#Elderly Instruments | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanamiscocksleeve · 2 months ago

Text

When The Snow Melts

Warnings: MDNI, soft sex, virginity loss, angst, and some spoilers for those who aren't familiar with Zayne's lore. A/n: Curiosity got the best of me. I wasn't playing LaDS when the Master of Fate card came out so I went to YouTube and immediately regretted it. Like can this man not catch a break? He sacrifices himself again? I couldn't leave it, so this me, correcting the wrong. A fix-it fic if you will. Because I need Zayne to win, at least once. Also, since Zayne appears according to how MC perceives him, I do believe he will have aged exactly as she has.

The night is bright, and the small cobbled lane you walk on is lit with lamps. The streets are bustling with life. The feeling of excitement, togetherness, and aromatic food graces the air as you wander closer to the town square. Another festival, similar, yet not similar, to the countless ones you’ve seen with your keen eyes.

You’d wanted to be in company, maybe see the world when you were young, and the curse that was also a blessing was granted. Your body, now wispy and weathered from the years spent wandering cannot move as quickly as you used to, the ever-reminding aches in your joints, the beginning of arthritis weighing down in your bones. Yet you still had a zest for life. Because what else could you do but seek, and take in everything that life had to offer? How could you not? Because it was the grace of the god that allowed it and the terrible price that was paid for you to experience it.

It had been decades since you had last seen the god. You had traversed as far as you could, carrying your umbrella with the everlasting snow coating it like wool on a freshly birthed lamb. The things you had witnessed! Ships with sails as tall as oak trees, strangely flavored meats and delectable sweets, festivals where people had danced, music from instruments brought in from faraway strange lands. You had eaten, traveled, danced, and sung, picking up small jobs to afford simple pleasures. You were a quick learner. Once you were a seamstress helping a small garment shop, another time a jewel polisher. You had even worked as an errand maid for an elderly couple who were profuse with their thanks and offered you a roof over your head for a short while. But staying in one place wasn’t an option. You had to keep looking after all. How else would you find him again?

As your feet carried you into the square, a burst of light and color filled your vision. It’s so lively, as the people flock to the different food carts, admiring the small handicraft booths, and singing folk songs well known to all those who grew up in this region. Children joyfully chased each other, dressed warmly in bright clothes. A hint of winter was already in the air. Based on what you had observed, this festival was celebrating the end of the harvest season, probably one of the last for this year until the harsh snowfall of winter faded. The breeze, not quite chilly enough to make you shiver, felt comforting on your face.

You supposed you could work as a midwife again. Midwifery was good work, reliable since winter did not stop the delivery of children into the world. It could also guarantee a place to stay if you played your cards right, though you hated staying in one place. The nomadic lifestyle you had adopted suited you. And the winters made you nostalgic.

It made you long for those days before you had picked up this umbrella and set off to see the world. Of amber eyes flecked with green, like the jars of whiskey at the inns when the early morning sunlight brushes against them, bringing forth colors hidden in the dark glass. Or of soft hands, covered in scars, and whispers in your ear of sleep, of priestesses calling gods down to earth to make love to them. Sometimes the memories consume you to the point of anger. How dare he leave you? With no explanation as to what his blessing was.

You vaguely recall those days, back when your fingers weren’t gnarled and wrinkled, your face unblemished by the years in the sun. All spells have limitations, he had said. But he also said he had taken care to make the spell extra strong since you were particularly clumsy. The snow had to melt sometime…didn’t it?

A drum begins to pound in the distance, and the crowd gathers around the stage that had been set up at the far end of the square. You halt at one of the carts to buy some fried chicken skewers. The vendor looks curiously at your umbrella, something you have grown accustomed to over the years. After all, snow that doesn’t melt was bound to bring questions. You had woven a different story for each city you had passed through, sometimes recycling them when you didn’t have the creativity to spin a new one. Initially hesitant to reveal how the umbrella with the everlasting snow had come into your possession, you had tried to pass it off as a novelty accessory, crafting tales of snowy mountains and how it was all the rage in those areas.

As the years passed by, your tongue had loosened. Or perhaps the indignation of him disappearing had made you reckless. Although you still hadn’t said the full story, you’d managed to finally say it was a blessing from a god, shocking the non-believers by letting them touch the snow, their gasps of awe as the cold, wet, powder clung to their fingers falling satisfyingly on your ears. Tonight, however, you were in no mood to entertain strangers. You smile politely as you hand over your coins to the vendor, take the food, and walk away towards the stage.

The sounds of a flute and an erhu accompany the drum. Elaborately dressed dancers are swirling in coordinated grace on the stage, enacting a scene from an old tale; the common man sending off the goddess of harvest, thanking her for her blessings that year, and praying to the god of winter, that he be merciful to them and allow them to live to see another spring.

You were skeptical if these rituals really worked. The first autumn after you had been gifted the umbrella when the air started to show signs of change, you had danced, danced amongst the trees that were close to shedding their vividly colored leaves of red, mustard, and yellow. You had prayed your heart out, prayed so hard, danced so long that the soles of your shoes had almost worn out. You had danced till you had collapsed with exhaustion, falling asleep on the leafy floor. You had been so sure that it would work, that he would show himself, and when you awoke, it was with a heartrending pang that you realized you were alone. It hadn’t worked. Wherever he was, the god of the snow wasn’t visible to your eyes. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to cry in all those months. Had he really believed this was the better choice? That to leave you behind without telling you what was going to happen to him would make you happier? That was the worst part; not knowing if he was alive, existing somewhere you couldn’t journey to, or if he had given all his power into making the snow that had fueled your existence, and lost himself with it.

The music becomes faster and the dancers move until the stage is a blur of color. The audience claps as their movements become sharp, with an artistic precision that only years of practice could hone. The last note quavers from the flute and rises into the night air. Cheers and whistles erupt all around you. It was a beautiful performance no doubt, but despite finding it captivating, it also left you feeling hollow. Finishing the last of your fried chicken, you begin to wander amongst the townspeople, enquiring about work that could be had for the winter.

By the time the square had cleared up, and the last of the festival-goers had returned home, you had secured a job; a bakery was in desperate need of an extra set of hands. The pay wasn’t much but the woman had offered food and board and you had accepted graciously. As you sit on the stone steps of your latest lodgings, you gaze at the moon.

You want to not blame him, to not feel this heavy weight that you’ve carried inside your chest. You know you should be grateful for his sacrifice which enabled you to see so much of the world, and at the least, you weren’t alone. The incident with the people in your village was a distant memory, replaced with so many more pleasant rememberings. Plucking apples from an orchard with trees growing as far as the eyes could see. The feeling of a newborn baby, screaming with the rage of life and the mother wiping tears of joy while offering you her thanks. The herbalist with his toothless smile as he showed you which plants were medicinal and which were poison as you plucked various flowers and leaves and dug the earth for rhizomes of turmeric and ginger.

You were a well-traveled woman, knowledgeable in all aspects, a rare luxury during this time, you knew. Yet for each memory that stayed clearly in your mind, there was a sense of loss. Everything tied back to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forget him, even in your old age, and even with the passage of time.

The spicy bun the baker had offered you was good. You savored its flavor on your tongue, naming the constellations visible in the sky as you did so, the short astronomy lesson from a young scholar in some past time proving useful. It must be close to midnight based on how still the night is, the whispering rustle of dead leaves as they skitter across the ground audible in the background. With a sigh, you carefully get to your feet, your joints creaking as you rise. As you reach for your umbrella, you pause, fingertips hovering over the handle.

Surely you were imagining it? It must be a trick of the moonlight. The last of the lamps were dying, the faint light casting shadows across the walls of the dwellings. Yet your aged eyes couldn’t shake off the feeling. You stare intently at the umbrella, more so, at the snow perched on its upper slope. A fine sheen of condensation coated the umbrella, surrounding the powdery snow. Had you somehow gotten the umbrella wet? You kneel, observing with fascination as some of the condensation gathers, becoming fat droplets of precipitation, and rolling off the sides.

You’re awestruck. In all your years, the snow had never melted. It had never lessened nor increased but always stayed the same. But now you can see how the powder was turning watery, steadily dripping down into the cold ground. You trace a fingertip on the trails of moisture along the sides of the umbrella, and that’s when you hear it; the unmistakable twang of a guqin.

You had never encountered a guqin again, not since the night he had played one while you danced for him. The unmistakable notes now begin to form a melody. You look out into the empty street and see nothing. But the song was filling your body like the warmth of a fireplace. Your limbs involuntarily stretch out as your eyes close, remembering the movements you had learned so long ago and sworn to never repeat after the failed attempt to call down the god. Your legs feel unsteady, your hands clumsy, a far cry from the controlled accuracy of the stage dancers. Your joints begin to sear as you move, unable to stop the actions. Oh how sweetly the instrument sang to you!

