who left the blue veins of your throat un-kissed?

Shota Aizawa -

You were the newly hired art teacher at U.A.

You were taking on the role of helping students explore their creativity amidst their rigorous hero training.

You considered your class a breather for them, possibly even art therapy.

It wasn't exactly easy for you to step into such a lively environment, given your preference for solitude, but the idea of sharing your passion for art motivated you.

You first met Shota during a staff meeting.

His disheveled appearance, tired eyes, and overall 'I don't want to be here' demeanor immediately intrigued you.

He, on the other hand, noticed your unique look - long black hair, your goth-inspired attire, and the confident way you carried yourself despite the situation - and found himself oddly drawn to your quiet intensity.

Your first real conversation happened in the teachers' lounge.

Shota caught you sketching during your break, his tired eyes lingering on the intricate details of your work.

After a moment of silence, he muttered, "About time they hired someone who knows what they're doing. Guess the kids might actually learn something for once."

His tone was dry, and he didn't say much more, even when you gave him a smile.

Shota wasn't the type to forge fast friendships, but you found yourself becoming his regular lunch companion.

You bonded over your shared love for quiet spaces and introspection.

Often, you find comfort in just sitting in silence together.

He was one of the few people who truly appreciated your crafts - aside from Hizashi. When you gifted him a sticker of his cat.

He totally would show you pictures of his cat.

(He has a cat now).

Not talking about Sushi here.

Anyway!

When you gifted him a sticker of his cat, he couldn't stop himself from smiling faintly and sticking it on his reusable water bottle.

You introduced Shota to your love of cooking, often bringing him homemade bentos during long staff meetings or little treats for your shared lunch.

He wasn't much of a cook himself, but he started picking up little tricks from you, eventually learning how to make your favorite type of coffee because, "You deserve better than the sludge in the teachers' lounge."

Movie nights became a tradition between the two of you.

Shota was surprisingly open to your collection of your old horror movies, though he'd often fall asleep halfway through - his head resting on your shoulder as you tried not to die of cuteness overload at how cute peaceful he looked amidst the chaos on screen.

The shift from friendship to something a bit more was subtle.

Shota found himself looking forward to seeing you every day, noticing the little things about you like how your eyes lit up when you talked about your latest art project or when you got another vintage video game console to add to your collection, or how you would hum softly to a 'Nine Inch Nails' song while preparing food or snacks.

For you, it was the way he always seemed to look out for you, from ensuring you didn't overwork yourself to subtly stepping in when you struggled in social situations

His quiet protectiveness made you feel seen and cared for.

Neither of you was particularly expressive about your feelings - Shota most definitely - but the tension between the two of you grew palpable.

Little touches; like his hand brushing against yours while passing a coffee mug or the way his gaze lingered for a bit too long. The way you would play with his hair when watching movies or the way you would take extra care when preparing his food, trying to make it perfect... It all hinted at what neither of you dared to say.

For now...

The confession came after a particularly stressful day for you.

You were venting to Shota about how overwhelmed everything felt, and he quietly listened, offering his calm presence.

He didn't know when his mind began to wander, but it did.

"How did you get your makeup that perfect like that?" He would himself ask himself. "I really want to hold your hand."

Before he knew it, he was blurting out, "I care about you."

You stopped ranting, pausing, turning to look at him.

He looked nervous, surprised that the words just flew out of him, but he continued, "More than I should for a colleague."

You were stunned at first.

"I care about you too, Shota," You admitted, your cheeks flushed.

That moment marked the beginning of something beautiful.

Shota frequently surprises you with little acts of service, like cleaning up your workspace when you're too overwhelmed or leaving small, thoughtful notes in your lunchbox.

You both share quiet mornings together, sipping coffee while you sketch and he reads or grades homework,

It's a domestic bliss that neither of you ever thought you'd enjoy so much.

He takes you on low-key dates to places he knows you'll love, like antique shops where you can hunt for trinkets or quiet museums where you both can admire paintings

You often cook together, with Shota trying his best to follow your instructions.

While he’s no master chef, he enjoys the intimacy of the activity, especially when you sneak a kiss on his cheek for encouragement.

