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florencemtrash · 1 month

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He Feels Safe With You — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation.

Warnings: Major fluff. Like tooth-rotting sweetness. Sleepy Az.

Author's note: I should be sleeping because I have work tomorrow but instead I've chosen to write this oneshot and I have no regrets.

It was starting to become a problem now.

You cocked your head to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and watching Azriel as he continued to sleep soundly in your bed. You had the windows cracked open and the early Autumn breeze swirled indoors with the scent of lavender, bergamot, and the strawberry jam you’d slathered over your toast. You checked the time once again on the glossy marble clock face. The arrow-shaped hour hand clicked ever closer to 11am, the minute hand close to overtaking its competitor.

10:55am and Azriel was still asleep.

The sheets clustered loose and low around his waist, mimicking the curling of his shadows up and down the ridges of his spine and across the delicate membrane of his wings. His wings hung loose and relaxed, stretching off the edges of your bed and caressing the floor with a lover’s touch. You blushed at the sight. When you and Azriel had first started courting each other three years ago, you’d thought through the mechanics of housing an Illyrian warrior in your bed — should you buy a new bed frame and mattress? Did you even have space for it in your apartment? The answer had been no to both, and yet Azriel loved when your daytime activities ended here instead of at the townhouse. If he cared about having to walk sideways to avoid the bookshelves in the halls or having to crouch to avoid the overhang above the staircase, he didn’t mention it.

Three hours ago you’d woken up beneath the gentle weight of his wings, untangled yourself from Azriel’s greedy limbs, and crept down the stairs to your kitchen, bleary eyed but well rested. But that was three hours ago! Since then you’d brushed your teeth, washed your face, and eaten breakfast, and still the Shadowsinger hadn’t stirred. You were beginning to question whether he truly was the Spymaster of the Night Court as you sat in your velvet chair and admired your lover. You traced all the subtle movements of his body as he muddled through dreams you could only wonder at — the creasing of his brow, the slack line of his lips as he breathed, the twitching of his fingertips as he reached for some phantom object.

The clock struck eleven and you sighed, gathering your plates but leaving Azriel’s pile of toast, butter, and honey alone. You also left the teapot and its mismatched cup, blowing magic over its lid in a silent command to keep its contents hot until Azriel awoke.

“I’ll be down in the shop,” you whispered to his shadows, trusting that they would relay the message when their master finally decided to grace the daytime with his presence.

One by one, shadows slipped off Azriel’s skin, curling around your ankles and wrists in a silent plea to stay. You shook them off like one might a needy child, promising you’d only be two floors down.

The artists’ corner in Velaris was an eclectic array of compact townhouses, each outwardly dressed in their unique, dazzling finery. Your townhouse was squished between a painting studio and a luthier’s. The painting studio’s owner seemed intent on changing the color of the wooden sidings every other day and the drawings scribbled over the windows every other week. Today it was periwinkle blue to match the hydrangeas overflowing from the window boxes.

You nodded in approval as you flipped the apothecary sign over from “Much apologies, please try another time” to “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” The blue would match your tulip yellow sidings and the clean white accents of the luthier’s. Last week it had been red and that had looked gods-awful.

You busied yourself in the shop, crushing up lavender and herbs and boiling mugwort in fire-stained glassware in between flurries of customers until the medicinal stench in the air grew thick and strong. You were used to it by now. It smelled clean. Like home.

You were finishing tying up a bundle of teabags when Cassian came in carrying a sturdy wooden box under one arm like it weighed five pounds instead of fifty. You snapped out the wrinkles of a cloth bag, dropping the teabags and five vials of sleep serum for the nightingale-winged nymph in front of you.

“Four feathers and three strands of hair, as we bargained for,” you said, sliding the bag across the counter.

The nymph nodded in approval, extending out a wing and shoving her fingers into the pillowy softness. She tested for loose feathers ready to pull.

“You’re a godsend, Y/n, has anyone ever told you that?” She pulled out three feathers, closed her wing, and started testing the feathers on the other side. “Finnigan’s was asking me for ten. Ten! Can you believe that? If I hadn’t found you in time I’d have been reduced to a plucked chicken.” She was much less precious about her mousey brown hair and yanked out three strands at random. “Oops, you get an extra strand today,” she sang, dropping the feathers and hair into the jars you held out.

“Well it’s a good thing you found me then, Moricka.”

“Honestly! I understand he’s got a large studio space he’s renting in the thick of the Palace, and even I will admit the ambiance is rather professional—”

Cassian raised his brow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his scarred lips as he continued to stand motionless in the doorway. It was true your space was more… homey than Finnigan’s, but your expertise shined in intimate spaces. You liked the control and the familiarity that came from running a smaller business and you wouldn’t give it up for the world.

“But I do think the success is getting to his head. You both studied under Lady Madja so I don’t see why—”

You nodded absentmindedly. It was always like this with Moricka. The songbird in her made it difficult for her to stop talking, but at least her voice was pleasant.

She threw her hands up in the air before finally catching wind of another presence in the room. Cassian waved at her with a wink and an orange blush creeped onto her full cheeks. He tended to have that effect on fae with his towering size and the wild beauty of his chiseled jaw and smattering of scars over his cheeks and brow.

“Oh… oh dear, I didn’t realize you had another customer. Oh my goodness I’ve been talking your ear off all this time and you’ve been too kind to say anything. You’re a godsend, Y/n. A godsend! I don’t know what I would do without you, although I should really be letting you go now.” She grabbed her things and sidestepped the range of Cassian’s wings, trying and failing now to gawk. “I’ll see you soon enough again I’m sure.”

“I’ll be here.” You sighed in relief when the doorbell rang behind her petite frame, the inoffensive smile you offered all your customers sliding off your face like oil on water. Cassian chuckled, dropping the box onto the countertop with a dull thud.

“Long day?”

You pulled out a stepstool and began rummaging around through the box, pulling out jars of squid ink, bark trimmings, buttons, and one particularly nasty jar containing a large eye suspended in yellow goo. “It’s not even three.”

“Did I stutter?”

You tapped the glass and the eye swiveled around to look at you, pupil enlarging and constricting with a stutter. “Yes, yes very good,” you muttered your praise and Cassian fought hard not to shiver. He had a stomach for a great many things, but some of the specimens you handled tested his resilience.

“Thank you for bringing all of this. You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.”

“Perhaps you could do the same for me and tell me where my brother is? I’ve been looking for him all day.” Cassian leaned forward on the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you holding him hostage, Y/n? Are you using your feminine powers to bring the poor male to his knees? I must admit, I didn’t imagine you as the kind capable of kidnapping. Or shadow-napping, shall we say?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly holding him hostage.” You gestured down the hallway past the bookshelves and the cases of empty glassware where the light from the staircase glowed like an iron eye. “He’s upstairs sleeping.”

Cassian furrowed his brows, stepping around and past you. He kept his wings tucked closer to his shoulder blades, careful not to upset the cramped organization you maintained in your shop.

He smirked. “Still? Are you sure you didn't work your feminine powers last night?”

You glanced out the store window. A few fae lingered outside the coffee shop across the street clutching takeaway boxes against their chest as they chatted and sipped their drinks. The street was otherwise empty. For now, you wouldn’t have to deal with any customers.

You looked back at Cassian. “I actually wanted to ask you about that.”

His brows furrowed. “About feminine powers?” He'd meant that as a joke.

“Gods, Cassian let that go.” You wrung your hands. “I wanted to ask if Azriel was alright? Has he seemed… normal to you?”

“I don’t know, has he?” Cassian lowered his voice, sinking into one of the stools by the clear glass medicine cabinet. “From what I can tell he seems well. Happy.”

Although happy was an understatement. Ever since you’d stumbled into their lives with Madja’s accolades and your wry humor, Azriel had been a goner. You’d pulled emotions from him as deftly as a spinster with a pile of wool, reduced him to a reverential, lovesick mess, and imbued his existence with a color not even Feyre could mix up. Which made it all the more confusing why you looked so nervous.

“You’ve seen more of him than I have, Y/n.” Cassian said. He braced his elbows against his knees, turning serious. The faint bags under his hazel eyes hinted at sleepless nights spent fussing over Neera. It was their fault really, any daughter of Nesta and Cassian was destined to be restless and particular.