There’s a sharp pain in your heart, not from the ache of moving your tired extremities, but from the grief bottled up, adding on year after year. There’s resentment, but underneath it all, there’s a strong yearning you’re unable to put into words. How do you describe it? The loss of the only person who seemed to understand you, who helped you control your power?

You knew he did something when he placed his spell because, since that day, you hadn’t been able to harness your powers ever again. He had ensured you could live your life as a normal human being. Before knowing him you would have done anything to not have the power. But the cost that came with it was too much to bear. You weren’t alone, yet you were alone. So of all the days, why was the guqin playing now?

Tears roll down your cheeks as you dance, letting loose your sorrow to the crisp night breeze. You feel like each nerve in your body is frayed, all consumed with the bits of memories you had of him. It takes you a moment to realize you’re not dancing anymore. The guqin has stopped playing. You’re standing in a pose, your head lowered, facing the steps you had been sitting on, and the umbrella leaning against them. Shock passes through you.

The umbrella was completely devoid of snow. The only evidence it was there was the puddle of water that had gathered beneath it, muddying the grass.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Your heart skips a beat, then begins to hammer in your chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The deep baritone voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm calls out to you gently. You can’t seem to be able to move.

“It can’t be.” You murmur, gripping your elbows, trying to calm yourself. “It can’t be. I’m dreaming.”

“What are dreams if not another reality?”

It takes all the effort in your body to not collapse to the ground as a sobbing mess. You turn slowly, as though giving the voice a chance to admit it was a figment of your imagination but it doesn’t happen. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him, at last.

His dark hair has tinges of gray in it, and crow’s feet are visible near the corners of his eyes, but the gentle upwards curve of his lips, the broad shoulders, and his pointed chin are all recognizably familiar.

“Zayne?” You let his name fall from your lips, sounding like a strange word, lost to your vocabulary from the years of disuse.

He nods, then stretches out a hand to you. At first, you’re at a loss about what you should do, then, with as much speed as your wizened knees allow, you run to him. He’s solid and grounding, his arms wrapping around you tightly. A brief lick of rage crosses through you, but when you open your mouth to let loose your diatribe, all that comes out is a sob. Your tears flow freely, staining his robes, and you feel his gloved hands gently combing through your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Why not tell me?” Your words are choked, your body shivering as you cry.

Zayne leads you to the steps and helps you sit before occupying the space next to you. He leans you against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as he takes one of your hands between both of his. He sighs deeply and his voice, though calm, is filled with regret as he speaks.

“How could I tell you? What would I have said? How do you tell someone special to you that their life was in danger?”

You blink back tears. “Danger?”

“There was a powerful entity after you. I did what I needed to do to protect you.”

“Why was it after me?”

Zayne pauses, as though considering how to word his response. “It was convinced you would bring about a cataclysm, and the only way to prevent it was to take your life.”

“But… I don’t understand. How did your spell prevent this? Now that it’s worn off, won’t it come after me again?”

“No.” Zayne wraps his arms around you, his body bringing warmth into yours. “Even cataclysms go away if given enough time. But the harder part was figuring out how to suppress your abilities until that time passed.” He sighs deeply, gathering you close. “The spell on the umbrella was the only solution I could think of, without restricting your freedom. Regrettably, sealing your power meant taking away your ability to perceive me. I never intended to make it permanent.”

“Why not tell me?” You repeat the question. Zayne raises an eyebrow.

“If I had told you the spell would wear off, would you have left the mountain?” He brushes your cheek with his thumb as he takes in your face, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I know you. You would have spent all these years in isolation, waiting for me. I didn’t want you to miss the opportunity to live. A normal life seemed like the best option I could give you until enough time had passed.”

You’re silent as you let his words sink into you. After a gap, you whisper, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” His thumb caresses each of your fingertips in turn. “But know that I watched over you every day. I saw the world through your eyes and felt your sense of wonderment in my heart. The day you danced so hard for me that you almost fainted from exhaustion-” Zayne draws in a breath and his voice quivers as he continues. “I was in tears. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you. I was there, separated by a veil, but I felt your pain.”

“That was the year the frost came early.” You recall the memory.

“Indeed. I couldn’t control my grief. I didn’t know how else to let you know I was there, except to cover the world with snow.”

You glance over at the umbrella. “Will you disappear again?”

“Not unless you want me to.” One of his large hands rests on your knee. “I understand I’ve angered you by acting without telling you everything. Is it enough that you don’t want me around?”

You shake your head no. Your momentary anger with him had faded, like the night giving way to the sunrise. “There’s nothing that could keep me from wanting you. I made many acquaintances throughout my life, but the one person’s companionship I yearned for was yours.”

“My beloved snowflake.” Zayne embraces you tenderly. “It was fate that led you to me on the mountain that day. And It was fate that finally broke the spell. We’re all bound by it, even me.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Otherwise, do you think I would have kept you sealed for so long? Even gods must play by fate’s rules.”

Silence falls between you both, the breeze ruffling your clothes. You become acutely aware that he’s gazing at you, and when you turn to look at him, there’s such tenderness in his eyes that it makes you blush, even at this age.

“You’re beautiful,” he utters, tucking strands of stray hair behind your ears. The amber in his eyes glows as you stare back, captivated by how handsome he is. Your memory didn’t do him justice. You cup his cheek.

“Is this our happily ever after?”

“It can be if we choose it to be.”

“I do. Wholeheartedly.”

Sparks fly between you and almost as if the both of you are following a rhythm, your lips find each other in the darkness. It’s odd because, in the passing years, you hadn’t imagined what his lips would feel like against yours. You had fantasized about lying next to him, listening to his heartbeat, about taking long, leisurely strolls while holding hands, and about the possibility of letting him rest on your lap while you played with his thick locks of hair.

Now you’re glad you hadn’t tried to imagine it because the reality was sweeter than any dream you could have conjured, the warmth and softness of his mouth, the taste of his tongue as it slips past your lips, the possessiveness in his grip as he molds your body against his, as though silently claiming you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t ache for him. When he pulls away, there’s desire flickering in the depths of his eyes.

Wordlessly, you take his hands and get to your feet, quietly pulling him inside your new quarters. You’re careful to not wake the baker; it was quite improper to invite a man into your room, but you didn’t care. You lock the door and allow Zayne to sweep you away.

Clothes slide to the floor, a whisper lost to the dark. There’s no shame as you reach for each other, hands relishing the feeling of skin, enjoying the contact between your bodies as he gently pulls you onto the bed. His lips leave trailing kisses on your skin, no longer supple like the young woman you once were, but worthy of being worshipped irrespective. You wonder if this moment would have felt different if you had consummated this relationship when you were younger but realized you had little choice in it. If the Master of Fate couldn’t control when things happened, then what good was it to think about what could have been?

Instead, you focus on him, on his skin flushed with vitality as you nibble his ear, shyly running your tongue down his neck. He suckles at your nipple, and pleasure, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced radiates into every part of your being. You feel his erection graze your belly as he patiently kisses you, moaning into his mouth as his fingers stroke your sex, finding the little knot of nerves that makes you close your eyes in ecstasy.

It’s all slow and unhurried, and when you finally gasp out your climax, he eases his body into yours. There’s pain, but only for the briefest moment, then as your body stretches around him, you feel a powerful sense of intimacy as he thrusts, his movements passionate and loving. He gathers you tightly against him whispering the same thing over and over as he empties himself.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”

A weak ray of sunlight peeks through the window when you wake up, and you panic for a moment when you see the bed is empty.

“I’m here my love.” Zayne’s voice immediately reassures you and you see him stoking the fireplace. The small flames crackle merrily as he makes his way back to bed, pulling you against him and stroking your skin. It had snowed overnight, and the landscape was now unrecognizable, covered in a fresh coat of it.

“It appears grief isn’t the only thing that can cause the god of winter to make it snow,” you tease and Zayne good-naturedly smirks at you.

“Indeed. All thanks to you.”

You giggle, a soft sound that fills him with joy.

“I suppose we’re stuck in this village until winter ends. Makes no sense to wander for now.”

“Agreed. I suppose I can set up shop as a fortune-teller, or maybe as a herbalist.”

“We’ll decide what to do when spring comes.” You settle against his chest, finding comfort in the scent of his skin.

“The snow has to melt sometime. But we’ll survive. Together.”

“Together.” You agree, and lay your lips over his.

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @supernaturalbaesduh @ladyparamount

640 notes · View notes

shenanigans-and-imagines · 1 year ago

Text

I Want It All: Part 1

Part 2, Part 3; AO3 Link

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Flirting, Light Angst, Longing

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It's easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can't pretend anymore?

A/N: This turned into a monstrosity. For my own sanity I need to break it up into three parts. I also apologize in advanced, the stuff in the preview won’t pop up until part 2. And please, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!!!