You both adopt a stray cat together, naming it "Void" to match its dark fur.

Void and Shota's cat are the best furrrrends furever...

Sorry.

They are both your fur babies.

Your home becomes a cozy blend of your two styles.

You love braiding Shota's hair, it helps both of you calm down and relax.

He's incredibly protective, always making sure you feel safe and supported.

If anyone ever dismisses your interests, personality, or opinions, Shota has no problem setting them straight.

And the same goes for you protecting him.

Shota would go out of his way to learn about your favorite things, even trying his hand at drawing to make you things, that would make you smile.

On tough mental health days, he's patient and understanding, knowing when to give you space and when to pull you into his arms for a hug.

You'd draw him in your sketchbooks, multiple pages just of him; his hair, his hands, his eyes, his mouth, just him.

Shota, half-asleep, mumbling, “You’re too good for me,” As he pulls you closer during one of your late-night movie marathons.

You'd smile softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Says the guy who’s literally perfect,” You whisper, pressing a light kiss to his temple. “Now go back to sleep, you sap.”

You trying to paint his nails black for fun, only for him to sit still for ten seconds before smudging them accidentally.

He'd offer his scarf when you forget yours, wrapping it snugly around your neck and muttering about how you need to take better care of yourself.

Lazy afternoons spent on the couch with Void and his other cat sprawled between you, your fingers gently running through Shota’s hair as he quietly drifts off to sleep.

Lots of lunch naps together in his sleeping bag.

Sebastian lays on his bed, his eyes closed tight and his breathing coming in and out quickly. He’s got just a few hours to be able to improvise for you, otherwise things are going to become even more terrible. He texts Sam for advice, then he texts Abigail. They both have different ideas for what he can do to make this work, but Sebastian begins working harder. He knows he’s going to have to figure something out. So he calls up the Saloon and he begs Gus to cook him up some sort of meal for you and him. Gus decides to do this favor for Sebastian, telling him to come pick it up within the hour.

The next thing he’s planning is to make his room a little more romantic. He changes the sheets, finds a few candles to light and cleans off the table so you both can eat there. Then he goes upstairs, looking for his mother. 

Robin cheerfully helps her son plan the rest of the night sweetly. She reminds the rest of the family not to bother the happy couple, and she even gives Sebastian a bottle of champagne. He’s blushing as she hands this to him, a soft “have fun!” coming from her lips. Sebastian doesn’t even know what she’s thinking, but he knows she can probably deduce that there will be something naughty going on downstairs.

In the backyard, Seb begins picking some flowers. He doesn’t have a gift to give you, but he knows you love flowers. And once he gets a nice bouquet going, he spots Linus. The older man flashes him a soft smile, knowing that Sebastian is working his hardest to still make this a very romantic day. Despite the cold, Sebastian manages to pluck beautiful Crocus flowers and a few Holly for some balance.

Once he’s got the pretty bouquet of winter flowers, he settles them in a vase in his room. Sebastian takes a moment to look around and admire his handiwork. This bedroom was going to be the perfect setting for such a romantic evening. All that was left was for him to go pick you and the meals up. He takes the quickest shower and gets dressed in a warm hoodie and those tight jeans you love so much.

On his way to pick you up, his stomach is in knots. He’s worried you’ll be disappointed by the lack of real gifts and the way this night would go down. But when you greet him on the porch of your home, you’ve got the biggest smile on your face.

“Happy valentine’s day!” You say with a sweet kiss to his cheek.

He smiles, “Happy valentine’s day.”

You two share a sweet little kiss, and he pulls you in so close. It’s a sweet moment between two lovers, and he never wants this to end. Then he takes you by the hand and leads you towards the town center. You two stop at the Saloon to pick up the delicious dinner that Gus had prepared for you. He passes it to Sebastian, a playful wink and a glint in his eyes.

The walk back to Sebastian’s place has you so giddy. It feels like you’re floating on a cloud as you tell him about your day and he listens to you so attentively. Your heart is so full of love and happiness.  

Inside his room, he pours some champagne for you and you two sit and eat such a delectable meal. Seb presents the flowers to you, which you coo over. You sheepishly give him a cute little valentine’s card you made for him. You scratch the back of your neck nervously, telling him you’ve been busy taking care of the animals and mining lately to make him anything more than that.