“He just… he’s been sleeping more. Falling into bed early, but waking up late. Sometimes we’ll be reading together or just existing side by side and when I turn to face him, he’s dead asleep on the couch.”

Cassian’s lips twitched, slowly stretching into a smile. You plucked a hemp bag off one of the wall shelves at random, tossing its contents into a mortar and beginning to grind just so you could have something to do with your hands.

“At first I brushed it off, but it’s gotten to a point where I’ll be talking to him — mindless things, but regardless — and I’ll catch him dozing off. He’s always very apologetic after but I…” The mortar and pestle clattered to a stop. “I worry that he’s growing bored of me. Or that he’s sick in a way I can’t help.”

“Y/n.” There was a smile in Cassian’s voice, and indeed when you looked at him, his teeth were glistening in the soft afternoon haze. His eyes shined knowingly, as if the answer were obvious.

You paused. “Yes?”

“He feels safe with you.”

You blinked once. Twice.

“Pardon?”

Cassian tipped back in his seat, knocking his head against the cabinet with a rattle of jars and glass as he laughed. “He’s sleeping so much because he feels safe with you. It’s probably why he prefers to spend time here instead of at the townhouse and why he’s still dead asleep while we’re sitting here gossiping about him. Three years ago you couldn’t even whisper his name in a crowded room without him appearing from the shadows as if summoned.”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “Oh... I see.”

Cassian was grinning. “Y/n, I promise you he’s not bored of you. Azriel sleeping is a good thing. The gods know he could use more rest. I think he might be the worst of us when it comes to taking care of ourselves.”

Something about Cassian’s words had a crack splintering in your chest. You knew about his past. You knew of the horrors burned into the ruined skin of his hands and the weight his duties deposited on his shoulders.

And here you’d been worried over him sleeping past noon.

Shadows slipped down the stairs, pooling around your feet in a neat circle and kissing the exposed skin of your ankles. Azriel followed closely behind, still wearing his rumpled hair and pants and a shirt he’d hastily shoved his neck and arms into. He hadn’t even buttoned up the slits below his wings, opting to let the fabric swing free and loose and expose flashes of skin as he walked.

He jutted his chin out in acknowledgement of Cassian and then folded himself over your back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and dropping his face into the crook of your neck where he breathed in the scent of lemon and lavender and medicine.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he said, frowning. There was a slur to his words.

“It’s past three, brother.”

Azriel snapped his head up in surprise, squinting at the window and the afternoon sunlight streaking in. The pale cobblestones shone like they’d been drenched in honey.

“What?”

Cassian rolled his eyes, patting Azriel’s back fondly and mussing up your hair before walking towards the door. He flipped the sign from “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” to “Much apologies, please try another time.”

“Goodnight, you two!" He called from over his back. "Remember we’re meeting at Rhys’s for dinner tonight.” He turned, bracing his arms against the top of the doorway and leaning forward like he meant to share a secret. “8pm sharp. Don’t be too late or we’ll get the wrong idea about what you two are up to.” He winked, then whistled down the street, letting the door close on its own behind him.

Azriel sighed, going back to nuzzling his face in your neck. He peppered the sensitive skin there with kisses.

“Will you be coming back upstairs then?” He murmured hopefully. "Now that you're finished with work?"

You bit your lip and decided rather quickly that the world would not end because you closed a few hours early.

You led him up the stairs, past the kitchen and living room on the second floor, and then up to the third floor — your bedroom. The window was still open, the hustle and bustle of the city and the smell of coffee from across the street wafting in. Steam no longer poured from the lip of the teapot, so you knew Azriel had had something to drink, and where you’d left toast on his plate this morning lay only crumbs.

Azriel dropped to his knees, untying your laces and helping you out of your boots. Then he straightened and tugged at the belt loops of your trousers, silently asking for permission before unbuttoning them and sliding them off your legs. Your shirt, then his shirt, and then his trousers joined the pile of crumpled clothing on the floor.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, falling face first after you with a sigh. This was his favorite position to sleep in — you comfortable on your back and him laying with his hips slotted in between your legs and his head resting over your heart.

You sank your fingers into his velvety, black hair. His hums of satisfaction flowed through your body, lighting every nerve with a comforting buzz.

“Azriel?” You asked him, before sleep could finally claim him once more.

“Hmmm?”

“Do you feel safe with me?”

He pressed his face further into the soft flesh of your chest, bringing his arms up and around your waist before allowing his wings to do the same. The thin membranes glowed red as hot coals, blocking out the most offensive rays of light from outside.

“When I am with you, I forget that I was ever that boy whose hands got burned. When I am with you, the hundreds of years I spent feeling alone and worthless in this world melt away into nothing. When I am with you — when I am in this place that smells and feels so strongly of you — I can imagine a future that is good and pure and perfect.” He sighed deeply, seemingly ignorant to the pounding of your heart and the waves of feeling flooding your system. “So yes, my love — my Y/n — I do feel safe with you.”

“I feel safe with you too,” you murmured. “I love you, Azriel.”

You kissed the crown of his head, earning one last smile and a slurred, “I love you, Y/n,” before his jaw went slack and the room went silent save for the mixing of your breaths and the stirring of shadows.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #fluff #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #sleepy azriel is the best azriel #i swear i just need a man who wants to sleep with me all hours of the day and is a living furnace #is that too much to ask?

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 3 months

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Moonlit Baths

A tad bit of angst in this one, it seems I can never escape from writing angst.

Summary: You and Astarion spend a moment in a pool under the moonlight.

This was the first peaceful night you have had in a very long while. Usually, the camp would be full of energy, filled with banter courtesy of Wyll and Gale, filled with snide remarks courtesy of Shadowheart and Lae’zel while Karlach watched in amusement, waiting for a fight to break out so that she could cheer them on but tonight, tonight everyone was far too worn out and had immediately headed to their tents after dinner.

So you took this chance to head to the small pool nearby on your own, soaking in the water underneath the moonlight amidst the sound of the forest in the night sounded good. Quickly stripping yourself, you sank into the crystal clear water, letting out a sigh of relief as the coolness of the water seeped into your muscles, causing them to relax. You let your head rest on the stones surrounding the pool, eyes closing as you let yourself drift off, ears filled with the mindless sound of the insects in the forest. After such a hectic day, the slow and calm pace of the night was a very welcomed relief.

“So that’s where you ran off to, darling.” A voice snaps you out of your stupor. You reluctantly open your eyes, blearily trying to make out the figure standing over you.

“Astarion,” you mumble tiredly, recognising the curly hair and sultry voice anywhere.

“You look rather lonely in there, mind if I join you?” He’s already stripping before you can answer him, causing you to snort.

“At least wait until I’ve said something before stripping, star.” It’s not the first time you’ve seen him naked but you avert your eyes all the same to at least give him some sense of privacy.

“Why wait when I already know the answer? After all, you can never resist my company can you, my love?” You feel his cold fingers on your face and smile, opening your eyes to the sight of your vampire lover’s signature smirk. Lifting your hand out of the water, you rest it on his and lean into the touch, nuzzling his hand.

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world,” you mumble happily. His fingers may be a little cold, being the undead vampire he is but it’s his cold fingers and the chill they bring always manages to warm you up on the inside.

Astarion freezes momentarily, still unused to your sincere words of affection and gives you a reassuring smile when you look at him with concern in your eyes. He moves closer to you, never letting go of your cheek and presses his forehead against yours, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding which tickles your skin. The water laps at both your necks, disturbed only by the small movements of your arms as you wrap them around him, basking in his scent of bergamot, rosemary and brandy.

“Darling –”

“Shh, there’s no need to talk. Enjoy the moment,” you gently press a kiss to the corner of his lips. He blinks, surprised but complies anyways. He still doesn’t understand what’s so fun about sitting in silence and doing absolutely nothing, but you seem to enjoy it so he has no complaints. Besides, it’s calming to see you looking so serene, especially when during the day you’re mostly hectically fighting for your life.