Word Count: 4.8K

The day really couldn’t decide whether it was going to be terrible or tolerable.

On the one hand, it had been pouring rain for hours, leaving you and your party drenched as you searched for some place dry to sleep. On the other hand, you were able to find an inn with more than enough rooms to accommodate all of you. On the other, other hand, rooms cost money, something that was in short supply.

“How much does that make?” Karlach asked, placing her share into the pile.

Gale counted out the coins. “Enough for our own rooms, but not much in the way of food.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Hold on, this can’t be right. Who forgot to pitch in?”

All eyes turned suspiciously to Astarion.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I put down enough for the room. Food is something…you all have to deal with.”

Lae’zel gave him a hard look, the threat obvious on her features.

“We could always share a room or two,” Shadowheart cut in. “That will at least hold us over until we can find a way to make more coin.”

A devilish smirk formed on the vampire’s lips as his eyes turned to you. “I’m not opposed to the idea. Certainly would make it easier for me to get a little midnight snack.”

You gave a theatrical sigh. “Not tonight dear. I have a headache.”

“Teasing minx.”

“Can the pair of you not for ten seconds?” Wyll complained.

You bit back a laugh, turning your gaze to the dining area of the tavern. Gods you could smell something delicious cooking over the fireplace. When was the last time you had a proper hot meal?

It was then you turned your eyes to one of the empty corners. The solution to the issue of food suddenly became obvious.

“Not to worry everyone,” you announced, swiping the coins from Gale’s hand. “Dinner is on me.”

Before anyone could speak, you stepped towards the bar, making a point to put on your best smile.

A elderly halfling woman regarded you as you approached. “What can I get you deary?”

“Actually it’s a matter of what I can do for you,” you said. “I see you have some instruments sitting much too idly.”

The old lady shrugged. “Not really. Night like this you don’t need music to bring people in.”

Your smile faltered a moment, but you pushed on. “That may be, but nothing keeps people drinking longer and deeper than a good song.”

She gave you a disparaging look. “Don’t tell me, bard right?”

“Guilty.”

“If you don’t have money for the rooms, we don’t comp that.”

You waved the comment away. “The rooms aren’t the issue. However, if you’re willing to part with a cauldron of stew, I’ll consider it payment enough.”

Her eyes remained wary, but you knew you had her as a twitch came to her lips. “That’ll do. Thirty minute set. You eat after.”

She held out a hand which you took, striking the bargain.

It didn’t take long after to secure the rooms. They were nothing fancy, but a mattress was a mattress and with the guarantee of true privacy for the first time in weeks, none of you were complaining.

“How’s this about food then?” Karlach asked, taking a seat at one of the few tables large enough to accommodate all seven of you.

“All taken care of,” you assured. “Just need to pluck out a quick set and we can eat.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Astarion said. “I don’t mind it myself, but your songs have a tendency to be a bit, well…destructive. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t use that cutting mouth of yours to simply insult the woman into feeding you.”

“As it turns out, I have a little thing called restraint. Unlike some people,” you countered.

“Oh trust me my dear, I’m well aware of that.”

You rolled your eyes, deciding to ignore the slight twist of guilt in your stomach.

He couldn’t seem to help making those kinds of jabs ever since you had declined his offer for a midnight tryst; always alluding to the theme of “untapped passions” or “delayed gratification”. It was starting to wear on you.

Gods knew you liked him. He had so many qualities you admired; insight, intelligence, charm, the way he could make you laugh. The more you learned, the more you wanted to know and the more you were willing to give for answers. The trouble was his idea of a night of passion and yours were so very, very different.

A part of you knew the honest thing to do would be to spell it out for him. You understood him well enough to know he’d respect those boundaries. At the same time, you didn’t want to lose this, whatever this was, between you. If suddenly that night of passion was off the table, all those moments, all his attentions would be lost. He’d be a friend, certainly, but nothing more.

It was selfish. You knew it was. You couldn’t imagine finding the words to explain it to him. It would leave you too exposed, too vulnerable to that insistent burning want that had a way of tearing you apart from the inside out. It was better to leave him to his assumptions of suppression and prudishness. You’d keep your dignity at least.

Pushing those thoughts away, you took your place in the unobtrusive corner and the spare violin waiting for you.

A smile spread across your face as you tucked the familiar instrument under your chin. Since this whole adventure of yours began, you had little opportunity to apply your skills. Music had always been a source of comfort to you. It felt right to indulge in it now, some place safe and filled with warm firelight.

With a flick of your wrist you began, the resonating tone of the strings filling the room.

You allowed your eyes to close as you slipped into the melody. The sounds of conversation and laughter fell to an idle murmur. It was a simple tune, something easy to match the atmosphere, but one you loved all the same. You always found it best to start with something familiar. If the patrons could see you get lost in the music, they inevitably followed.

As the first song came to an end, you chanced a quick glance at your audience.

Most of the patrons still prattled on, but enough turned your direction to encourage you to try something a little more daring.

Your fingers flew, igniting a livelier rhythm. More eyes found their way to you. A pleasant bubbling sensation filled you. They were falling right into your hands.

Rising to your feet, you glided across the floor, moving with the music towards the center of the room.

Patrons shuffled out of the way, transfixed by your performance. Even your companions had stopped their chatter.

Karlach and Shadowheart’s faces lit up in delight. A smile touched the corner of Gale’s mouth. Even Lae’zel and Wyll looked on with admiration at your skills. As for Astarion…Astarion just stared.

You couldn’t quite read what was going on behind those scarlet eyes. It was a look you had caught him wearing more than once, always blinked away before you could fully comprehend its meaning. All you knew was how it made that dangerous hope spark in your chest.

He caught you looking and quickly morphed his expression to its familiar smirk. The bastard even had the audacity to wink.

You rolled your eyes pretending not to have seen. It was all part of the game after all. He pretended to care, you pretended not to fall for it.

A lute suddenly joined you from one of the corners, strumming its way into a new song.

You turned as a cheer rose, encouraging the intrusive lutist forward. He was human by the look of him and certainly skilled in his own right. He took a moment to embellish your solo before taking over with one of his own. Soon enough you joined the conversation again with a counter melody. It wasn’t as clean as you would have liked it. The lad clearly had meant to upstage you, but you made sure to put him in line, allowing the impromptu duet to end in some kind of harmony.

You transitioned easily to a new song as he took a seat, bowing to you as he did.

Remembering your showmanship, you made a point to bow in return, schooling your expression into a flirtatious grin before pulling away. That earned the man a round of cheers from his friends and a few obvious oohs from the crowd; exactly as you intended.

You continued on with the remainder of your set. Requests were shouted from the audience, all the pieces of music moving to and from your fingers with practiced grace. By the end of it, your arms were exhausted, but your face hurt from smiling. Gods you had missed this.

As you took your bow, applause followed you back to your table as well as a handful of extra coin.

“That was amazing!” Karlach said, beaming at you. “How’d you learn to play like that?”

“Years of practice,” you said, with pride. “Had to find an honest living somehow.”

“Well, it was beautifully done,” Gale added. “Maybe next time we make camp you could grace us with another performance. Provided we’re not all about to die of course.”

You shot him a grin. “I could be persuaded.”

The wizard turned his gaze away, his lips turning into a knowing smirk. “You’ve been unnaturally quiet Astarion. Been bewitched have you?”

The vampire blinked as if coming out of deep thought. It was only in those last moments did you realize just how intently he had been looking in your direction.

“Yes,” he said, a little stiffly, “you were quite…good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Be careful there. You wouldn’t want to overwhelm me with praise.”

He regarded you a moment before a sly smile turned at his lips.

You were almost relieved. That look you understood at least.

“If it’s praise you crave, you need only ask,” he purred. “You, my dear, are an unparalleled talent. Your beauty and grace alone should have brought you into the presence of kings. A true diamond in the rough.”

You snorted out a laugh.

“No good?” he continued. “How about this one; if I die tomorrow and the gods grant me mercy it will be your song that brings me into the beyond.”

You gave him a slow clap. “Brava.”

He inclined his head in a little bow. “But seriously, you were good and you didn’t even destroy the furniture. Admittedly though, I wouldn’t have minded if he had met with a little accident.”

You followed Astarion’s eye line to the lute player chatting with his friends. He perked up as he felt eyes on him. Without the distraction of playing, you could easily tell he was handsome in that sun kissed farmer’s son kind of way. Probably had most of the girls in the village swooning.

He raised a tankard to you in toast.

You met the gesture in acknowledgment.

“He wasn’t that bad,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“He was the worst part of your performance,” Astarion insisted.

You knew he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t help but have your fun.

“Oh my darling, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.

“Certainly I am,” he said, clutching his own chest in turn. “He’s the only person I’ve seen you willing to make sweet music with. And judging from his looks, he would have much preferred it to be a private performance.”