He smiles softly, “It’s perfect, baby.”

After dinner, you’re both full of champagne. It bubbles inside of both of you, coursing through your veins. Sebastian has you pinned to the bed, kissing you over and over. The way he holds you and kisses you makes your head spin. He presses his knee between your thighs, smirking at the way you moan from just this.

“Would you believe that when I got up this morning,” Sebastian asks between heated kisses. “That I thought everything was fucked up?”

You giggle, “Knowing you, yeah I’m not so surprised.”

He feigns being insulted, but it fuels him even more. He begins undressing you slowly, his eyes lingering on your beautiful body. Then he begins to press soft kisses to your most sensitive spots, relishing in the way you moan and gasp just for him. It’s so intoxicating to know that you react to the way he makes you feel so good. It’s something he prides himself on, and he knows he’s not going to stop anytime soon.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he grunts as he grinds against you. “I’m kind of happy this is how this night turned out.”

You mewl, “Me too, Sebby.”

He grins mischievously before reaching over for the drawer in the bedside table. You know what he’s reaching for and it makes your heart race like crazy. The sounds of the vibrations coming from the wand vibrator make your cunt dribble even more slick. Sebastian chuckles darkly.

“Cute,” he murmurs hotly against your neck. “Just hearing this thing gets you going, yeah?”

You nod your head, making him chuckle again. Then he brings the vibrator to your aching cunt, and you cry out for him. The sounds of your cute little moans make his cock strain against the fabric of his boxers. Slowly, he lets the vibrator circle around your swollen nub. Sebastian has you exactly where he wants you.

It wasn’t pain, so to speak, not in the way you’ve known before. It wasn’t sharp and it didn’t steal your breath, it wasn’t sinister or even blinding. But it was unbearable.

Your temples throbbed with a kind of numbness that was once a headache settled into a more drawn out description of discomfort. It’s not that it had gone away, you were just used to it. It came on suddenly a couple of mornings prior and so naively you had hoped to sleep it off but instead it made a constant of itself, forcing you to hang your head until you could lay it down again past nightfall.

You knew why this feeling had made a home with you, or rather a burden of itself. The past couple of weeks or more had slowly made a pile of shortcomings that sat poorly balanced on your shoulders. Everyone seemed to have something they needed from you, always, whether it be a small favour or a larger ask for assistance, they had begun to rely upon you and it was tiring.

Because you like to help them. You enjoy taking away their stresses so that the mood in camp can remain mellow, so the hotheads don’t blow steam out of their ears and the waters stay calm. But in attending to all their little ifs and ands you had begun to neglect your own, leaving yourself no time to decompress your grievances from each tough day. It also meant you got worse at handling theirs too.

The weight on your shoulders hurriedly became literal, a bone-deep ache that came as a consequence of that self neglect. Your arms began to feel heavy, too heavy to properly use, and each step forward in the day took an increasing amount of effort each time. You were exhausted. At first you tried to dismiss the sensation that tied in with the lingering melancholy about you in the hopes that your campmates wouldn’t notice but as it progressed and their asks for your aid kept coming in you struggled to keep up appearances.

So you took yourself away for a little while. Waking long before the rest- well, of those of them that do sleep anyway- you sneaked off by yourself for a breath of fresh air. Or at least that was the plan.

You didn’t go far, your aching legs wouldn’t have let you, and got almost an hour of quiet before something caused a ruckus as it always does eventually. There was a commotion not far up the path from where you sat, a muffle of yelling and an uncertain amount of voices that gradually got louder and louder. It was only when you heard the pound of heavy footfalls and the crunch of the gravel beneath them that you willed your body to move, hoping to duck to the side of the path and go unnoticed in the untrodden growth beside it.

But you didn’t realise the drop off. Most, if not all, of the paths around these parts have begun to crumble away at the edges after years of constant use and no repairs made, leaving a pit on either side that’s often concealed by any amount of untamed plant growth. They can make for great cover but that's only when you use them intentionally.