You return to your former position of pressing foreheads and close your eyes, letting the quiet chirps of the forest insects fill your ears. You can feel Astarion’s hands dip to your waist, resting gently and uncertainly. With a small smile, you boop his nose with your own nose, giving him a look of reassurance before closing your eyes once more. Sometimes, you really couldn’t believe Astarion had chosen you of all people, he could do with a better lover but if you were his choice, you’d respect it.

You’d never imagined falling in love, only ever wondering what the next adventure of yours would bring but then Astarion came barreling into your life, quite literally with a knife at your throat. One look into his ruby red eyes and you recognised the lifelessness in them. You’d seen such eyes before, after all. Your own. But his eyes didn’t hold such a look anymore, not since you’d stood up for him, defended him, fought alongside him and threatened to dismember someone for trying to make you make his choices for him.

Your heart sang with each look he gave you, goosebumps travelling up your arm every time his fingers brushed against yours, and with every moment you spent with him, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper in love.

“I love you,” you whisper after a while. Astarion stares at you, mouth agape and you giggle, gently pushing his bottom jaw back up to close his mouth.

“Better keep that mouth closed before unwanted things find their way inside,” you tease, “I’d prefer not to taste anything…funny when kissing you.”

“You’re the only one I’m ever letting in my mouth dearest, don’t you worry,” he says when he finally finds the ability to form words once again. He chuckles, but it’s not quite genuine. He’s still confused, trying to process what you just told him. All this is just…so new to him. Even though the two of you have been together for a while, nights like this make him wonder if you’re better off with someone who doesn’t have as many issues as he does. The amount of effort you put into the relationship could be better spent elsewhere, other relationships would have progressed so much further than the relationship the two of you currently have.

“That’s a relief,” you press more kisses to his face, smothering him with them. Not that he minded in the slightest.

You look positively radiant under moonlight , Astarion thinks to himself. The way the moonlight lands on your bare shoulders and glistens off the water droplets that decorate your hair, the way your damp hair frames your perfect face, he could stare at your figure all day. Subconsciously, he lifts a hand out of the water and traces your jawline, staring deep into your eyes. He wonders what you see when you look at him. Do you see a beautiful silver-haired elven vampire or do you see a vampiric spawn, ready to sink its fangs into the nearest prey?

He moves your fringe, freeing up your forehead for him to plant a kiss there. His fangs graze over your skin lightly as his lips travel down towards your cheek where he plants another kiss before capturing his real target – your lips.

You kiss him back with such fervour that happiness blooms in his chest from the thought that you love kissing him this much. He only hopes that he can convey to you the same level of love through his actions because he knows his words always spill from his lips with that hint of fakeness out of sheer habit. He does what he can to tamper it, but a 200 year old habit is difficult to break.

He feels your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss, grasping at the silvery strands for a foothold and wonders what goes through your head when you kiss him. Do you think about the arousal that kisses bring? Do you think about dragging him away to your bedroll? Do you think about the pleasure from the nighttime activity that comes after?

Something squeezes his chest tightly and he pulls away, gasping for the air he no longer needs. No, you don’t think about him that way. You’ve told him over and over again, shown him over and over again but he can never properly rid those thoughts from his head. They always plague him, even on nights when the two of you do nothing but cuddle in his bedroll. He always wonders, staring at your sleeping form, when you’ll be tired of him, when you’ll discard him and he gets scared. He doesn’t want to lose this, whatever this is that the two of you have. He’s grown far too attached to it.

“Astarion?” Your gaze searches him, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“It’s nothing, darling. Just worried that you need to breathe. Look how flushed your face is, you better take some time to breathe,” he laughs humourlessly.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t press the issue. But please, bottling it up won’t do you any good. I want you to know you can always talk to me, tell me anything and I won’t judge. I promise.” You look at him with such sincerity that he feels ready to crumble right there and then, but he stops himself.

“Of course, darling.” His lips brush over yours but he never kisses, instead he pulls away, untangling himself from you. He can’t continue this tonight, not with the whirlwind of thoughts tearing his mind apart and it wouldn’t be fair to you.

You sense that he wants some time to himself and quickly excuse yourself, but not before hinting that you don’t mind cuddling with him later. Your arms are always open to him, a fact he greatly appreciated, and he agrees to see you later in your tent once he’s done sorting out the mess that is his mind.

With a quick kiss to his forehead, you head back to camp, leaving him with his swirling thoughts. He watches as your figure fades into the night and feels a tear roll down his cheek.

Would you think the same of him once you knew what Cazador did to him?

#astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion romance

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eoieopda · 1 year

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stay (jjk)

“Jungkook,” His name was merely a sigh flying out of your lungs and through your parted lips. “If we do this - if we go down this road - how do we go back?”

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem!Reader Type: One-Shot; SMUT (18+ - MINORS DNI) Word Count: 3.1K Content: Best friends to lovers au; rain-soaked jk; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); p in v penetration; unprotected sex + creampie (wrap it before you tap it, homies); reader on top; religion reference, i guess? idk; a sprinkling of praise for zest. A/N: Surprise! This popped into my head while I was waiting for take-out, and now here it is! You can listen to the playlist here, and you can find the morning after drabble here.

You knew better. You both did.

The two of you held joint custody of a single brain cell, and your shared consciousness repeated over and over that this was a bad idea. That the weight of what you wanted would sit so heavily on your shoulders, you’d both drown. But that didn’t stop him from standing on your doorstep at two o’clock in the morning, and it didn’t stop you from answering the door before he’d had the chance to knock.

Without his headlights shining through the blinds you’d forgotten to close, you’d never have gotten out of bed. You couldn’t have known for sure that it was him turning down your street at this hour, but somehow, you felt it.

Maybe you’d manifested his car, willed it to roll to a stop in your driveway when it did. Or maybe that familiar hum of the engine was your siren song, beckoning you towards the rocks. Whatever it was, it had pulled you out of that liminal space between sleeping and waking, all the way to your front door.

And then, there you were – and there he was.

You hadn’t noticed it was raining until he was dripping onto the hardwood in your front hallway. His hair clung to his forehead, and his damp skin glistened under the warm light overhead. His jaw was clenched tightly as he looked down at you. Neither of you could say for sure how he ended up there; but neither of you needed to guess why.

Still silent, you took his cold hand and led him through the living room. With his fingers intertwined with yours, a current of unspoken electricity hummed between your palms. When you took a left at the end of the hall, he was the first to step into your bedroom. He kept walking, too, unaware that you’d stalled out behind him.

You closed the door behind you, even though there was no one there but you, and you leaned against it. Unsure of what to do with yourself, you dragged the toe of one sock across the carpet before crossing one bare thigh over the other. His hungry gaze swallowed every little movement, even in the darkness.

“Jungkook,” His name was merely a sigh flying out of your lungs and through your parted lips. “If we do this - if we go down this road - how do we go back?”

As he crossed back to you, you wondered who put the world in slow-motion. There was an hour between each of his footfalls, and the distance seemed to double with every move he made in your direction. When he finally reached you, he pressed his palms against the door behind you, flush to the wood just above your head. You’d never been more aware of your heartbeat than you were in that moment.

Darkened eyes traveled down the expanse of your face before climbing back up to capture your gaze. He leaned in, close enough to kiss you, but paused. A millimeter away, the corner of his mouth twitched between a smile and a smirk. “Maybe we don’t.”

This was the closest he’d ever been to you, and the farthest apart you’d ever want to be again. The smell of him was intoxicating; you’d bet that it had caused your pupils to dilate, matching his.

Bergamot, nutmeg, cedar, and a hint of spearmint toothpaste.

Still, you were unsure. You couldn’t string a coherent thought together. It was all an anxious blur, and it ate at you. What if what if, what if? Incapable of diving into anything without discussing every conceivable outcome first, you opened your mouth to talk it all through. Nothing came out until his hand found the base of your throat.

He trailed the tips of his thumb and middle finger outwards, dancing delicately across your neck. A moan masquerading as an exhale defied you and filled the great divide between his mouth and yours.

Leaving his hand there, he tilted his head so that his mouth lingered under your jawline. Goosebumps erupted all over your body as his hot breath hit your sensitive skin. Without the door behind you to lean on, you would’ve dropped dead to your knees – but the body pressing into yours would never allow that to happen.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Though his words came in the form of a whisper, they struck you as a dare. One he must’ve known you'd never take him up on. “Tell me to go home, and I’ll leave.”