You didn’t bother looking over to the other table to see if he was telling the truth. It didn’t matter either way. It never did. Your answer was always the same.

“He’ll have to keep waiting.” You shrugged. “Not my type.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed slightly, leaning in closer. “And what exactly is?”

You didn’t answer, deciding instead to take a long sip of your ale.

He continued to eye you, his lips pursed as if trying to solve a puzzle. After a few moments he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine, keep your secrets, but I will figure it out eventually.”

Your lip twitched up into a half smile. “You may certainly try.”

It was then one of the staff brought out a truly enormous cauldron of the most delicious smelling stew you had smelled in your life.

You didn’t think to wait as you greedily poured a ladle full into your empty bowl. Two full days on the road with nothing but a handful of nuts and berries to sustain you had taken its toll. The rest of the group soon followed, each taking their share. You ate yours so quickly that by the time the ladle had made the circle, you were grabbing for seconds.

“Hungry are we?” Astarion observed.

You paused mid bite, heat rising in your cheeks. You took a quick look at everyone else. Nobody seemed to have noticed how you inhaled your food. They were content enough in their own bowls and conversation. Carefully you swallowed before self consciously setting down the spoon in your hand.

“I am the one who worked for this,” you said, more defensively than you intended.

Astarion regarded you with a raised eyebrow. “Even so, it’s not going to disappear the second you look away.”

“Says you.”

“Clever,” he said, dryly. “Devastating really. What’s next? Are you going to hit me with an “oh yeah” or Gods forbid a “your mother”?”

“I was actually leaning towards, “leave me to eat in peace you pompous jackass”.”

“Oh yes, that’s much better.”

You breathed out a frustrated sigh. Hopefully it would distract from your obvious embarrassment. You had thought you’d tucked those bad habits away.

Years of living on your own had left you going to bed hungry more times than you cared to remember. There was a time food had disappeared from your plate if you didn’t eat it fast enough. Of course, things got better. You found music and people willing to listen. It gave you fire and shelter and a contented stomach on good nights. Still, there were the bad ones and old instincts took over. It took practice not to be as ravenous as you knew your nature to be.

“Do I need to worry about your hunger?” you asked, deciding to change the subject.

“Oh you of all people should know by now. I’m insatiable,” he crooned.

Your eyes narrowed, unamused. “I’m being serious, when’s the last time you ate?”

He shrugged. “Few days. Last time I fed on you I imagine.”

Your stomach gave a sudden guilt ridden twist. If that were the case, it had to have been at least three days ago.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because as much as the image of you swooning in my arms is appealing, I’d rather it be over my charms rather than blood loss.” He nodded his head towards the bowl. “From my own experience hunger and restraint don’t mix.”

You tried to fight it. You really did. Years of instinct and reason told you not to fall for the softness in his eyes and voice. He simply didn’t want to explain a dead body to the rest of the party. It wasn’t out of some concern for your well being. And you absolutely could not allow yourself to believe he recognized the desperation in your actions and not pass judgment. If you believed that, you’d be in much more danger than you already were.

“Excuse me deary,” an elderly voice asked. “I was wondering if I could have another moment of your time.”

You turned to see the barkeeper at your shoulder.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Of course.”

You moved to stand, but she gestured you down. It was then you noticed she was carrying a case. It was worn with age, but clearly lovingly maintained as the edges shone with intricate gold inlay.

“I know you already paid for your meal,” she said. “But I was hoping I could ask for one more performance tonight.”

She opened the case to reveal the most beautiful violin you’d ever laid eyes on. The wood was a carefully polished chestnut interrupted with carvings which matched those on the case. The strings shone like gold and the pegs carved marble. You may not be a trained wizard, but could feel the magic pulsing from every square inch of it.

“What is this?”

“It was my father’s,” the woman explained. “He was a bard you see, best in these parts from what people told. He had so many stories and songs. Built it himself to help tell them. Try as I might though, I could never get it to play as sweetly. I was hoping you might.”

You looked to your companions. The obvious curiosity played on all their faces.

With a cautious hand, you plucked one of the strings.

It was perfectly in tune. The sound echoed, rich and vibrant even with so light a touch. The instrument itself seemed to glow as if happy to be played once again.

Slowly, you lifted it from the case, taking the bow in hand. You placed it on the strings and with an exhale drew the first notes.

It was the loveliest sound you’d ever heard.

The vibrations resinated in your fingers, moving through your arm and into your chest.

You decided to start simple, a handful of scales to get the intonations just right.

Color danced across the strings, rippling from your fingers like raindrops in a pond.

“Woah,” Karlach said, her eyes widening in awe. “Are you doing that?”

“No,” you said, pausing your motions, as you let it fall slack in your hands.

The elderly halfing smiled. “My father always said an artist puts their truth into every stroke of the bow. This here helps one’s heart shine. I saw the way you performed earlier, you’re not afraid to play what’s true.”

Color rose in your cheeks, unsure how to take such praise. “Thank you.”

She just smiled, nodding towards the instrument. “Keep playing. See what happens.”

You were suddenly aware of the rest of the party’s eyes turning expectantly towards you. Some with caution, some with anticipation, and one pair of red eyes with unreadable intentions.

Knowing there was no way you were getting out of this now, you rose from your seat, placing the violin securely beneath your chin.

You started slow, picking a tune every beginner memorized in their first lessons.

The music sparkled in front of your eyes, twirling outward in melodic waves.

The hum of conversation began to die down as you spotted the barkeeper beckon for silence.

You continued on, moving to something a little more complex, allowing yourself to let the rest of the room blur in the peripheries.

The sound of boots on cobblestones met your ears. Glancing down you saw stone where hardwood floors had been.

You took another step.

The stones followed.

Around you the room fluctuated between firelight and the brightness of morning. Looking up you could see a clear sky had replaced the hatched ceiling.

A smile spread across your face as you stepped away from your bench.

As if waiting for your queue the rest of the bar quickly moved tables and chairs out of the way, clearing the center floor.

The sun followed as the cobblestones spread out in front of you like a stream. With every flourish, finer details were added. You changed the direction allowing a building to form beside you, then another and another. Images of people faded in and out like memories, coming and going with the flow of the music.

You never felt anything like this before. The strings sang inside you, drawing out a melody you knew was there, but had always managed to slip from your grasp.

You surrendered to its current, following it deeper and deeper until all you could see, all you could touch was the music.

Behind your eyes the streets began to turn and change. Buildings loomed large overhead. You could hardly see the stars. A cold swept through your clothes, the chords of the melody vibrating with the shivers in your hands. The world was so much bigger and you were so much smaller.

No instrument laid in your hands, but still the music played on as if you had slipped into a dream.

You continued to walk unsure of where your feet were carrying you until something warm pressed against your back. Light reflected behind you, casting long shadows on the ground. A melody played, soft and soothing against your own. You turned towards it as the voices of long forgotten conversation and laughter accompanied the strings of a quartet.

Your chords and theirs brushed up against each other, a new light shining in the darkness, but just as soon as it began, it moved away, leaving you on your own once again.

You continued on, brushing against others. Sparks would fly, fire would ignite only for them it fade in front of your eyes.

Your own melody grew more desperate, moving and shaping itself to match whoever you found next only just able to cling onto the barest sense of itself.

An ache grew in your chest as you wandered, always searching, never finding. Something warm trailed down your cheeks. You let it flow, unable to stop. You wouldn’t end the story here, even as swirls of blues and blacks surrounded you. They wrapped around your body, filling your vision and squeezing tight around you until you felt the air being pushed out of your lungs. There was nothing else. Even the music had gone dead.

For what felt like a moment and eternity you sat there, alone in the dark.

A voice came to you then, but it didn’t come from the instrument tucked somewhere under your chin. No melody accompanied it. It was so far away. Something about it was so familiar. It spoke your name like a desperate prayer. You reached out for it.

The air itself moved around you as if you had plucked the very strings of the universe.

A low hum came next bringing with it two pin pricks of light. A red fire glowed in the darkened space, growing until they sat as two eyes burning in the air.

You cocked your head to the side. Your own song started again, cautious as it curled around the eyes, examining them from different angles.

The eyes crinkled at the edges, amused by your persistence.

With a blur of motion, it turned to the side allowing a profile to form and beginning an enticing melody of its own.

You and the face took turns, calling and answering in playful antagonism.

The lines of light continued downward as its counter melody grew in strength against your own, forming the outline of a man.

He stepped towards you, his own head turning to the side as yours had done before, examining you from every angle.

After a moment, he bowed. You curtseyed. And then you did what only felt natural. You danced.

The heat of his touch burned your skin, but you didn’t dare pull away. You had been cold for so long you hadn’t even known you were cold. Even when it became too much, the fear of the darkness kept you in his light.

