for your job, you feel a heavy weight settle in your chest, followed by a lump in your throat. your breathing turns unstable and you know that you’re on the verge of a breakdown.

you try to calm yourself, of course. first, you try to count down from 120, sounding out the words precisely in your head. that does not work out and you feel anger again, huffing as you lean against the headboard and into a sitting position. you feel a gathering of tears in your eyes as you become more aware of the weight in your chest increasing. a quiet sigh escapes you and you position your arms crossed over yourself, your hands placed on either side of your shoulder. you begin patting yourself in a simple pattern — one, two on your left shoulder; one, two on your right. one, two. one, two.

a few minutes pass and you think you’ve calmed down enough to stop your ministrations. closing your eyes, you start taking deep breaths.

when you open your eyes, however, you think you see a dark figure in front of you and it prompts a loud gasp and a speeding of your heart rate that you just managed to slow down. you’re about to grab the gun on your night stand when you realise that the figure was simply aaron’s jacket draped over a chair containing either of your go bags.

you keep staring at the spot. tears silently running down your cheek. you’re surprised by how quiet your breathing is as you again feel the heavy weight, now both in your chest and in your stomach, almost swallowing you.

you close your eyes, breathe deeply, and look to your side. aaron’s chest is still rising steadily and you let that be your comfort for a few seconds.

it’s not enough, though. you’re so addled by your stress that you don’t care of the implications of what you might do. you need comfort and you need it now. you tell yourself that you'd be as receptive as you hope aaron will be if anyone else was rooming with you, and that eases your brain, even for a little.

you take your blanket off your lap, feeling the wet patch caused by your distress against your hand in the process. the sensation makes you grimace inwardly. slightly disoriented, you sway slightly to aaron’s bed. his back is towards you, so you simply burrow your head on his back while twining your arms around his blanket-covered waist, inhaling his scent as well as attempting to muffle your sobs.

you feel him stir.

aaron, with the amount of nights he laid with haley before their divorce and the number of times jack slid into his bed for an excuse to be held by his dad, knew instinctively what to do when a person puts their arm around his waist and attaches themselves onto him.

it takes him a few beats, however, to register that, no, it’s not his ex-wife (of course) or his son that’s wetting the back of his shirt with tears and holding the front so tightly, crumpling the clothing, that he feels the hands tremble. it’s you.

you, who dave has been teasing him about ever since the first meeting with the team, telling aaron that you’re just his type. you, who is the reason morgan’s been sending him cheeky smiles whenever you do something particularly adorable or, in some rather uncomfortable circumstances, sensual.

you, who bring him pastries from his favourite café whenever he doesn’t get the chance to stop by. you, who stay near him instead of taking up conversation with the others or partaking in your own quiet activity, simply offering your presence, when he does paperwork on the plane.

you, who is now in an extremely vulnerable position, giving your entire heart to aaron, and he feels devastated that the first time you’re doing so with him is through a panic attack.

he lifts your cold fisted hands from his abdomen and turns over gingerly, careful as to not crush you or send you away. he needs not worry about that, though. you fold your arms across your chest, grasping at your own sleep shirt like you’re desperate for air. and despite that, you only nestle further into aaron.

you’re now encircled in his arms, sobbing more openly as he pries your face away from his chest and takes it in his hands, caressing at your cheeks. he needs to see you, and he feels that you need to see him too.

you quiet when there’s no surface to block out the sound of your sobs, and he feels an ache as he sees your face scrunch up in embarrassment.

“hey, it’s ok,” he reassures, hoping that his voice isn’t as raspy as it usually is when he wakes up. he tries for a more gentle murmur this time, “i just want to know how to make you feel better. alright, sweetheart?”

you don’t startle at the pet name while he internally flinches. he prays that you don’t think he’s flirting with you, taking advantage of your fragile state. he’s really only trying to quell your sadness. you hum in response and burrow your face against the crook of his neck, your cheeks still wet and your breaths warm.

the two of you stay like that for a few minutes, chest to chest, his hands patting you lightly on your back in a pattern that he hopes you’re latching onto. he feels the racing thump of your heartbeat from earlier fall into a slower, steadier whisper.

he thinks you’ve fallen asleep when you mumble against his skin, still teary and sounding like you’ve had a cold for days, but evidently calmer than you were fifteen minutes ago. “i was so tired, but i couldn’t sleep. so i got mad.” aaron rubs your back in return. he thinks a response other than that would be unwarranted or be taken as pity, and he doesn’t want to see your face crumple up like before.