The sweltering heat building in your abdomen threatened to set you both on fire; it was starkly contrasted by the growing wetness between your clenched thighs. Your mind was dizzy underneath him, but you managed to say one word out loud.

Stay.

As soon as he heard it, his arms snaked around your waist and lifted you off the ground. You crossed your ankles behind his back and melted into his hold as he carried you to your bed. With the skill of someone who’d practiced this maneuver many times before, he brought one knee to the end of your mattress to keep his balance as his body followed yours down to the cool surface of your duvet.

You fit so perfectly beneath him, like it was the only place on Earth you were truly meant to be.

The only part of your body he hadn’t yet pinned down was your arms. But as soon as you lifted a hand to touch him – anywhere – his hand encircled your wrist and pushed it back against the pillow beside your head.

“It’s not your turn, doll,” He chided you without any real heat. Unconsciously, your lips curved downwards. “You have to be patient.”

Petulantly, you whined. “Could you at least kiss me?”

He raised an eyebrow expectantly but said nothing. He didn’t have to. The look in his eye gave you clear direction, and it didn't waver in the face of your pout.

“Please, Jungkook.”

Never in your life had you begged someone to kiss you. You couldn’t believe Jeon Jungkook - your lifelong friend - was the one to make you do it.

Once again, he leaned over your face, so tantalizingly close and still so unbearably far. “I will,” He promised in earnest, though all you felt on your lips was his breathing. “But I decide where.”

He didn’t stay to see the shocked look spread across your face. Instead, his gaze followed his hand as it traveled down from the collar of your shirt, between your breasts, and over your navel. His other hand joined when he reached your hips. Moving in tandem, they slipped past the fabric you anticipated he was heading for and glided right down to your inner thighs. Gently, his warm palms guided your knees apart.

When his lips pressed briefly and delicately at the material covering your clit, it sent shockwaves through your each and every nerve. Spellbound, you sighed. Mouth flush to your core, you could feel the vibration of his husky voice as he spoke. “Oh, angel,” He hummed before his tongue slipped out to tease you through the damp fabric, “You’re already so wet for me.”

His soft tone could’ve killed you, but the feeling of his fingers on the waistband of your underwear was the final nail in your coffin. The knuckles of his index fingers pressed lightly into your hip bones as they slid under, hooked over, and dragged. You raised your hips to allow him to slide the black cotton over the curve of your ass, and he did - so - agonizingly - slow.

Not soon enough, your underwear was discarded somewhere behind him. Neither of you saw or cared where they ended up.

“Fuck,” He growled as his ravenous eyes ate up the sight of you. “Do you know how gorgeous you are?”

He didn’t give you an opportunity to answer – you couldn’t, even if his question hadn’t been rhetorical – because his face was sinking back down between your legs. Your pulse was racing, and you could feel your heartbeat hammering deep within your ears. It stopped all together when his lips placed a kiss on your clit once more, this time without the interference of clothing.

His tongue slid out and circled slowly around the sensitive bud where his lips had just been. A shuddered gasp spilled out of you before you’d even felt it building in your chest. But he didn’t stay there for long, much to your chagrin. You whined in the absence of his tongue, stopping short when he pressed it flush against you, trailing up, up, up with just enough pressure to drive you mad.

This time, when you gathered enough strength to lift your arm and slip your fingers into his hair, he didn’t stop you. Instead, the slight tug of your desperate grasp seemed to encourage him. Emboldened, his lips surrounded your clit, suckling it, until it was released with a quiet, wet pop.

When the tip of his tongue moved down to tease at your entrance, a sheen of sweat erupted on your forehead. Your eyes screwed shut as you pressed your head back hard against the pillows. You wanted so badly for that tongue to penetrate you, and you ached when it moved back to your clit – that is, until you realized that he was merely switching mediums.

His lips and tongue continued their assault while one long finger glided slowly inside of you. Your grip on his hair tightened while your grip on reality loosened. That blessed finger curled until its tip found the spongey spot behind your pubic bone.

“Oh shit,” Your low moan vibrated in each of your bones. You were so distracted by the way he massaged your g-spot, you didn’t anticipate the second finger being added to aid in the effort. He scissored them inside of you, earning a sharp hiss through your teeth. The pressure of his presence against your internal walls put you into a trance.

He pulled his mouth away so he could look up at you from under heavy lids. “You’re so warm, angel,” His husky voice received a mewl in response. “So tight, too. Can’t even imagine how good you’ll feel when you come all over my fingers.” Another moan pushed out of you as he curled his fingers once more.

With his two fingers pressing further into your g-spot as they pistoned in and out of you, you could hear how wet he’d made you. The sound of your slick, underscored by your breathy moans, reverberated in your otherwise silent bedroom. Your body threatened to give out on you entirely, but you summoned the strength to arch your back as the tightness in your core became unbearable.

“I want you to look me in the eyes when you come,” he said, prompting you to stare up at him through fluttering lashes. “Good girl.”

His praise pulled the thread that led to your unraveling. You made a mess of his fingers as you orgasmed around them, hips bucking upwards into his hand. They lingered inside of you as you came down, riding out the aftershocks that caused your walls to twitch. Gasping and spent, you collapsed back against the mattress.

For the first time since he arrived, the lips that always seemed to hover over yours finally indulged you. You sighed into the kiss and felt yourself returning from the orbit you’d been shot into. When you pulled apart, he placed another kiss at your temple.

“I saw God for a second there,” You laughed, out of breath. “He says ‘hello,’ by the way.”

He smirked as he bumped the tip of his nose against yours. “Watching you come like that was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a religious experience.”

He tilted his head and brought his mouth to your ear lobe, licking it playfully before closing in with his teeth. The surprising sensation brought you back from the dead just in time for his words to knock you prone again. “And I’m not even finished with you yet.”

Jungkook sat back onto his knees and tugged at the hem of your too-big t-shirt. When you made no moves to remove it, he frowned down at you. Raising your eyebrow, you copied the expression he routinely directed at you. “You first,” You dared him.

He rolled his eyes at your attitude, but did as you instructed. He tossed his shirt back into whatever void your underwear had fallen into.

In all the years you’d been friends, you’d somehow never seen Jungkook without a shirt on. For some primal reason outside your comprehension, the sight of his strong shoulders curving into his comparatively narrow waist started a riot among the butterflies in your stomach. You bit down on your bottom lip and sat up underneath him.

As you traced the lines of his abdominal muscles with your fingertips, his slipped beneath the hem of your shirt and began to slide it up and off.

“Goddamn,” He groaned after he finished unwrapping you like a present. He ducked his head down as if he was bowing in reverence. His large, warm hands enveloped your breasts easily like they’d been specifically engineered for this purpose.

When he removed them to unbuckle his belt, they were replaced by wet kisses across the pale expanse of your chest. As he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, the faintest hint of teeth grazed your nipple, prompting yet another gasp from deep inside you.

The way his mouth felt on your electrified skin caused your eyelids to flutter shut. Tragically, you didn’t get to see the way his cock sprung from beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs before he discarded them entirely. You did see the bead of pre-cum rolling down his head, as well as the wicked glint in his eyes.

“Switch places with me,” He directed you, wrapping his hands around your wrist and helping you up.

You did as he said, and soon, you were perched above him with your knees on either side of him. Though there remained an unfortunate distance between his head and your slit, you were nearly dripping with want. You locked eyes and time crashed to a halt.

His hand pumped at his length without breaking eye contact. “Bring yourself down slowly.”

You lined yourself up, placed one hand on his cock, and teased the tip of it against your entrance. Briefly, his eyes rolled backwards at the feeling of your slick against him. The beginnings of a moan were foreshadowed on his face, though he didn’t make a sound until he entered you.

Suddenly, it made sense why he’d ordered you to take it slow – the width of his cock required considerable acclimation on your part. For a moment, you struggled to catch your breath, but the more you pressed yourself onto him, the more accommodating you became. Soon enough, you’d taken all of him; the lips of your cunt were flush against his pelvis.