The man in turn held you close, his song teasing against your own. So unlike the duet from before, this was a true conversation, the pair of you giving and taking in equal measure. You didn’t want it to stop, holding the feeling tighter and tighter until you felt the pulse of his fire inside you.

You looked up to find the embers of his eyes pouring into you. He moved your hand to his chest. A heart pumped beneath and you knew then it wasn’t his own. Just as you had taken from him, he had taken from you in equal measure.

His face came into focus, forming a familiar knowing smirk and playful scarlet eyes.

He stepped back from you, his hand holding yours as he bowed, placing a kiss on the back of your hand.

The song faded away and you were once again in your own body, a violin tucked carefully beneath your chin.

You blinked your eyes open to find the tavern standing as it had been moments ago. Patrons surrounded you, their eyes wide and mouths open. You glanced around the room, quickly finding your companions. Horror struck you as you read their expression.

They’d seen it. All of it.

Before you could register what was happening a wave of applause erupted from the crowd. People began to cheer. You heard awed whoops and hollers. The adoration was overwhelming and completely miss timed. You needed to lie down. You needed to think.

Numbly you bowed before making your way to the side of the room where the barkeeper stood.

You held the instrument out to her, unable to look her directly in the eye.

“Thank you for letting me play this,” you said.

To your surprise she didn’t take it, instead pushing your hands away with a shake of her head.

“Keep it love,” she said. “After seeing all that, feels wrong to take it away from you. You’ve more than earned the right to it.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to scream. You wanted to curse her for ever asking you to touch the damned thing. Somehow you managed to swallow all of that down, mumbling another thank you before slowly turning towards your party.

There was still a chance to salvage this. Astarion hadn’t seen his own reflection in centuries. He didn’t know what he looked like. You could play this whole thing up to artistic license. You just carried a general feeling of desperate longing. No need for you to clarify its direction.

Making a point to keep your head down, you put the violin away and slid it over to Gale.

“Feel free to eat this one if you want,” you said. It was meant to be a joke, but even you could feel it fall flat.

“I don’t think I can do that,” Gale said, his tone holding nothing but sympathy.

“It really was lovely,” Wyll said, gently.

“Beautiful really,” Shadowheart added.

Your jaw tightened, caught between the urge to scream or weep. Why couldn’t everybody do you the favor of the lifetime and forget they saw anything.

“Personally I don’t understand your choice in the spawn, but–” Lae’zel started only to be hit hard in the arm by Karlach.

“What?” she snapped.

Your whole body cringed, knowing exactly what was coming next.

“That was…me?”

You were in hell. This was hell. You didn’t have to look up to see Astarion’s self satisfied expression. His tone made it clear enough.

In a flash you stepped back from the table, putting as much distance between you and the party as possible.

“I need to go,” you managed. “Goodnight.”

You sprinted out of the tavern, taking two steps of the time to the upper rooms. You didn’t stop until your door was firmly slapped behind you.

Your breaths came hard as your heart pounded in your chest. Honestly you didn’t know how you locked the door. Your hands were shaking so badly as tears blurred your vision. All the emotions the violin had pulled from you returned, overwhelming you in their intensity.

The instrument had done as advertised. It had shown the truth of your heart, putting it on display for the whole world to see. Gods you were an idiot. Why did you even pick up that damned thing?

You kept your ears open, listening as everyone made their way to their rooms. Their murmurs never made it past the walls, but the way they paused as they passed your door made it clear enough they were discussing you. Thankfully they were kind enough to leave you be.

Counting, you waited until all six doors shut before rising to your feet.

As you did, you felt a small pull at the back of your mind. A vision of a door number and the feeling of anticipation sat on your tongue. The invitation was clear enough; Astarion was waiting for you.

You wanted to ignore it, but you knew you couldn’t. There was no use in pretending any longer. The game was over and you would have to face the consequences.

With a steeling breath, you walked out the door. You could only hope Astarion wouldn’t hate you when it was all over.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #bard!reader #asexual!reader #asexual #bard!tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie

2K notes · View notes

beckyninja · 1 month ago

Text

Accused

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader (sort of)

Warnings: mob violence

Description: While serving in the DeathWatch, Titus meets the woman who will come to mean more to him than he ever thought.

Another long prequel for you guys! This one takes place some time before the events of Revelation.

You ran.

Gravel crunched beneath your boots as you fled down the dry stream bed. High ravine walls on either side blocked the moonlight. You fled blind, guided only by memory. It wasn’t enough.

You slammed into an unseen boulder. Momentum hurled you forward onto the ground, skin scraping from your hands and knees. You let out a short cry, then froze.

Did they hear?

You strained your ears and heard nothing. But that did not comfort you. Your pursuers had spent lifetimes hunting wary prey in these mountains. Still, after a few minutes of stillness, you began to hope.

Perhaps they’ve given up.

From your prone position, you fought to see through the darkness ahead. The Angels’ ship. Your only chance of salvation. It had to be there!

You opened your mouth to scream. “Help m-”

Hands clamped onto your face and shoulders. You bit and struggled as they lifted you off the ground, dragging you backwards.

A high, mad laugh chilled your blood.

“You will burn, Heretic! Burn!”

***

The Day Before

“Father Cortez, this insanity must end!”

You stood outside the village’s little church, shawl pulled tight against your shoulders, and glared at the priest. He glared back. His red-rimmed eyes seemed to burn within their sockets. Blood stained his robes.

He’s been flogging himself again.

Your lips twisted. “How many more must die before you admit the uselessness of-”

“Silence!” Spittle sprayed from the priest’s mouth. “How dare you challenge me, girl!”

You sighed. Only a few years older than you, and yet he called you “girl.” You looked around at the crowd of villagers milling uneasily. Men, women, and children worn ragged by the terror of the past few months. Their eyes flickered between you and the priest.

“Friends,” you smiled, “for four generations the women of my family have tended your hurts, healed your sick, and delivered your children. I may be young. But I studied at the feet of my mother and grandmother before me. You trusted them.”

“Will you not trust me?”

Marta, the elderly church caretaker, finally spoke. “What would you have us do, Healer?”

You nodded to her. “We must send someone down-mountain, into the city. We must call for aid-”

“No!” The Priest shrieked. “These attacks are a test sent from the God-Emperor Himself! To purify and strengthen our faith!”

Your temper frayed. “And does the Emperor use xenos monsters as his instruments now, Father? Does He demand we sacrifice humans to them? Innocents?”

“Heretics!”

“Was little Carlos a heretic, Cortez? At seven years old?” You pushed through the crowd to point a finger directly in his face. “Was Old Inez, who never went a day without praying in this very church?”

You straightened your spine and loomed over the little man. “With each villager bound and left for these beasts, you promised they would leave. Have they? No!” You spun back to face the crowd. “Because they are no punishment! They are-”

A metallic roar cut off your words. From over the peaks surrounding the village, came a ship the likes of which you had never seen. The crowd shrieked and scattered as it hovered directly over their heads. For a minute it lingered there, sending dust-filled wind whipping through the square. Then, it rose once again and veered toward the south, beyond the ravine.

You stood amidst chaos. In front of you, families dove into their homes and slammed the doors behind them. Behind you, Father Cortez ranted and raved.

Upon the side of the ship a symbol had been carved: A skull and crossbones over an elaborate “I”.

Hope flickered in your heart.

***

“What are they?” Marta whimpered from her place next to you.

You peered through the church’s dirty window. An hour or so after the ship flew over the village, a few hunters had heard heavy footfalls coming up the ravine. For the second time that day people locked themselves within their huts and prayed to the Emperor.

It seemed He had finally heard them.

“The Emperor’s Angels.” You breathed.

“You’re sure?”

You nodded. “My great-grandmother saw one once, my grandmother told me.”

Giants in armor who brought salvation to the faithful and destruction to the enemy.

They were certainly giant. But the Angel in your grandmother’s story had worn brightly colored armor, whereas these wore black. You squinted through the grime and could just make out a couple of insignias painted on the massive shoulders: some sort of canine head and a stylized cross.

One bore no insignia at all. A red hood covered his helmet. You watched him gesture to the others.

“What are they doing here?” Marta’s voice shook.

“I think… I hope they might be-”

“It is none of our concern!”

Father Cortez’s bony hands gripped your and Marta’s shoulders. He dragged you backwards with surprising strength. The older woman tumbled to the floor with a pained cry. You knelt to help her, shooting the priest a look of disgust.

He ignored you. “Whatever they are here for, we should leave them to it.”

“And what if they’re here to help us?”

“We need no such help! The Emperor provides!”

“By the Throne,” you pressed your hands to your eyes, “yes. You’re right, Father. And He has provided.”

You pointed out the window. “There is His provision! Walking down our main street!”

“What… what are you going to do?” Marta whispered.