“i felt myself having a panic attack.. so i tried to stop it, you know, how we teach other people to stop theirs,” you chuckle, but nothing from it sounds of humour, only deprecation. he wants you to know that there’s nothing wrong with that, but he’s afraid if he says anything of the sort you’ll only see it as a well-meaning lecture. and he knows you don’t have the patience nor the energy for such a conversation right now.

aaron holds you tighter and barely suppresses the urge to place a light kiss on the crown of your head. he rests his cheek there instead.

“i calmed down, but then i saw that chair in front of my bed and got scared again. and i couldn’t calm down after that, so...” you finish with a whisper as you lose your words. he knows it’s because both of your actions tonight imply something that cannot be addressed at the moment; ignoring the actuality but relishing in the comfort.

he hums in agreement anyway. no discussions about that tonight either.

“i’m sorry for leaving my jacket,” aaron says instead. something safe, but also something he feels quite bad about. “i should’ve thought before putting it there. i know jack doesn’t like things hanging on his door. he always thinks it's a slenderman from that game he likes to play.”

you’re silent. he’s glad that you don’t rebuttal his apology, only squeezing at his hip to know that you’ve heard it and, hopefully, that he’s forgiven.

nothing is said after that. only gentle touches and soft sighs, until aaron finally concludes that you’ve fallen asleep after minutes of not hearing your quiet sniffles. he takes a moment to look down at you, here in his arms, your cheek against his chest and your hands on either side of him. seeking comfort in him.

He muttered that last part, glaring towards the wizard’s tent as a rumbling snore emanated from it and echoed throughout the camp. The vampire suddenly smirked, and you rolled your head to follow his gaze, only to see Karlach sneaking towards the tent with her hands out, ready to pounce. 

The snoring was cut short with a high-pitched scream, followed by a roar of laughter, and a lot of cursing on Gale’s part. 

“Good, at least that’s one of you up,” Astarion said, turning back towards you. “Now, are you going to follow suit? Or am I going to have to stoop to Karlach’s tactics? Brash as they are.” 

“Hey! My tactics are quite refined, thank you very much,” Karlach rebuked, stabbing a thumb in Gale’s direction, the poor man stumbling to find his cloak. “Got him up, didn’t I?” 

“That you did, darling.” 

“I’m up,” you muttered hoarsely, wincing as you slowly pushed yourself up off the ground, your body feeling about a hundred years old. “I’m up.” 

“Oh dear,” Astarion grimaced. “Looks like someone didn’t get their beauty sleep last night, hm?” 

His tone was light but there was an almost... concerned note to it, as if he was prodding. You felt a pang in your chest; he only spoke the truth; your eyes, once bright and expressive, now bore the heavy bags and dark circles of sleep deprivation. Your skin had dulled and paled considerably over the past few weeks, and your hair was dishevelled and unkempt.  

You almost certainly looked as bad as you felt. 

Part of you wanted to blame the group: Astarion for nearly sucking you dry of your blood, Karlach for being so damn loud all the time, Gale for making demands of you every ten minutes, Lae’zel for very nearly causing fights everywhere she went with her brashness, Shadowheart for her condescending demeanour and Wyll for craving validation from you every time you had a chat with him. The only sane person here seemed to be Halsin, and even he was starting to grate on your nerves for just looking so damn well-rested and perky.

The other part of you wanted to cry, to apologise for being such a failure and run away into the woods to never be seen or heard from again and just succumb to whatever fate the mind-flayer parasite had in store for you. 

Instead, you forced a smile, and lied.  

“Just had a nightmare, is all.” 

“Hm,” Astarion hummed, a simmering concern etched into the lines of his face. In that moment you felt a soft push in your mind, and the tadpole behind your eye squirmed as if responding to something. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken emotions, a palpable tension that seemed to hang between you both.  

It was only when you winced that the vampire averted his gaze, and the unseen force retreated from your mind. 

“Terribly sorry,” Astarion said as you rubbed your head. “It would seem that my worm wanted to talk with yours; perhaps it was... concerned. Ooh, do you think that they’re best friends?” 

“I doubt it,” you muttered, a little annoyed at his giddiness. “Maybe tell yours to mind its own business next time.” 

“Of course, apologies again,” he said with that smooth voice and puppy-dog eyes of his, it was enough to make your irritation melt away. “But should a nightmare ever arise in that darling head of yours again, just know that you can seek me out.” 