“Such a good girl.” His hand reached up, and his thumb swept lightly across your bottom lip. To his surprise, you opened your mouth and closed it around his finger. You felt his cock twitch in response to the wet heat of your tongue. He stared intently, unblinking, as you hollowed out your cheeks; and he let loose with a soft groan when you slowly released him from your trap. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You circled your hips slowly, feeling the veins of his cock as they brushed against your walls. His jaw slackened, causing you to grin mischievously down at him. “I might have a clue,” You teased.

The hands spread across your thigh tensed in reply. His eager fingertips would undoubtedly leave a smattering of tiny bruises across your skin by sunrise, but you didn’t mind. You wanted him to leave a trace so neither of you could deny where he’d been. A breadcrumb trail to lead you back to him once the moonlight disappeared and the moment passed.

When you lifted yourself only to drop back down, you both exhaled curses. Again and again, you savored every inch of him. As you fucked yourself on his cock, his hands slid up your thighs, over your abdomen, and back to your breasts. The friction of his rough palms against the soft skin of your areolas was only rivaled by that between your thighs.

“You’re fucking beautiful, bouncing on my cock like that,” He groaned before his tongue darted out over his lips, “And - shit - those tits.”

Based on the glistening sweat on his collarbones and his tightly clenched jaw, you knew he was close – and judging by the way you’d begun to pant, so were you. When he needed more speed than your weakened knees could produce, his arms wrapped around you and pulled your naked chest against his. Pushing his heels into the mattress, he fucked upwards into you – hard – and oh god, the tip of him nearly kissed your cervix.

You mewled as he slammed into you, unable to do anything else as you teetered at the edge of the world. Your frenzied mouth met his, and you slipped your tongue inside not only to taste him – spearmint – but also to eliminate any cruel distance that had managed to survive this long.

You could’ve lived there forever, but the rubber band pulled tight in your core was on the verge of snapping. His pace never faltered as he pushed you relentlessly past the point of no return.

“Holy sh-shit, Jungkook!” You screamed, arching your back against his arms, shoulders slumping.

Your second orgasm was somehow – inconceivably - stronger than the first, causing your toes to curl and your eyes to screw shut. Every one of your muscles clocked out en masse, leaving your body a shaking, sweating mess on top of him.

The sight of you so completely fucked out depleted what remained of his endurance. His thrusts became sloppy and frantic as he chased after you. Wanting nothing more than to feel his hot release inside you, you brought your lips to his ear and begged him to fill you.

You watched his face as he came inside of you. His head tilted back while his eyes fluttered shut more delicately than yours had. His fingers pressed hard into the bare skin of your back, and when your name tumbled out of his mouth - over and over - it might’ve been the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard.

Once he’d emptied his cock into you, he stayed in that position with his eyes closed. Limp arms barely held up by the hands still holding your waist.

“Kook?” You kissed the pulse point in his neck to make sure he still had one. “You alive down there?”

“Mhmm,” He sighed through a lopsided grin. With his eyes still shut, his chuckle buzzed through his chest, into yours. “It’s kind of funny, you know? I spent years wondering what you’d be like – like this – and I still managed to underestimate you. Damn near scrambled my brains, doll.”

You reached up to his forehead and pushed the sweaty locks away from his eyes with one finger. Without any impediments to his vision, his eyes opened slowly and became fixed on you. For a moment, all he did was blink sleepily up at you with total, peaceful satisfaction written across his features.

His softening cock was still buried inside of you when the corners of his lips turned down. With a sigh, he said it and it killed you: ”You were right about our friendship not surviving this.”

“Seriously?” You scoffed, immediately landing a weak punch on his bicep with gritted teeth. “You couldn’t even pull out before singlehandedly terminating – “

He interrupted you with a kiss, and you saw stars.

“You told me to stay,” He mumbled with his lips still touching yours. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m staying.”

(12/30/22) A/N: Morning after drabble can be found here.

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ask-shyfts-silly-cookies · 1 year

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To everyone, opinion on the phrase your mom.

#bergamot answer #vanilla buttercream answer

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rakiah · 2 months

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Ohhhh 👀👀 new item?? Do you know when? So maybe I can buy them all at once to save on shipping?

Hi hi! :3

Well yes! News prints like Lilia&Silver, the Vogue one and others...

And some little guys 👀

I hope I can do the update the week is coming but I'm really busy 💦 Anyway, everything will be set before the end of April!

#answer #twst merch #shop #bergamote bunny #soon!

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strawberrystepmom · 9 months

Text

cw omegaverse, cw yandere, cw predator prey dynamics. f!omega reader, alpha!geto. wc 698

pt. 2

“Fuck,” you mutter to no one in particular while inspecting the ingredients label of a jar of sesame paste to try and hide the flush that you know is painting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose crimson.

It has been a long time since you’ve felt like this and your hand shakes as you barely hold onto the jar enough to slide it onto the shelf in front of you.

You don’t even need sesame paste, you just need a distraction. Something to keep you from focusing on the twist of your stomach and the sweat prickling across your hairline and the back of your neck.

Today was clearly not the day to forego your heat suppressant, limbs feeling simultaneously light as air and heavy as lead as you drag your feet down the aisle with a basket dangling from the crook of your elbow. Your head hurts, your senses are dulled, but you don’t miss the clearing of a throat behind you nor the way it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

The voice is rich as the cake you allowed yourself to indulge in on your last birthday and it wraps around you like a velvet ribbon. As if you cannot control yourself, you turn your head and gasp looking at the man who is beckoning you in a way that makes you feel completely out of body.

He’s tall, his raven hair spills across his shoulders, and his broad chest blocks out the sight of anyone on either side of him. Swallowing but your throat feels more dry after doing so somehow, your pulse speeds up as realization dawns.

Alpha. This man, Suguru Geto, is an alpha.

“I’m sorry, I know this is a strange thing to ask, but are you…” he trails off, indicating you should know what he’s asking, but your blank stare tells him otherwise. Your eyes are narrowed but suspiciously glossy and he knows, instinctively, the answer is yes.

You are an omega standing in the middle of a busy grocery store filling the entire place with the aroma of bergamot and vanilla. Unbonded, he can tell as his dark eyes dip downward and check out the contents of your small basket - all for one, he can tell. No ring. No visible mating mark.

Brave or stupid, he can’t tell which.

Your scent is overwhelmingly sensual to the man, his mouth filling with saliva if he dares inhale too deeply, and he can feel his natural urges overtaking any sense he has left in your presence.

“Forgot my suppressants for a couple of days,” you clarify with an embarrassed whisper, eyes still narrowed despite the pull you feel to go to him - to give to him - and you take a step backward to put distance between your bodies, giving yourself a victory in the battle of wills.

“Better be careful being out here then, you’re bound to catch a lot of attention.”

His voice is just as velvety despite the low note of warning in it and if you were less controlled by your base urges in this moment, you’d bare your teeth in an overly polite smile and walk away. Right now, though, you are frozen in place and your eyes meet his. They are molten bronze framed by the darkest lashes you’ve ever seen and you’ve never felt as pinned as you do right now, beneath his gaze.

Like a frightened rabbit, you become skittish. Two further steps backward put even more space behind you and you turn on your heel, eyes wide as you look over your shoulder to have the last word.

“Thank you for your concern but I’ll be fine.”

He nods politely and plasters on a serene smile, inhaling just deep enough that his pupils dilate after another overwhelming rush of you inside his head.

“Take care,” he raises his voice to speak back and you shiver, stomach twisting even more as you fumble your way toward the checkout and force yourself to keep looking forward to prevent running back in his direction.

You’ll be back in a day or two, Suguru assumes, and his alpha instincts rarely fail when it comes to getting what he wants and he’s more than content to wait.

#cw omegaverse #cw yandere #cw predator prey #kendall writes #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 8 months

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hello! could i get astarion comforting tav/reader headcanons please? maybe they're just stressed out and overwhelmed-

A/N: I’m down so bad for soft!Astarion, it’s not even funny lol

⭐ Astarion Comforting Tav Headcanons ⭐

So of course, Tav is EXHAUSTED. I mean being a leader is hard, and being a leader in charge of saving yourself and others from a mindflayer parasite is even harder.

There’s just so much to worry about, so much to plan, so much to… Argh!