“If they are here to stop the xenos,” you muttered, half to yourself, “then they need to know about the earthquake, and the cave up on Black Peak.”

The priest cackled. “And what makes you so sure they don’t already know, girl?”

“Cortez!” You whirled on him. “Enough with the ‘girl’! I remember when you were a pimple-faced brat who delighted in pulling the legs off insects.”

If anything, you’ve only gotten worse since your ordination.

The priest drew back into the corner of the smoky church.

“Yes, go sulk and leave me be.” You took a deep breath and made for the door.

Marta shrilled your name. You waved the old woman’s concerns away, clinging to what little courage you’d managed to gather.

“I’m going to help, if I can.”

***

Idiot. Idiot! Throne damned, idiot!

Five helmeted heads had turned your way when you pushed open the church’s door and stepped into the square. A wave of dread washed over you, every primal instinct you possessed screaming at you to run.

Oh Throne, they’re so… big!

You knew large animals. Before the attacks began, the village had made its living hunting the lumbering beasts that lived among the peaks and ravines. Once you’d even seen one of the great predatory felines.

This moment reminded you of that encounter. But, instead of dashing back to safety, you continued toward the predators. You kept your hands held out in front of you.

I’m no threat. A hysterical laugh threatened to burst from your lips. As if these behemoths would ever consider me one!

When you’d gotten within twenty feet, the Angel in the red hood raised a hand, palm facing you. He didn’t speak, but you felt the command as if he’d shouted. You halted, dropping to your knees and bowing your head.

You doubted your trembling legs would have carried you much farther, anyway.

An odd hissing, crackling noise seemed to come from the Angels’ direction. You didn’t dare look up as footsteps approached.

“Rise.”

The deep voice shook you from the inside out. You gasped and tried to comply, only for your legs to give out. A great, armored gauntlet grasped your upper arm, steadying you. You looked up into the lenses of the hooded Angel’s helmet.

For an instant, you swore you met his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat, then, against all reason, calmed.

He won’t hurt me.

You didn’t know where the conviction came from. You just knew it to be true.

“Who are you?”

You told him your name. “I…I am the Healer of this village.” You remembered your grandmother’s story and hastily added, “M-my Lord.”

“Are you alone here?”

“N-no, my Lord. The others are afraid.”

A laugh, almost a bark, came from one of the other Angels. “And ye are not? Plucky little lass.”

Another gave a growl. “Commander, we should not linger.”

The Commander never looked away from you. “Do you know why we are here?”

“I…,” you took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself, “I hope you are here to help us, my Lord. Against the xenos.”

A soft intake of breath, as if in surprise. “What do you know of xenos?”

“My great-grandmother came to this world on a refugee ship, my Lord. She told my grandmother of the Enemies of Mankind and their horrors.”

Silence, except for that hissing, crackling noise again.

You swallowed, desperation making you bold. “Please, my Lord, I think I can help.”

***

“... after the earthquake, some of our hunters reported a new cave opening up on Black Peak. A few boys decided to explore it. They never returned.”

You scampered over another boulder on the trail. You’d climbed this path dozens of times in your life, but it had become more difficult since the quake. Your foot slipped on a patch of loose shale.

Once again, an armored hand reached out to steady you. You smiled up at the Commander. Strange, the others still unnerved you, but not him.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

He gave the barest nod. “Continue.”

“Well, that night the attacks began. They only ever come after dark, and they only ever take one person. Oh.”

Just ahead, an entire rock formation had collapsed on the trail. You watched the other Angels step over the rubble with minimal effort, and looked for a way to do the same. Suddenly, you felt hands at your waist.

The Commander lifted you like a child, settling you in the crook of one arm as he jumped the obstacle. One of the other Angels, the one with the canine head on his pauldron, looked back and chuckled.

“Oh! Um, thank you again, my Lord.”

You waited for him to set you on your feet. He didn’t, continuing up the mountain path.

“It will be faster this way.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” You blurted.

“You are not. Continue.”

“R-right. Um, yes. The survivors say the creatures are like great insects, but made of metal.”

“Mmm.”

You wracked your memory for anything else. “Their eyes… they glowed green.”

The giant carrying you stiffened. You had no time to wonder about it before you spotted a great black opening in the mountainside far above you.

“There it is!”

The hissing, crackling noise again. All five Angels came to a halt, peering up at the cavern. The Commander placed you on the ground.

“Go back.”

You nodded. On the one hand, you were glad to be away. On the other…

“Will you be alright?”

You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. One of the Angels guffawed, the sound starting a few small rock slides in the distance. You felt another’s glare like a brand on your skin.

“Of all the insolent-”

The Commander held up a hand, silencing him. “We will be fine. Go.”

You turned, shame heating your face, when he spoke again, softer than before. “My thanks.”

***

Halfway down the trail, you heard explosions, followed by rumbling chatter you assumed came from the Angels weapons. Plumes of smoke rose from the Peak.

God-Emperor, protect your Angels as they do battle in Your name.

Especially the kind one.

Your cheeks heated again and you scrambled back down the path. Would he remember you? You doubted it. Just an insignificant girl from an insignificant village on an insignificant world. You, however, would remember him for the rest of your life.

Another story to tell your own children, one day.

Without the Commander to carry you over the taller obstacles, it took the rest of the day to return to the village. The sun had begun to set. You smiled. Only yesterday the thought of being out after dark would have sent you sprinting in terror. But now…

You nearly skipped down the last stretch of path. You were hungry, thirsty, and tired. But you could not wait to tell your friends the news. They no longer needed to be afraid. No more need be sacrificed to the monsters in the dark.

Your mood soured at that thought.

None needed to be sacrificed in the first place.

Hopefully, now that the danger was past, the villagers would see how twisted Father Cortez had become. Perhaps you could rally them, convince them to send him back to the city. The village could request a new spiritual leader.

The streets were deserted. You heard voices in the direction of the church. A strange red glow seemed to emanate from that direction as well. A celebration? You smiled and broke into a run. You had much to celebrate.

A bonfire blazed in the center of the square. Father Cortez stood before it, gesticulating wildly. Before him every villager in the settlement watched with rapt attention.

As you neared, you began to make out his words.

“...Emperor, in His mercy, sent His angels to relieve our suffering!”

Finally, something you and I agree on, Cortez.

“But the stain of heresy still remains!”

You jerked to a halt at the rear of the crowd.

What?!

“We must find the true cause of our afflictions and cleanse it through flame! Lest the monsters return to ravage us once more!”

To your horror, the crowd murmured in assent. You noticed their postures, the looks in their eyes, and wondered what lies Cortez had been pouring in their ears during your absence. They reminded you of nothing so much as a herd of panicked prey animals.

But you’d calmed them before.

You began to move through the crowd. You smiled at the people you knew as friends, people your family had done nothing but help for four generations. Most refused to meet your gaze. Some glared, firelight dancing in their eyes.

Cortez saw you.

“There!” He shrieked. “The one who denied the Emperor’s justice! The dissenter! The trouble-maker! The outsider!” His lips curled back into a feral snarl. “The Heretic!”

You looked once more into the faces of the villagers around you. What you saw there chilled your blood.

You ran.

***

Present

“No!” You struggled in the grasp of the mob, searching desperately for a friendly face. “Lonzo, Maria, Berto! You know me! Help me!”

“Heretic! Heretic! Heretic!”

The damning chant pounded in your skull. Hands clawed at you, raking your skin and tearing at your clothes. You felt a hunk of your hair yanked out. A fist struck you in the face, followed by blows to the ribs and stomach. You heaved, tasting blood.

“Bring her here!” Cortez’s voice screamed out above the noise.

The mob threw you onto the ground before the bonfire. Its heat scorched your bloodied skin. One eye swelled closed, but you could still see Cortez standing above you. The firelight made him look like a daemon out of his own sermons.

You gritted your teeth and rocked up onto your knees. “Bastard! If there is someone to be blamed for all our misery, it’s you!”

His boot met the side of your head. You collapsed back into the dirt, ears ringing.

All around you, faces you recognized. Maria, whose twins you’d helped your mother deliver. Berto, who you’d spent weeks nursing through a fever. Lonzo, who had danced with you at the last midwinter festival.

You saw Marta and reached out a hand. She spit on it.

“Why?” You whispered through split lips.

If you’d made it to the Angels’ ship, if they’d told everyone how you helped, would it have even made a difference? Or would Cortez have simply waited for them to leave before he accused you?

Accused.

The priest pointed down at you.

Accused.

The crowd roared for blood.

Accused.

You felt yourself dragged upright and shoved toward the bonfire. You didn’t fight. You had no fight left.

“Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!”

You closed your eyes.

“Enough!”

Everything went silent save for the crackle of the flames. The hands released you, and you crumpled to the ground once again. You heard the familiar tread of armored feet. Then gauntleted hands lifted you gently, so very gently, and you looked into a hooded, helmeted face.