You blinked, a little surprised at the open invitation. You couldn’t quite tell if it was genuine; it was always hard to tell with him. The only times you had ever been intimate was whenever he sought you out for a bit of casual fun. He seemed confused as to why you never wanted to initiate, but you tried to explain that while you enjoyed your time together, you never wanted to invade his privacy as you respected that camp time was everyone’s chance for a bit of peace and were entitled to such.  

This only seemed to confuse him further. 

Still, this had to be a big step for him, to ask you to his tent -his sanctuary- and you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. 

“I-I will,” you stutter. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime, my dear,” Astarion smiled. “Now, shall we see what chaos today brings for us? It’s been far too long since we’ve had to kill anyone.” 

You bumped his shoulder playfully. “We killed that group of bandits only yesterday.” 

He returned the gesture with a sly smirk. “Exactly.” 

During the day, you continued your journey with a fragile facade of normalcy, sipping on coffee like it was the elixir of life, desperately trying to stay awake. Your interactions with others were tinged with a weary detachment, as if you were viewing the world through a foggy pane of glass.  

Emotions played hide-and-seek within your very soul. Frustration lurked just beneath the surface, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. An innocent quip or question would trigger an unexpected wellspring of tears, followed by nervous laughter, leaving everyone in the group perplexed. You merely brushed it off as the tadpole messing with your head, but even that raised a few eyebrows as nobody else was acting up—it was a good thing you were persuasive. 

You tried to avoid battles wherever and whenever you could, opting to take the longer roads or attempting to sweet-talk your way out of a sticky situation. However, some fights were unavoidable, and this was when your sleep deprivation was really put on show for everyone to see; your movements were sluggish, enemies were able to get more hits on you and you had to be helped back up to your feet on more than one occasion.  

The others insisted on setting up camp a little earlier than usual so you could rest and, despite your trying to tell them that you were fine and wanted to keep going because these tadpoles weren’t going to remove themselves anytime soon, they wouldn’t take no for an answer.  

So, here you were again, on your back, staring up at the stars. Another night of having an existential crisis while everyone else slumbered on peacefully. Rinse and repeat. 

You had tried everything to conquer your insomnia. Experimented with herbal teas, soothing music, you had even consulted a sleep specialist back in Baldur’s Gate who prescribed a cocktail of medications. But the battle persisted, night after night. 

Sitting up and rubbing your dry, stinging eyes, you decided to try something else. 

As you crept through the camp, you were careful not to wake anyone else up as you approached Astarion’s tent, tentatively peeking in through the flap before reprimanding yourself; even though he had invited you, boundaries were important, you couldn’t just go barging in. So, you gently knocked on one of the wooden beams that supported the tent. 

“Astarion...?” You softly whispered, waiting for a response. 

Only silence followed. 

You knocked again, wincing slightly at the louder noise you made. For a moment you thought about abandoning this whole silly idea and going back to staring into space for the next eight hours, but desperation made you persistent. 

Mercifully, you heard a faint shuffle come from inside the tent. 

“Come in,” Astarion’s husky, muffled voice answered. 

Nervously, you slipped inside, and a wave of warmth immediately washed over your face as you were greeted with the sight of a bare-chested Astarion sitting cross-legged on his bedroll. You were grateful he at least had pants on, otherwise you would have been out of there like a shot. 

A mischievous smile spread across his face as he watched you squirm uncomfortably. “Whatever is the matter, darling?” His lips formed a perfect pout. “Come to ask me for a little cuddle to chase the bad dreams away?” 

Your nostrils flared as you glowered down at him while he smirked smugly back up, because of course he would tease you about something like this. You should have known that he wasn’t going to take you seriously. 

“Forget it,” you said, making a sharp turn to re-open the tent flap. “I-I never should have come here, I’ll just... leave you be.”  

You missed the flash of panic on his face as he quickly got to his knees to reach out and grab your wrist before you could make it out.  

“Wait!” He said, stopping you in your tracks. “I’m sorry, come back in, please?” 

You slowly turned your head. 

“I promise not to tease you.” 

Begrudgingly, you allowed him to take your hand and escort you back inside, guiding you to sit down beside him on the floor. 

“You’re having trouble sleeping again, I presume?” 

Nodding your head, you squeezed the bridge of your nose and sighed, trying to swallow down the overwhelming urge to break down in front of him and cry in pure frustration.  

“I... I’ve been struggling with insomnia for a while now.” 