Tav’s head is pounding and to make matters worse, every healing member of the party is fast asleep. And then to top it off, there’s Astarion not so subtly suggesting that he could use a ‘drink’. Of course, that teasing demeanor all but vanishes once he sees the state Tav’s in.

Astarion spent decades manipulating people- he knows how to read them. And he can easily perceive when someone is overworked or in pain.

He asks Tav what’s wrong, joking that he needs his source of sustenance to be in tip-top shape. When Tav doesn’t rise to the barb, he switches tactics.

Instead, Astarion brings them away from the campfire and into his tent. He sets them down on a plush pile of pillows and tries asking them again, more sincerely this time.

If Tav has enough wherewithal to answer, he listens intently- no cutting in with jokes or teasing. If Tav is too overwhelmed to speak, it makes no difference. Astarion still gets the gist. He may not know exactly what’s wrong, but he understands what it’s like to feel stressed, and constantly under pressure to perform.

If Tav needs to cry, he lets them sob into his shoulder, ignoring that pesky voice in his head chiding Tav for staining the fabric. He’ll rub occasional soothing circles onto Tav’s back, and just let them let out all the frustrations that have been building up over time.

Once Tav is all cried or yelled out, he’ll make sure they’re resting comfortably, fluffing the pillows, and bringing them soft blankets before searching amongst his things to find the right combination of perfumes and scented oils to help Tav relax even further. He places drops of lavender and bergamot on Tav’s wrists, gently massaging the oils in before repeating the process on both sides of their neck, on the pulse point just behind their ear. The combination of smells has a soothing effect, lulling Tav into a state of restfulness.

After ensuring Tav is cozy, Astarion sets down somewhere close- distant enough to give Tav their space, but near enough that he’s within arms reach should Tav need them.

After all, tomorrow is no doubt another long day of adventuring, fighting, and heroics. And Astarion knows that while he can’t stop the next difficult battle from coming, he can at least offer Tav some reprieve in the meantime. He knows that sometimes all you can do is feel your feelings and take a moment before getting up to face your demons all over again.

#astarion x tav #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion x reader #bg3 astarion imagine #astarion #bg3 #hc

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lynnlovesthestars · 1 month

Text

Golden Daffodils.

(I wandered lonely as a cloud pt2)

Part 1

Pairing: Astarion x Reader.

WC: 1k

You were so used to be alone at night, that the first kiss on your neck, stirred you from your sleep.

A gasp escaped your lips as more kisses were trailing along your throat to reach your chin.

"Mh, morning my sweet" Astarion's voice was low, as he resumed his trail of kisses to reach your cheek.

With one arm he kept you close to him, with the other hand he tilted your head to his so when he'd be done, he'd be able to look at that content smile on your lips.

The memories of the night before flooded your mind as you recalled how softly he kissed you, how peaceful you felt.

You placed a tender kiss on his forehead, warmth spreading in your chest at your gesture that was so natural for you.

"I left a message for Wyll, letting him know you were not feeling well" He caressed one of your cheeks. "You need some rest after all" He murmured.

"I feel guilty for taking a day off though" You pouted, although you felt the guilt going up, deep down you knew you were yearning so much for touch that you were glad he had this idea.

"No need to, my sweet" He kissed your cheek gently. "Moreover, after last night I couldnʼt help but wish we had more time like this" He smiled as he closed his eyes, you couldn't tell, but he inhaled and in doing so he basked in your warmth again.

"Mh, same" your voice came out as a shaky whisper, as you curled yourself closer to him. His arms were welcoming as he leaned in, nuzzling his nose in your neck.

You both hummed for a moment as you realized you didn't have to put too much effort into looking for a comfortable way to nestle in each other. It was like the curves of your very body were molded from his.

“Letʼs just pretend for a few hoursˮ His voice echoed in your mind as you allowed your muscles to let go.

“Iʼll be here pretending until you need me to, cause at the end of the day we both deserve to feel lovedˮ

"May I kiss you?" He was merely inches away, his nose barely touching yours as he waited for your answer.

Your cheeks igniting just at the thought, but catching fire as he'd tilt your chin before catching your lips in a yearning kiss. Like he had to endure decades without your lips against his, like he belonged to you only, and you to him.

"Mine" He'd mumble against you, your lips still lost within each other's, as you drank the word down your throat like ambrosia.

“Letʼs pretend we are in loveˮ

He'd rest his forehead against yours, his breath still itching as you just leaned into each other.

You wished you could pretend like this every night, even every second if you had the chance, still ignoring the pit in your stomach, ready to swallow you whole when you least expected it.

Heʼd trace your skin ever so softly. His fingers slowly made it lower and lower down your spine until they reached your hips, and then your thighs. He grabbed your flesh firmly, pulling you closer to him, your chest hitting in the middle as he guided your legs around him, and left a soft kiss to your throat.

“No one could compare to youˮ He murmured as heʼd place innocent kisses along your neck, your cheeks, your forehead till he was again lost with your lips. It was all a lie and yet you couldnʼt stop the voice in your head that whispered ‘kiss me againʼ, ‘just once moreʼ, and you were not sure if that was all in your head, or they came almost as a moan from your velvet lips, and he obliged. Neck, temples, ears, jaw, clavicles, any exposed skin was met with his cold kisses as they burned away the pit in your stomach. The citrusy taste of bergamot clouded all your senses as for a moment, you allowed your brain to forget all about loneliness.

#i wandered lonely as a cloud #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #lynn: updates☆#astarion x tav #bg3 x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate 3 #astarion imagine #spawn astarion #bg3 x gn!reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 x you #vault: lynn ☆

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pluvialpoet · 2 months

Text

bergamot

Summary: moments of quiet reflection reaffirm what you both already know to be true- he’s always going to come back, and you’re always going to be waiting with open arms

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

Requested: no

Warning: idiots in love, friends to lovers, mutual pining, scarecrow's fear toxin, mentions of death and grief, slight angst, fluffy ending, loosely based off of batman: hush (2019)- but no major spoilers

Word Count: 3,930

masterlist

a/n: I know that dick has a tolerance against/is immune to scarecrow's fear toxin, but let's pretend he isn't...for the plot

Sleep is cruel in the way it continues to evade you when you crave it most. Mocking and teasing, exhaustion morphs into desperation. Even with your eyes shut dreams fail you, and nightmares taunt.

A siren wails, bellowing out into the night and echoing caution even after the initial cry has faded. Could be a police car, or an ambulance. Maybe even a fire truck. You try not to consider all of the possibilities, knowing it’ll only starve your slumber, further. With a huff, you adjust the heavy comforter, pulling it up until it bunches just under your chin.

In a few weeks, branches will be stripped of their leaves. Snow will fall, and the city will suffocate under a blanket of white. July was only yesterday, sticky and never-ending- infinite until finite. Now, January lurks around the corner- weeks away, but daunting, nevertheless.

The pillow tucked behind your back is a poor imitation of the brawn you wish feathers and fill could replicate, just as the one pressed to your chest acts as an imposter mimicking the body meant to be sleeping peacefully beside you. It’s impossible to tell feelings of loneliness apart from being alone, and deep down you know that reminiscence is merciless. Memory is wicked. But you can’t help remembering. It’s the only way you won’t forget- and even then, so much time has passed that you’ve begun to fade, and he’s begun to blur. Spiraling further and further away from reality and control, you drift towards hope, feeding each dangerous possibility until you have nothing left to give, but delusion takes and takes and takes…

Answers elude like comfort- and sleep. When, how, and why is lost upon you. He’s been gone for so long. Even so, your life has continued, evolving to accommodate the gaps he used to fill. Though, it’s about as effective as papier-mâchéing an open wound shut. Everywhere you look, everything you do, every time you shut your eyes, he finds a way to bleed into you, one way or another, and you welcome it every single time. All you really have are memories and a space in your bed which has always been his to come home to.

Outside, the wind howls. Angry and violent, the sound rattles the windowpane and you burrow deeper into the covers trying to block it out. Shadows dance across the ceiling, but none of them belong to the ghost you’ve been waiting for. Another frustrated huff fails to quell burning exhaustion, and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before checking the clock next to you. Neon green flashes, all too pleased to report that it’s well past midnight and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Already tomorrow, and you’re still mourning today.