It wasn’t far to fall, the drop equal to half of your height or less, but it’s the way you went that caused the issue. Headfirst. Your bodyweight toppled unevenly like you were head heavy and in your haste to clear the way you landed with your palms and knees to the dirt.

The pain shot along your forearm like a bolt, largely on your dominant side, and you were forced to surrender to the impact. And the frustration that came with it was immediate, a sense of disbelief and embarrassment that had all of your stresses boiling over at the minor inconvenience.

You sat yourself up and waited there for longer than was necessary, listening to the voices pass and fade again as they grew distant. Luckily the sting settled not too slowly but taking a glance at your sullied palms you noticed thin trails of blood drawing dripping paths down your wrist, the familiar sheen of crimson.

But you cared not for delicacy and wiped them on your clothes, eyeing the fresh scrapes on your skin hidden beneath bloodied dirt. In hindsight it wasn’t that bad at all but it was more than enough to send you marching back to camp, having very quickly given up on your little excursion.

Feeling worse than you did when you left you gradually made your way back to the group and tried your best to make it look as if you’d never gone anywhere to begin with. Many were still asleep, an echo of snores disturbing the quiet- namely Gale’s- and those who only pretended to be were all still in their respective tents. At least you hoped they were, though some were rolled open.

Since it was still the early hours you followed suit and tucked yourself back into your own shoddy tent to lay your head back down, feeling that numbing ache seize your whole body when you finally stilled yourself completely. For a brief moment you considered dragging out what limited supplies you had to tend to the injury. You should at least clean the scrapes on your palm, loosen the dirt from the skin and maybe wrap your wrist for some support.

But you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself upright for long enough to get it done. It was decided to be a problem for later and you let your eyes fall closed.

The solitude of your own designated space was limited in what comfort it could give you, the ‘floor’ and bedroll barely a buffer between your body and the packed dirt, but you were desperate to trick yourself into believing that it was far more cosy than what was true. And to your luck it was slowly beginning to work. The knot of anxiety in your gut began to go slack and the ringing in your ears got a little bit quieter.

Until the curtain of a door was slowly pulled aside and a bright stream of daylight poured in, making the back of your eyes sting.

“I take it that you're done with your little solo adventure now, darling?” A head of polished ivory curls ducks into your tent and blocks a slither of the sunlight with his stature, gazing down at you with that typical smug look you’ve grown to expect. Had he been waiting for you?

“Ugh, morning Astarion.” You groan, exasperated and rolling onto your side towards the darkness in the back corner of your tent. “Are you just here to be a thorn in my side, or do you need something?”

He scoffs and raises a hand to his heart regardless of your back facing him, a show of false hurt as if you haven’t said worse to him before in fleeting moments of frustration. The obnoxious shine of the sun disappears once more as the curtain falls back into place and Astarion invites himself inside, clearing his throat exaggeratedly as he sits beside you on your bedroll and encourages you to nudge over to accommodate him.

“Me? I’d never dream of it.” He hums. “I’m not sure if the same can be said for you, though.” His voice becomes more of a whisper as he joins you in the near blackness, still proud and sarcastic but softer on the ears. With a groan you roll over again, towards him this time, and find that the daylight has begun to seep in at the tents edges. There will be no time for rest now but at least you can get a look at your visitor.

And he’s already gazing down at you when you steal a glance his way.

“Thanks, I’m flattered that you think so.” Your voice sounds scratchier than you realised, heavily lined with your evident fatigue and Astarion hears it too. He tsks and his lips pull into a thin grimace.

You and him had been getting to know each other quite well as of late and while no certain terms had been put on your relationship you have both become rather fond of one another. Though that meant that he had begun to learn all of your little tells and habits, so your recent sombre state did not go unnoticed to his keen eye. He just hadn’t yet learnt how to bring it up.

“Go on then.” He mutters, inching closer with the want to reach for you but not the confidence to lay down beside you. Though your radiating warmth next to him is better comfort than none.

“What?” You grumble with a deep sigh, the thrum of your unending headache muffling out his uncharacteristically hushed words. “Speak up please.”

Astarion scoffs again but not unkindly, more amused than anything else. “Tell me about your little outing and I’ll try not to be too insulted that you didn’t invite me.” He speaks slowly, dangerously close to being condescending, but that’s not what you focus on.