Astarion scoffed. “Well now, that’s a revelation.” 

You had half a mind to slap him. 

“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “No teasing, of course, but come on darling, it was pretty obvious from the start.” 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your gaze cast downward, wondering why you even came here in the first place if he was just going to insult you. 

“You’re still beautiful,” he said, softly caressing your jaw to angle your face towards him. “Very beautiful indeed.” 

Your heart thumped wildly as the tip of your nose brushed his, and you would have crumpled into his well-tuned act of seduction if it were not for one burning question suddenly on your mind. 

“How do you do it?"

“I- do what?”  

“Elves don’t sleep, right?” You said, blinking curiously. “How do you... not sleep?” 

“We uh... meditate, darling. Wait, how do you not know this?” he asked, pulling back with his eyebrow raised. “You must have seen me doing it at some stage or another.” 

“...I always just thought you pretended to sleep,” you hummed in thought. “Now that I think about it, the way you lay down was always kind of strange looking.” 

He snorted a laugh at your brutal honesty, and feeling a jab of guilt, you tried to back-track on your word vomit. 

“Sorry! Um… no offence?” 

"None taken, darling,” he said, waving a nonchalant hand. “I can see why my eloquent poses would look strange to you, but for elves, meditation is a common practice. Helps us to… calm down; be in the moment, as it were.” 

A comfortable silence fell between you.

“Could you show me?”  

Astarion gave you a questionable look. “You want me to show you how to meditate?” 

You nod vigorously and cross your legs with your arms resting on your knees to show that you’re serious. It takes you a moment to figure out which fingers were supposed to touch together but you get there eventually.  

With a bemused smile, the vampire shrugs. “Alright, I've had stranger requests.” 

You wanted to question that but put a pin in it for another time. 

"Are you ready?" Astarion asked. You nod, your heart fluttering with both anticipation and trust. “Now, clear your head.” 

You give him a dry look. 

He rolls his eyes back. “Yes, admittedly a little hard, what with the little residents living up there but just... trust me, alright? Close your eyes.” 

You complied, and Astarion began to guide you, his words soft and rhythmic, like a gentle lullaby. "Breathe in deeply," he said, his own breath aligning with yours. "Feel the air fill your lungs, expanding your chest, and exhale slowly, try to let go of any tension." 

You followed his instructions, your breath matching his like a perfectly choreographed dance. With each inhale and exhale, you felt a growing sense of calm washing over. 

"Thoughts may arise, like passing clouds," Astarion murmured. "Acknowledge them but let them drift away. Return your focus to your breath.” 

You found yourself navigating the currents of your thoughts with newfound ease, like a sailor guiding a boat through calm waters. The more you let go, the more profound your sense of inner stillness grew. You felt the weight of your worries begin to dissolve. The burdens of your leadership, of the mind-flayer tadpoles and the problems that came with it seemed to retreat into the distance, leaving you with a newfound clarity. 

"Good," Astarion whispered. "Now, focus on your body. Notice any tension, any discomfort. Let it go with each breath. Feel your body becoming lighter, more at ease." 

Minutes passed like hours, and the tent seemed to fill with an ethereal stillness. You and Astarion remained connected through your breath, it was as if time itself had become irrelevant, and you were both suspended in a moment of pure existence. 

You could feel the tension in your shoulders and neck melting away. It was as if the cares of the world were simply slipping through your fingers. 

Slipping... 

Slipping...  

“...Darling? Are you-? Oh.” 

Astarion’s eyes widen, and he winces a little when your head falls into his shoulder. He catches you gently by the arms, so you don’t slip and go face-first into his lap; it was a delicious thought but for another time, when you were conscious and ready.  

But right now, he isn’t quite sure what to do with you. He certainly knows he can’t hold you like this all night; it would be uncomfortable for both of you. His eyebrows crease as he frowns while he tries to slowly lower you to the ground. 

To absolutely no avail; unconsciously you end up pulling him in closer. 

“Oh, for Gods's sake,” the vampire huffs incredulously. “What am I, some sort of glorified teddy bear?” 

Half-asleep and still nestled into Astarion’s chest, you mumble something incoherent in response, your breath warm against his skin. You snuggle even closer, your head burrowing into the crook of his neck. 

For a moment, Astarion felt a flicker of irritation, his desire for a good night's rest warring with his affection for you. He yearned to stretch out, to find the perfect position that would allow him the bliss of undisturbed meditation. But as he looked down at the peaceful expression on your face, all traces of weariness and anxiety erased, he just couldn't bring himself to disturb you. 