Pushing the covers off, you shiver. There’s a chill in the air and little comfort to be found in the fact that the entire apartment feels cold and empty without him in it. At least it’s not just the bed. It’s the entire room, the hallway, and the kitchen, too. You reach for the light above the stove and begin to search the cupboards for a mug. If nothing else, at least a cup of tea will warm you up. Thanks to muscle memory, you act on autopilot, filling the ceramic with water and placing it in the microwave before picking a teabag and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Three monotone beeps call your attention back before it has another chance to wander away from you, and you retrieve the cup and place the teabag inside. Steeping time be damned.

You can’t wait any longer.

One leg curls under the other as you take a seat and bring the mug to your mouth. It burns the tip of your tongue, a small price to pay for your greed, and you swallow the too-hot liquid regardless of the consequences. The pain barely registers, anyway. With both palms pressed to the vessel, warmth finally finds you, and a barely contented huff passes your lips to blow the steam from the cup. It’s not always like this. It’s not supposed to be, but for so long, it has been. Never months, always weeks. You don’t know how to do this or how much longer you can put yourself through this torture when every sunrise twists the knots in your stomach tighter and tighter. How much longer until you snap?

You’re so tangled up in your suffering that you miss it the first time, until the hair on the back of your neck bristles. Did you imagine it? Silently, you wait, setting the steaming mug down to listen, and this time, you hear it. Faintly, but there. Real.

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

I’m here. I’m safe. Can I come in?

Your feet move before the rest of your body does, and the chair scrapes loudly across the hardwood as you jump from it in shock. A cocktail of excitement, worry, disbelief, and fear bubbles and swirls through you when you spot a familiar glimpse of black and blue through the window near the fire escape.

“Dick?”

Crossing the room without any memory of doing so, you fiddle with the latch that keeps you from him, and him from you, until finally it clicks. With only one foot through the window, you reach for him, desperate to savor the illusion until mass, warmth and a heartbeat prove it to be real. Upon realizing, your breath hitches. He’s real. He’s real, and he’s here. No longer a dream. No longer a nightmare. No longer a vision only sleep can grant or mold, he stands before you. He takes a moment to properly slide the window shut behind him, returning the lock to its rightful position- keeping the rest of the world and the winter, out- before turning to face you once more. He can’t even get a word out before you’re pressed against him, wrapping your arms around him and holding yourself back from crushing him with the intensity of your longing. Overly cautious of injuries you can’t physically see- mindful of bruises, tears of flesh, and wounds that remain eclipsed by kevlar and moonlight- you embrace him with a hesitancy that severely undermines your fervor. Holding him gently- delicately, tenderly- the way you’ve dreamt about entwining with him on nights when sleep has been generous instead of cruel, you finally look up at him.

A sigh of relief dispels the hoarded tension in your neck, shoulders, and chest when you rest your head against his chest and inhale. Sweat and copper muddle his natural scent, but even when he’s covered in his victories, even when he’s drenched in his defeats, he still smells like home- warm, safe, familiar, and comforting.

He hesitates to envelop you with the same thinly veiled desperation, holding himself back.

Every muscle in his body carries the strain of battles fought and won. His head throbs with the force of his thoughts, and the inescapable dizziness that always accompanies crashing down from a high. Then again, he’s never been one to ease into things gracefully. Tiny cuts and scrapes, angry blacks and blues, and even gaping gashes that are still seeping and tender to the touch hardly register as anything other than a stinging, burning sensation. Everything is dull. Ferocity and intensity both subdued. Through the haze of everything that competes for his attention, you’re the one thing that’s clear. As always, the hold you have on him, both physical and metaphorical, brings him back to his senses, but doubt keeps him withdrawn.

Warily wrapping his arms around you, Dick returns the gesture as best as he can. Cages built of muscle, meant to keep you close, refuse to lock you in place, and he finds it increasingly difficult to resist surrendering to you entirely. Just as his nerves begin to settle they spike once more when the gravity of the past few months finally begins to sink in. As you continue to tremble in his arms, he swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to hold you impossibly closer. If he weren’t so afraid, he’d never let go again. But he’s not the same man he was the last time you saw him. Having seen too much, he knows that he can’t let this become something more. Fear is rotten. He’s seen the future, and if he keeps leaning on you then he’s only going to drag you down with him. Regardless of what he really wants, he won’t let this become something more, but then he looks down at you in his shirt and realizes it’s always been something more- and it terrifies him more than anything.

When pink swirls around the drain- a muted severity of soapy lather and remnants of crusted, oozing red- he rests his forehead against the cold tiles and lets out a deep sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper shower. Under the trickling scorch, he allows his shoulders to slump forward, letting the too-hot water soothe his muscles like a balm, and it stings in a way he welcomes- a reminder that he’s done it again, he’s survived the worst and now he just has to survive the recovery.

He’s never been good with the after, always losing himself in possibilities of what comes next without taking a minute to catch his breath, but he’s trying to be better. He owes it to you. Not only you but himself, too- but mostly you. So, he tries to forget. He pushes memories too fresh to be forgotten somewhere else, banishing them to the far corners of his mind and locking them away until he’s ready to face his demons at his own pace, on his own terms, but his wicked creations fight back. Even when they’re crafted from delusions, mirroring real-life counterparts with a precision too exact to be a figmented replication, he finds himself engaged in an internal match that never crowns a victor. It’s a conflict that never ceases, even after his own surrender. Still, he’s found that the intrusions are less when copper is overpowered by citrus, and when red, inevitably swirls into pink.

Steam amplifies the smell of sweat and body odor, so pungent that the only word to describe it is bad, and he holds his breath while he reaches for your soap once more. He can’t believe you let him anywhere near you. It’s even more unfathomable that you sought an embrace, despite the remnants of battle that’ve woven themselves into his being- lingering, even long after. He’s repulsed by that which exposes him, a stench so strong that it serves as a testament to the fact that he reclaimed you as soon as he could, coming right back to this haven of sorts without any prior stops, and his stomach churns uncomfortably, the once soothing mist tainting each attempt at air, and a weight teases the aching muscles of his chest which breath does not alleviate.

Through the haze, he sees the truth- when reality remains undistorted by the tricks of his own want and longing, he recognizes fact without his own warped perceptions of fantasy- and he realizes just how careless he’s been. By allowing desire to suade better judgment, he’s put you at risk. Guilt punishes with an onslaught of emotions ranging from frustration to anger, sadness to grief, and even regret to sorrow. His own reluctance to accept how dangerous it was, and always has been, to lean on your affections as a crutch has finally caught up to him. After all that he’s seen, after everything he’s been forced to bear witness to over the past few months, coupled with a lifetime of loss, he’s no longer able to ignore the thought that’s broken free from the shackles of elsewhere. What was once dull, always there but never really forgotten, has become intense and persistent.

Every time he finds his way back to you, he invites peril into your life. He’s hazardous. Even if he’s not, being attached to him- in any way- puts you at an even greater risk of endangerment. Trying to justify something even as tame as a friendship is absurd. You’re so much more than that. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, you’ve found a place within his heart. Every beat echoes your name and carries secrets of his devotion. All that remains of the walls meant to protect both of you is rubble, and Dick stands alone in the epicenter of the aftermath, unsure and torn between chaos and order. Selfishly, he wants. Greedily, he craves. Morally, he knows that he should just walk away- but he can’t.

The scene shifts, ceramic tile falling away to reveal an eerie, yet familiar boneyard, and he shakes his head. It’s not real. It was never real- but it was so vivid. Cold fog obscures his vision, and he closes his eyes. This is a trick. This isn’t truth. He knows what comes next. Forced to indulge in his worst nightmares, the shrill, piercing sound of your terror renders him numb. He can’t move. Paralyzed, he fights limbs of lead, but he can’t act. It surrounds him, your agony, and he can’t do anything to save you. He can’t protect you. With each cry of his name, you plead, but there’s nothing he can do. When silence follows his ragged breaths, he refuses to look down. He hates this part the most, but he doesn’t have a choice. Crimson stains the black and blue weave, and he can taste metallic. He doesn’t have any control over this hallucination, born and bred from his greatest fear, and all he can do is witness the fallout of your shared torture- your blood on his hands, his body slumped against your tombstone, and the triumphant laughter of a clown, a scarecrow, a ventriloquist, and a hundred more that delight in your demise.