“You would’ve wanted to come with me?” You lift your head up reactively and prop yourself up on an elbow before a sharp surge of an ache commands you back down. You go with a groan, clutching your wrist in your opposite hand.

“Of course.” He admits with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, looking at you quizzically. “I mean really, darling, I thought we were at the point of sharing these things.”

The admittance makes your chest feel tight for a moment and your breath hitches in your throat. Letting out a long sigh you notice a bristling warmth washing over you that settles hotly over your face. There’s a suffocating beat of silence while you gather yourself.

“Oh, sorry lover.” You simper, miraculously feeling a little bit lighter than the moment before. Because he’s right.

Without even meaning to you and Astarion had been sharing more and more of your lives with one another. Time was the obvious one since making both an ally and a friend of him, though the latter took much longer, and in that time elapsed you’d each let slip more inconsequential details about your lives. It was only small things, fleeting comments about easily forgotten moments and you’d given out more than he had but it was still enough to tie you to him.

Then there were feelings, the messy stuff.

You started off on the wrong foot with him, finding him to be a stand-offish and surly man. He was far too stubborn to make a companion of and for the first few days you were continually disappointed that he had decided to tag along with your sudden party of acquaintances. But he always found a way to talk to you.

Astarion’s curiosity always led him back to your side and so he became the thorn. It started off as an admonishment used to drive him away, a display of your annoyance and the lack of patience you had for his pestering comments. But he thrived with it.

It was a challenge or perhaps a game to him, a tool to pass the time that you had played into without the knowledge or intention to. At the end of every day he would look for you with the sole purpose of finding himself some entertainment by getting on your nerves a little bit. But it backfired on him. He began to care.

“No need for sorry.” He says gently and you were almost surprised to hear that tone from him. With a bit of shuffling and a small grunt Astarion brings himself closer to you, legs stretched out in front of him and elbows on the bedroll to hold his upper body off the floor. You scoot in closer at his side subconsciously and reach for his hand, forgetting about your scrapes.

“I just wondered where you’d run off to, my dear. That’s all.” His skin is icy beneath yours, that familiar chill that works like a balm to soothe the stinging warmth of the grazes on your palm. But he notices the unusual roughness. His brows pinch in the middle and you watch the wrinkle it pulls into his forehead. With a sidelong glance he gives you a doubtful look.

Astarion sighs through a smile and carefully takes you by the wrist, a guiding touch that’s not quite forceful but firm enough that you can’t stop the way he turns your palm upward. It should be hard to see in the lowlight but the way he sucks in a shallow breath tells you all you need to know.

“Frankly, dear, I expected worse.” There’s a hint of a laugh, not quite amusement but perhaps genuine relief. You were holding your breath without even realising it but when the suggestion of a smile pulls his lips up you feel the pressure that was sat in your chest release, some of the weight unloading.

That’s how it started, after all.

It was supposed to be another night of him badgering you about something senseless, an excuse to indulge in your company that he refused to admit that he enjoyed. But it was at the end of a difficult day on the road filled with more obstacles than anyone had anticipated and you’d suffered the brunt of it. Not that he knew that when he crossed the camp to enter your tent, and he wasn’t supposed to find out either.

That’s when Astarion learnt that you have a habit of hiding your injuries, too stubborn to let anyone else but yourself patch you up. And if Astarion thinks you’re stubborn then you really must be, for he could easily be the origin of the word.

So you assumed it must’ve been some sort of trick, the way his features twisted with an earnest look of concern. But there was no faking how his heart plummeted at the sight. And he had to admit it to himself.

“Really?” You titter, watching pensively as he pulls your hand closer to his face and turns it towards the thin beam of sunlight, scrutinising the injury with an unblinking gaze. His brows perk up before furrowing back down all too quickly and he nods.

“Well of course. I always do after that first scare you gave me.” Astarion’s sarcasm isn’t lost on you but the look in his eyes is all honeyed and glassy, no lingering rancour like there once was. Sometimes you anticipate seeing a spark of it like in those early days but his gaze had since turned into something much kinder, just for you.