I’m safe.

The Commander towered above the cowering mob. Dimly, you heard Cortez babbling something, sounding as if he’d gone truly insane. The Commander shifted you to one arm.

You watched him reach down and lift the gibbering priest by his collar.

“Fool.”

With an almost casual flick of his arm, the Angel tossed the priest on his own bonfire.

***

You awoke to the light of dawn. You lay on a hard, metallic surface, some kind of cloth draped over your body. Confusion clouded your thoughts, and you tried to sit up.

Pain shot through every limb.

“Easy, easy now.” A voice soothed. “Here, drink this.”

Some kind of cup was brought to your lips and you drank, coughing at the acrid taste. The pain began to fade. You blinked and looked around.

An older woman knelt at your side. She was clothed in a black robe with the symbol of a canine head stitched on its shoulder. Three scars, like the mark of a claw, ridged her cheek and gave her a fearsome look.

But her eyes were kind when she smiled.

“Better?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” The woman patted your shoulder with a broad, rough hand. “I’m no apothecary, but I do know how to mix the odd painkiller in a pinch. Can ye stand?”

She helped you to your feet. You looked around, realizing you stood in the belly of the ship you’d seen fly over yesterday. The Angel’s ship.

Throne, was it only yesterday?

A ramp lay open to the ground outside. Through the dawn glare, you recognized the rocky ravine. A shudder ran through you.

The woman noticed. “Aye. We’re still on your rock of a homeworld.” She spat. “Allfather curse it!”

Your head spun. “How? Why?”

She patted your shoulder. “I’m sure the Commander will explain. He’s a decent sort, for a Black Shield.” She gave you an odd, knowing smile. “I think you’ll find yer a lucky one after all.”

“I don’t-”

“Frigg!” A familiar voice bellowed. “Curse it, woman! Is the lass awake yet?”

The woman snorted and stood. “Aye, she is, m’lord!” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, aye, yer lucky. Lucky the Commander picked ye instead of him.”

“Bring her out, then!”

The woman, Frigg, fussed over you. “Now, ye be a good lass and do as yer told and ye’ll be fine. Go on with ye.”

Head spinning, you staggered down the ramp. Four of the Angels stood clustered off to one side, surrounding a crate of some sort. They all looked much the same as you had seen them before. Perhaps a few more dents in their armor.

The one with the canine insignia barked a laugh as you appeared. He elbowed the one with the cross insignia, who growled under his breath.

“Waste of time.”

“Hah! Simmer down, Templar. The Commander led us to a good fight. If he wants a new little serf girl out of it, what is the harm, eh?”

Serf?

“Brother Ulfar, Brother Beren. Load the artifact onto the Thunder Hawk.”

The Commander appeared from the other side of the ship. He didn’t have his hooded cloak. With a start, you realized it was draped over your shoulders. Your face burned and you hurried down the ramp as quickly as you could, holding it out toward him.

You tripped. Yet again, he steadied you.

“Clumsy.” The word held no anger.

“I’m so sorry, my Lord. I just…I just wanted to…” you sighed, giving up. “Thank you.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he reached up and removed his helmet.

You almost stopped breathing. His face was a mass of scars. Metal studs of some kind dotted one side of his forehead. His lips curved in a stoic frown. You felt you should be frightened.

But his eyes…

Warm and weary and sad. They looked down into yours.

“You cannot return to your home.”

All of a sudden, everything threatened to overwhelm you. You covered your face with your hands. Tears spilled down your cheeks.

“F-forgive me, m-my Lord. I-”

“You have shown courage.”

You did not feel especially courageous in the moment. He continued.

“I would have you come with me.”

You gasped and stared up at him through the blur of tears. Brother Ulfar’s words came back to you.

“As a… a serf?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what that means, my Lord.”

He explained. You would tend to his quarters and armor, cleaning, mending, and performing whatever menial work was required.

“In return, you will be fed, clothed, and educated.” He hesitated, then to your astonishment, sank to one knee. “And I swear by my oath as an Ultra- as an Astartes, I will never let you come to harm again.”

You shook your head. “Why?”

He didn’t seem to mind that you’d forgotten to add “my Lord”. “I know the pain of a false accusation. I know how deep betrayal can cut. I,” he looked almost bashful, “would spare you some of that pain, if I can.”

By the Throne, you saw empathy in those eyes. Frigg had been right. He was a decent man.

You wiped the tears from your cheeks and took a deep breath. “Then I will try and serve you as best as I am able, my Lord.”

One of the corners of his mouth ticked upward. He nodded and stood, replacing his helmet.

“Follow.”

“My Lord? One more question, if I may?”

He turned back toward you.

“May I know your name?”

Another long pause. He nodded toward the other Angels.

“They know me as ‘Nullus’. In the hearing of others, you will address me as such.” You heard a long breath. “In private, you may call me Titus.”

You didn’t know what this new life would hold, and you doubted it would be easy. But one thing you were certain of.

You would follow Titus anywhere.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith

Once again, please comment if you'd like to be tagged in any further work.

#warhammer 40k #demetrian titus #death watch #space marines #space marine x reader #demetrian titus x reader #they're not together yet in this fic but still...#who doesn't love the occasional damsel in distress/white knight story?

184 notes · View notes

parkerslatte · 1 month ago

Text

Finding Home | Part Nine

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of parental death.

Summary: After the night they spent together, Y/N cannot get it off of her mind, neither can Azriel. When Y/N comes home distraught, Azriel seeks answers.

Finding Home Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The very next morning, Y/N slipped out of her apartment early, leaving a note for Azriel about her whereabouts. She wouldn’t say she was avoiding him, though she didn’t want to have the inevitable conversation they were going to have just as the sun rose in the sky.

As Y/N walked the familiar route to the music shop, she couldn’t stop thinking back to the previous night. The way, without hesitation, Azriel had offered to help with her small problem, the way he lovingly touched her body as if he was mapping it out. The way he made her feel with just one touch. Y/N was sure that she never had that reaction to anyone before.

When she neared the store, she tried to shake her mind of all thoughts of the shadowsinger, who was sleeping so peacefully as she left the note on the coffee table. Before she left, Y/N refrained from brushing away the hair that fell across his forehead during the night. She had always thought Azriel was attractive. Yes he was handsome, but she couldn't help but think that that wasn’t the word to describe him. Beautiful was a more accurate word.

The smooth golden skin, littered with small white scars only noticeable when he turned a specific way. The black of his hair that held warm undertones of brown when it caught in the sun. The pools of green and light brown that were framed with dark lashes, Y/N swore she had gotten lost in his eyes one one too many occasions. The familiar scent of him that brought her comfort whenever she needed it. Whenever she smelt it she thought of her home. His hands and how warm they were when she held them. Despite Azriel first flinching away when she first brushed his scarred skin, he would now seek out her hand whenever the opportunity arose.

She wondered what he would be doing now. Would he be awake? Has he read the note yet? Was he thinking about what happened the previous night? If so, what exactly was he thinking?

Y/N groaned. She shouldn’t be imagining what Azriel’s responses to those questions were. They were friends. Friends do not– should not think of each other that way. Although…

“Y/N!” Eowyn, the elderly music shop owner, called to her. She was sweeping the ground outside of the shop as she waved at Y/N. “You didn’t need to come in today.”

Y/N shrugged as she approached Eowyn. “I felt guilty about not working for a few weeks. I left you all on your own.”

Eowyn waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. There wasn’t much to do, you know how it can be during the weeks during solstice and after.”

“Well I thought I could help around today,” Y/N said. “Stack shelves. Dust off the older instruments.”

Eowyn continued to sweep. “Be my guest.”

Y/N smiled as she entered the shop. It was small and the entire building was slightly slanted, but Y/N loved that. It gave the building character. She placed her back down behind the counter as she got to work.

***

There was barely anything to do around the shop as Y/N sat behind the counter mindlessly tapping on the countertop.

“Y/N,” Eowyn said, coming out of the back room. “You can go home. I am sure you’d rather be with this mystery male you are not telling me about.”

Y/N stilled. “What?”

Eowyn sat down on the other chair behind the counter. “There is a scent that lingers on you that has been there ever since Solstice.”

Y/N frowned. She had made sure to wash herself thoroughly that morning. Of course she wasn’t ashamed of what her and Azriel did at all, considering it was all she could think about. But she did not know how he felt about the whole ordeal. Washing away any evidence of what they did was most likely for the best. But Azriel was always at her apartment and his scent lingered on all of her things, so it was hard to avoid a place in her apartment where his scent didn’t linger.

“There isn’t a mystery male,” Y/N said. “But there is someone living with me currently.”

“Who is it?” Eowyn asked.