He can’t catch his breath. Drifting further and further away from reality, he struggles to claw his way back towards the light. When his vision begins to fade, he reaches for more soap. In for three counts, out for four. In for three counts, and out for four, again, Dick feels lightheaded. There’s no limit to how far he’d go to keep you safe, not a single rule or code he wouldn’t break to protect you from anything and everything- and that’s an entirely different threat, in and of itself. His loyalty has the potential to become his ruin, and he’d let it- for your sake- but would that be enough? Could his devotion be enough to keep you safe from the otherwise brutal fate that awaits you with, and without, his intervention?

The bite of a washrag leaves his skin raw. Lost to his thoughts, he’s been mindlessly scrubbing away at his flesh, dousing himself with bubbled distraction. Another breath fails to alleviate his unease. All he can think about is that which is out of his control, and he can’t help but wonder, is there even a chance for the two of you?

Every thought is a contradiction.

He could wax poetic to Bruce about love- how precious and fragile and conscious it is- but he can’t even bring himself to act upon his own advice. Even worse than following in a denialist’s footsteps is being a hypocrite, but there are just too many variables for him to take into account- too many what-ifs and maybe’s that enable him to cower behind words left unspoken.

In spite of this, he dares to dream of a future where you’re his and he’s yours, and nothing else matters. Lost to his delusions, a smile threatens to work muscles that’ve remained dormant for months of disuse. It hurts. Stretching, pulling, and manipulating his face to actually convey what he’s feeling instead of trying to veil it, hurts. However, the worst pain follows. As he reaches for the illusion, it slips through his fingers- so close he can almost hold it, yet just out of reach, simultaneously- and just like that, reality distorts the mirage. Pried from him, ripped away and sporting his claw marks, what could’ve been remains what could’ve been- and it’s all his fault.

Fear suppresses his love.

He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose this, too. He won’t. However glutinous, he craves more- even when he knows he can’t have it, he wants with a desire that’s almost too strong to ignore. Almost. Locking his feelings away, he throws away the key, but his ribs begin to expand with the intensity of his longing, and his chest feels tight. This isn’t like before. It seems as if his secrets have outgrown their cages, and he finds himself at a crossroads. His mind begins to drift and he wonders if this agony is why Bruce kept Selina at arm’s length…

A sigh, and a revelation- he’s not Bruce, and you’re not Selina.

Dick’s been going about this all wrong. Despite everything he’s been taught about love and loss, he’s allowed a life outside of a domino mask and kevlar. He deserves to cherish someone, to protect and devote himself to something other than his work- someone to fight for, someone to come home to- and he deserves to be beloved, too. Even if only for tonight. Even if tomorrow isn’t promised and all you have is right now, you’re here. On the other side of the frosted glass screen and plaster, you’re waiting for him. Another smile, less forced and genuine, feels like a relief instead of a burden. His skin pebbles under the frigid stream left in the wake of molten steam. With a shiver, he seeks your warmth, reaching for the faucet and stepping out of the enclosure.

A worn shirt rests atop the counter, the fabric faded from years of wear and wash, folded neatly beneath a pair of fresh boxers and socks likely left behind from the last time, or the time before that, or even the time before…truth be told, he thought he’d lost it, misplaced it, or given it away. Of course, you’ve had it in your care, all along. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. Slipping the towel from around his waist, he begins to dress, wondering when you managed to sneak in without him hearing you. The door used to creak, and he realizes that you must have fixed it while he was gone. It’s hard not to think about what else might’ve changed since the last time he saw you. Would you have stayed with him, if he asked you to? You always have. Six years and counting, he muses if you always will…

His hair is getting long, again. Droplets fall from the overgrown strands at the base of his neck down his back, making him shiver and reach for his towel once more. He pats his hair down, ruffling it with the towel a few times before wiping away at the mirror. Making eye contact with his reflection he’s the first to look away. He’s looked worse and supposes that's a small win in and of itself, though he can’t stand the sight of himself any longer than he has to. A deep exhale and a shake of his head diverts his attention to the countertop where a spare toothbrush has been left out for him to use. Of course, he already knows where the toothpaste is. He helps himself with a growing smile and places it in the holder right next to yours when he’s done. His chest expands with something he can’t quite name when he finds himself surrounded by gentle reminders of your care. A small cup of water and painkillers act as physical embodiments of your thoughtfulness and he revels in the knowledge that you’re letting him know you’re there for him while giving him space to come down from whatever adrenaline rush the past few months have spiked. It’s in those silent gestures of love that he hears it the loudest, echoing and amplifying all around him.

It must be killing you to act so selflessly, and he tries not to be selfish with your affections, but it’s difficult not to feel like a burden when you’ve rearranged more than just a spot on the counter, or a place for him to keep his toothbrush next to yours, for him- giving him a home without expecting anything else in return.

Down the hall, the mattress protests against his arrival, angry springs squeaking from months of disuse before welcoming his weight and warmth on the side opposite of yours- his side, from the very moment, years ago, when he found his way back to you after a night that left him bloody and beaten but not broken. Never broken- not when he’s always had you. Though most memory of the first evening spent beside you remains a blur, the ability to recall details and specifics stolen from him as his wounds wept crimson tears that stained your hands and upholstery, fondness prevails. Despite robbed recollections, tender warmth, and affection remain. Even then, he knew. Without really knowing, without certainty, he was certain- he loved you, and you loved him, and every gentle, devoted gesture has always reaffirmed the one thing he could never doubt. Every silent offering, every selfless sacrifice, and piece of yourself that you’ve surrendered to him further insists that your heart acts in favor of three words never spoken.

His arm finds your waist easily, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around his reluctance to accept what this is, anymore. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re waiting so patiently for him, and snuggle back into his hold the moment he reaches out for you. Some limbs tangle, but not yours- the two of you fit perfectly together, like you were truly meant to be, and the moment that you’re allowed to converge, you press your palm flat against his arm, holding him close to you.

Reacquainting yourself with him after is always your favorite part. Though, your heart cleaves when your fingertips ghost over a new scar- the skin still raised and angry, even if the wound has closed. With something akin to sympathy, an apology for the pain he’s suffered that you can’t take away, you gently trace the new mark in acknowledgment.

Tomorrow, or later today, when the sunlight illuminates the sky, you’ll ask him about it. Or, maybe you won’t. When the first glimpses of warm light threaten to spill over the horizon, you might get answers to the questions you’ve spent the last few months pondering. Or, perhaps everything unasked will remain unresolved. Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that tonight, you’ll sleep- safe and protected, at ease and engulfed by all things him- and even if it only lasts for the night, you’ll cherish whatever small moments of intimacy the moon grants before the sun, inevitably, rips them away- a fate you’ve grown to expect, time and time again.

Still, you let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the silence for only a moment before it’s interrupted.

“I love you,” Dick confesses softly, words warm and whispered against your shoulder encouraged by a fleeting moment of courage- and the tender caress of your touch- that prompt the secret to spill from his chest, an accident he fears he may have to render excuses for to salvage whatever broken pieces are left of this unspoken relationship.

“I know,” With your back towards him he misses the stretch of a smile ghosting your lips, and finds himself tensing behind you. Could you have really known? All this time? Is that why he always comes back? Is that why you let him? “I love you, too,”

“No, I mean, I really lo-“

“Tell me in the morning, yeah?” You suggest before he can get too far ahead of himself. Torn between wanting to clarify his confession and realizing that maybe he doesn’t have to, Dick relents. He can’t really argue, anyway- having kept this to himself for so many years, another few hours won’t hurt. With a breath- of acceptance, not defeat or surrender- he closes his eyes and finally relaxes into your embrace.

It’s over.

For now, Dick can rest easy knowing that when the smell of bergamot fades, this tacit love will always remain, and he finds enough comfort in the realization to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: I love him so much!!! this has been rotting in my brain for nearly a year and I just found it in my drafts last night lol! anyway, this started as a challenge to myself where I wanted to see if I could write something with only five lines of dialogue, and I'm curious to hear how you all think it turned out! as always, requests are open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

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