“You should really get this cleaned up, pet. Do you need a hand?” He shifted as if to sit up and take you with him with his touch trailing up to your shoulder from your wrist. But the groan you let out stops him dead in his tracks.

“Well, that was dramatic.” He scoffs, earnest worry poorly hidden behind an attempt to find humour in this. But you get what you want without a word and he settles back down at your side with his ankles crossed.

“Too tired. I’ll clean it later.” You grumble, tucking yourself closer at his side. With a sidelong glance he takes you in as your eyes fall closed, a lump hitching in his throat with a sudden wave of nervousness. Your encompassing warmth was even closer now and it made his heart skip that little bit faster, the kind of restiveness associated with having a youthful crush.

At first he thought you were tricking him too. To his mind there was no sense in the way you began to desire his companionship, to laugh at his attempts to bother you and even shoot back some witty retorts as if the whole thing were done in good fun and friendliness. You were supposed to be annoyed by him and for an odd week you were. Until you turned it around on him oh so easily.

Complicated was the only word for it. Besides sweet, breathtaking, tender and fun.

Everything about it was new and perhaps a little risky when considering your circumstances but it made this tumultuous time of life a little bit easier. You had someone to turn to at the end of the day other than yourself and that made all the difference, even if he had to be convinced of his own feelings at first.

It’s not an easy job; to care about somebody. Especially not in Astarion’s case. But something about you made him yearn to try and it was only when he stopped denying that truth that he began to be rather good at it.

“Are you at least going to tell me what happened? Or are we keeping secrets now?” Again his voice grows quieter but the insistence isn’t lost on you. There’s a sense of urgency lingering there, maybe to the credit of his curiosity that you’ve learnt to be his way of showing that he cares.

“I just needed to clear my head.” You shrug. “But I can’t say it worked out that well.”

“Hm. I did think that you seemed rather…“ He takes a small pause, finding the right words to say without sounding his typical, pessimistic self. “Busy, as of late. And not just up here.” There’s a tap on your temple and you exhale a curt laugh.

“I guess you could say that’s true.” You murmur, slowly slipping away into the fatigue that weighs heavy on your eyelids.

“Would you…” Again a pause, more poignant than the last and it sounds like Astarion might choke up on his own words. He clears his throat with a too loud cough.

“Would you like to talk about it, darling?”

There was little to no confidence in his tone, a palpable unease in its place, but still your heart skipped a beat. There was a wave of relief that took away some of your stresses with it, a bristling of warmth all along your skin. To think that this whole time he really had noticed that something was weighing you down was enough to offer the comfort he was trying his damndest to give.

Astarion really was learning how to be a softer, more attentive lover, and all his efforts were so unendingly appreciated. He’s better at it than he yet realises.

“Later. It’s too early to think too much.” You open your eyes just enough to get a look at him, comforted to find him smiling with eyes bright. He purses his lips and nods, glad for your answer.

“The same ‘later’ as when you’ll clean up that scrape, hm?” That fanged smile twists into something more playful between heavy blinks and again you sigh a laugh, mirroring the upturn of his lips.

“Yes actually. It’s going to be a busy evening.”

He laughs, actually laughs, and with an unflattering snort too. With a shake of his head and a click of his tongue against his teeth he lets it rest, noticing you teetering on the edge of sleep.

“Lay down, lover. If we are lucky we can have an hour of quiet before everyone wakes up.” Your drowsiness is apparent in the drawl of your words and the yawn that trails away the end of your sentence. There’s some hesitance, a deep breath in. You know it well.

It takes him a moment to get comfortable, like it always does, having to dig deep to remember how to coax himself to relax. He’d been getting better though, with much help of course.

Finally his head hits the bedroll beside your own and he lifts an arm to hook around your shoulders, his hand coming to rest on your upper arm. Cold yet soft, something you’d grown to appreciate on days so warm it should be called cruelty.

Bringing yourself even closer you lay your head just below his collarbone, your ear flush to his chest with enough pressure to muffle out the echoes of the world around you. And for the first time in what feels like too long all is quiet. At last.

It’s only as you sling an arm over his stomach to anchor yourself at his side that you realise how the ache has subsided. You feel lighter, both in body and in mind, and the tension that strung your shoulders high finally goes slack. The ringing in your ears is still there, to your chagrin, but it’s at least much quieter.