Reluctantly, he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer still. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the slow, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The warmth of your body against his own gradually seeped through the cracks in his defences, and his irritation gave way to an overwhelming tenderness. 

In that moment, he realised that the inconvenience of being your living pillow was a small price to pay for the privilege of holding you close, of being the one you sought comfort in. As you drifted further into slumber, Astarion closed his eyes and surrendered to the serenity of the night, the gentle weight of your devotion for each other enveloping you both, anchoring him in the moment and reminding him of the beauty in life's simple, sweet sacrifices. 

xxx 

Yyyyyeah I know this one has the same beats as 'Everything's Fine' but what can I say? I'm a sucker for begrudgingly soft Astarion ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Let me know what y'all think!

Links to my other Astarion works

'Everything's Fine'

Another night of tossing and turning, of too much thinking.  On nights like that it was like your body just wouldn’t relax.  It didn’t matter what you did to try to calm down, to try to relax, nothing ever worked.  You were doomed to just lay there and watch the minutes pass, to watch the night become morning.  To watch the sun start shining in through the windows to greet another day.

Another day of trying to function on no sleep.

You stared down at your desk once more but the numbers on the budget paperwork were uncooperative and blurry.  With a groan you let your head drop onto the wood, trying to keep the frustrated tears at bay.  It wasn’t even lunch yet, you had practically an entire day left and not a single thing done.  And it wasn’t guaranteed you’d get any sleep tonight either.  Sometimes your insomnia lasted a few days in a row before you finally could get any decent rest. You shook your head against the wood while you mumbled under your breath.

“This is awful.”

“The budget usually is.”  With a startled gasp you sat up, blinking your eyes up at Papa as he stood in front of your desk.  There was a soft smile on his face when he spoke again,  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing Papa.  I’m just tired.”

“Ah, well you’ll have to get a good night’s rest tonight then, eh?”  You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head and mumbling under your breath again.  People always acted like sleeping was easy.  “What did you say?”

“I said…I said ‘fat chance of that’.  Papa.”  You winced, afraid to look up at his face.  It wasn’t a good idea to mouth off to the head of the church.  A man you also considered to be a dear friend.  “Copia, I’m sorry.  I’m just tired.  Very, very tired.”

He started to walk around your desk and you froze, worried he was actually mad at you.  Instead he knelt down at your side, placing his hands on the arm of your chair while he looked up into your face. 

“I’ve had many sleepless nights myself, I know how hard it can be.”  Your eyes filled with tears at how compassionate he was.  Copia smiled, reaching up to swipe a few of them off your cheek with his gloved hand.  “You know what we’re going to do?”

“What?”

He grinned as he stood up, taking hold of your hands and pulling you out of your chair.  You stumbled after him as he first went to your office door and flicked the lock before he led you over to the big couch at the side of the room.  Copia cleared up the random books and paperwork you had haphazardly stacked there before he situated the throw pillows at one end.

“Take a nap with me.”

“Copia, no!  There’s too much to do, the budget needs to be finalized this week or Sister Imperator will have my head.”

“Have you done anything with the budget today besides stare at it?”  When you crossed your arms over your chest he nodded, stripping his jacket off and then slipping out of his shoes before he stretched out across the couch.  “Come on, come on.”

You stared at him, your brain trying to catch up with the last few minutes.  This was not how you expected your day to go but you were definitely not going to turn down a nap with Copia.  Your shoes quickly joined his on the floor and you gently tucked yourself in next to him, your head finding a spot on his shoulder.  Neither one of you spoke as you both got comfortable, settling in together as best you could on the old couch.  A hint of his cologne touched your nose and it seemed all at once your body and mind relaxed.  You practically melted against him and his arms became tighter around you in response.

Copia reached up and pulled at the blanket you had draped along the back, covering the both of you as best he could.  The warmth of that and of his body relaxed you even further and soon you were struggling to keep your eyes open.  You found yourself wanting to stay awake and revel in the feeling of being so close to him, of feeling how much he cared about you.  Your voice was a little shaky when you spoke but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Thank you, Copia.”

“No need to thank me, I could use one too.”  He ran a hand up and down your back, the simple action the final puzzle piece for you to fall asleep.  You felt a ghost of a kiss on your head before sleep finally, finally embraced you.  “Rest now, for as long as you need.”

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