Astarion let’s his head fall to the side, lazy and at ease, and places a delicate kiss against your forehead. He grumbles something against your skin but it’s too quiet to pass the ceaseless ringing.

“Hm?” You hum, trying to get impossibly closer. He lets out a terse grunt that bubbles into a titter, all patient, breathy amusement.

“Watch your elbow please, pet. There’s enough room on here for us both, I assure you.”

“Wha-“ Reluctantly blinking your eyes open again you rouse a little bit from the impending embrace of sleep, just enough to realise how closely you’ve tucked yourself against your lover. You had been elbowing him below his ribs without so much as realising, and certainly without meaning to.

“Oh. Sorry, my love.” You utter sheepishly, turning your body a fraction to better make yourself comfortable. He again hums and you feel the rumble in his chest pressed flush to your ear. A sound that soothes you.

“What was that you said earlier, about a thorn?” Astarion tsks, his usual bravado creeping back in. You roll your eyes behind closed eyelids and hold back on a laugh that would give him far too much satisfaction.

“Don’t even start…”

“Ah yes, a thorn in your side. I think I’m beginning to understand what you meant by that, darling.”

masterlist || navigation

“Piece of pizza for your thoughts,” he says, a grin on his face.

You shrug, “I’m okay.”

It’s a lie and he knows it. You’re not okay. It hurts Dante to see you like this. He wants to see you smiling and hear your beautiful laughter more than anything else right now. He knows it’s not always possible for you to be happy every second of every day, but he’d take all your sadness away if he could. He prides himself in being a good boyfriend who can always offer a shoulder to cry on.

Dante reaches up to cup your chin, and his soft touches make you shudder. You’re more close to tears than you’d like to admit, and Dante can sense it. He gets up from his seat and he instantly wraps his arms around you. You are trembling in his arms and the tears begin flowing down your cheeks.

“Shhh…it’s okay, baby.” He kisses the top of your head.

For a few moments, Dante holds you in his arms and rubs your back soothingly. He hums a lullaby that Eva used to sing to him as a child. Everything about this moment is slowly calming you, making you be able to come to terms with what was ailing you in the first place. For a goofy guy who usually tries not to take too many things seriously, Dante is very good at navigating moments like these with you.

You sniffle as the tears stop, and Dante cups your chin once more so he can plant a kiss to your lips. Then gently he wipes away your tears and he hugs you so close to his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, which always comforts you. 

“You know I’m always here for you, right?” Dante asks.

You nod your head, “I know I just—”

Dante interrupts, “Just nothing. I don’t care what time of day it is or what else is going on. I’m always here for you.”

Your heart skips a beat. He’s being so serious right now. He holds you close for a few more moments, then he begins to run his fingers through your hair. It takes a few more minutes before you begin talking to Dante about what was making you sad. He listens attentively, not passing any judgment. He keeps his attention on you until you start feeling better from talking about what has been on your mind for days.

“No matter what happens,” Dante says with a little smirk. “You’ll always be my baby.”

Dante scoops you up in his arms, and you rest your head on his chest as he brings you upstairs to the bathroom. He sets you on the counter as he begins running the hot water for the bath. He even pulls out the special bath salts he bought specifically for you. You watch in awe as this sweet man does all he can to make sure you’re feeling even just the slightest bit better. Once the bath is done, he comes over to you. His large hands are so gentle as he undresses you. With every new bit of skin exposed to him, Dante presses soft featherlight kisses to those sensitive areas.

You feel worn down, but you know you’re in good hands. He helps you into the tub once you’re undressed and he begins washing you. He takes extra time with you, massaging your sore muscles whenever he can take the time to soothe you. He kisses you as many times as you need him to. And when you’re all clean, he pulls you out and begins the task of drying you off. His calloused hands feel good as they rub lotion into your soft skin.

Then you’re whisked into the bedroom where Dante cocoons you in his arms under the covers. The room is dark and cool, the perfect setting for a nap. He kisses the top of your head as you rest against him.

“I love you so much, and I’ll never stop loving you.”