“Why does it matter–”

“I’m old,” Eowyn stated. “Let me have fun with a little gossip. I miss being young.”

“Eowyn, I’m not exactly young,” Y/N said.

“Well you’re a lot younger than me,” Eowyn said. “So tell me.”

Y/N sighed. “His name is Azriel.”

Eowyn gasped. “That Azriel. Spymaster to the court.”

“Yes, that Azriel,” Y/N said.

“Consider me intrigued,” Eowyn said. “Tell me how you met.”

“It was on Solstice night,” Y/N began. “He looked lonely on a bench and it was raining so I offered him my umbrella. He came back to my apartment and he has been there since. I have grown rather fond of him.”

“‘Fond’, is that what we are calling it these days?” Eowyn asked, an eyebrow raised.

The sharp ringing of a bell sounded throughout the shop and Y/N’s gaze darted to the entrance. A mother and daughter stood in the threshold, an uncertain look in the mothers eye. Y/N smiled warmly at the two.

“Hello,” Y/N greeted. “What can I do for you today?”

“I was wondering if I could squeeze my daughter in for piano classes anytime soon?” the mother asked.

“Of course,” Y/N replied. “What is your availability like?”

The mother shrugged. “Anytime. We both have more free time on our hands recently.”

Y/N closed her small notebook. “It just so happens that today has been particularly quiet so I am available to give a lesson now?”

“Really?” the mother asked, a flash of surprise passing over her face. “That would be amazing.”

Y/N smiled at the pair and looked at the daughter standing just behind the mother. “How does that sound?”

A small smile appeared on the young girl's face as she shyly nodded.

“Alright, if you follow me through to the back room I can get everything set up!” Y/N said.

***

Azriel folded the blanket and placed it over the back of the couch. His shadows swirling around his shoulders. He had been trying to keep himself busy all day when Y/N was gone. He tried to complete one of the easier tasks on the list but it felt wrong without Y/N by his side. Despite the shadows not having any emotion, Azriel was sure that they were judging him as he picked up the blanket once more and folded it again.

For the whole day all Azriel could think about was the night previous. It has been replaying on his mind constantly. There were instances where Azriel thought he could feel the ghost of Y/N’s touch on his body. How he wished it were real.

Without Y/N beside him, Azriel fought the urge to secretly finish paperwork he needed to do for Rhys. Despite the basic and clear orders that he would not complete any missions for Rhys in these three months, Azriel felt the familiar itch arriving. He wanted to go on a mission, he wanted to train, he wanted to fight. It had been years since he had the urge to do that for himself rather than those around him.

The last mission Azriel had been on was just before Solstice, just before Y/N came to light up his life. It was the longest Azriel had been on in years, lasting just over seven months. Although most of those seven months were spent with Azriel locked up behind bars after he was captured. Looking back, it was stupid of him to be caught, he was simply lost in his thoughts– a thing that had begun to happen far too regularly for Azriel’s liking.

Nobody knew. Not Rhys. Not Cassian. Not Feyre, Nesta or Elain. The only sentient being who knew were his shadows and that was only because they had been locked up with him. The slaughter that happened when he finally broke free would turn anyone away from their meal. Azriel was sure that Elain would have passed out at just the description of what he did– she would have had a heart attack if she saw the aftermath.

Deep down, Azriel always knew that he and Elain were not a good match. They were far too different. Her aversion to violence and his crave for it some of the time was one of the long list of reasons why it would have never gone further than that brief tryst.

As Azriel sat down on the couch his mind began reeling. How would Y/N react to violence? He thought.

Y/N knew who Azriel was. She knew what he did and it did not seem to bother her. But would seeing it in reality change her opinion. What would happen if she were to witness the monstrosities he committed? Would she call him a monster? Would she abandon him just like many past lovers?

No, Azriel thought. Y/N would never do that.

Although he could never know that for certain.

***

It was not long before the door to Y/N’s apartment was opened and she stepped through it silently. Azriel’s head snapped in her direction as she softly closed the door and locked it behind her.

“How was work?” Azriel asked, standing to his feet. He was unsure why.

“It was fine.” Y/N’s answer was short and brief. Very unlike her, Azriel deduced.

Inching closer to her, Azriel ducked his head down as Y/N threw her bag down on the floor. Her eyes were glassy with tears and her face presented clear signs of distress. Azriel fought the urge to reach out to her.

“What’s wrong?” His voice pained as seeing her in such a state hurt him.

“It’s nothing,” Y/N waved, trying to step past Azriel.

His hazel eyes softened. “Y/N, it’s not nothing.”

“How would you know?” Y/N snapped.

The shadows at his shoulders recoiled at her harsh tone before slowly unwinding from Azriel’s body to wrap around Y/N. Azriel allowed them as he noted that her rigid posture slowly began to relax. Down by Azriel’s sides, his hands twitched again, wanting desperately to pull her into his arms.

“If you want to be alone, I can return to my apartment,” Azriel suggested, not knowing how to comfort her.

A long sigh left Y/N’s lips. “No, you can stay here. I would prefer it actually. But I’m just going to lay down for a while.”

Azriel nodded, unsure of what he should do. “Do you need anything?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

As Y/N walked away from him, Azriel felt sadness wash over him, he was unsure why. His eyebrows pulled together in concern as he slowly sat down on the couch again. Y/N watched him do so before joining him. Azriel could feel her thigh knock against his as she shuffled to get comfortable. His shadows caressed her body to comfort her and Azriel wished he were the one doing it instead. But after the previous night, he wasn’t sure where she stood with physical contact.

The few stray tears that had escaped down Y/N’s cheeks were wiped away as she let out a long sigh, picking at her nail beds. “There was a little girl who came in for an impromptu piano lesson today,” Y/N began. “At first everything was going okay. She was picking everything up so quickly, I was beginning to wonder why she even needed lessons. But around half way into the lesson, her mother pulled me aside and thanked me.”

More tears began to fall down Y/N’s cheeks and she didn’t even attempt to wipe them away. Azriel placed his hand palm up on his thigh, an offering if she wanted to take it.

“I asked her why she was thanking me and she explained–” Y/N cut herself off to steady her breathing. Azriel’s heart ached. Just seeing Y/N in pain was causing his own.

“She explained to me that her feather used to teach her and they would play together all the time until he passed away a year ago– he passed away from the same sickness my own father did.” Y/N’s hand reached for Azriel’s and he laced his fingers with hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Her daughter hadn’t even touched her own piano since her father passed. She was so young, Azriel.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back her cries anymore as her whole body began to shake. Azriel pulled her into his arms, hoping that he could take the pain away from her, or at least lessen it to an extent.

“Normally something like that wouldn’t have bothered me,” Y/N continued. “But it's coming up to the anniversary of his death and it’s hard. That little girl reminded me so much of myself. I haven’t been able to play my fathers piano since he passed.”

Azriel did not know what to say as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His only comfort he had to offer right now was his embrace, he hoped it was enough.

“I just feel so alone,” Y/N admitted. “I have no family and all of my friends have their own. I am nearly five hundred years old. I should have those things. I should have a family and I feel so selfish for saying it.”

“You are not selfish, Y/N,” Azriel muttered. “Don’t ever think that. And you are not alone, you have people around you that adore you.” I love you. “Everyone you meet falls in love with you. It is hard not to.”

Y/N did not respond. She remained silent as she continued to hold onto Azriel. He wished he could find the right words. He was typically a male of few words, but he always had the right words to say if someone needed reassurance or comforting. But in Y/N’s presence, it was as if any cohesive thought left his brain.

“I am glad you are here with me,” Y/N confessed. “I don’t think I have ever been so comfortable with someone before.”

There was a feeling within Azriel that he couldn’t describe. He knew it wasn’t love, it was deeper than that, something more meaningful– more sacred. Azriel was sure he never wanted to feel anything different ever again.

“Why don’t we get away from the court for a little while?” Azriel suggested.

Y/N pulled away to look at Azriel in the eyes. “Where?”

“The Summer Court. You mentioned a theatre and I am sure that there are plenty of beaches to tick off some of the tasks on the list,” Azriel said. “If you don’t feel up to it, forget I suggested it.”

A soft hand cupped his cheek and Azriel lent into the touch. A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I would love to do that. When shall we leave?”

“Tomorrow?” Azriel suggested.

Y/N fully smiled. “Tomorrow it is.”

The two continued to sit together until the sun fully set. Neither of them spoke and sat in a comfortable silence. Azriel hoped that Y/N couldn’t hear his heart beating so rapidly. Normally he could control his emotions around others he liked but with Y/N he was finding it extremely difficult. He fought the urge to drop down on his knees and confess his feelings to her then and there.

“Do you want dinner?” Azriel asked, distracting himself from those thoughts of Y/N.

“I’m not too hungry,” Y/N replied, tilting her head to look at Azriel, her arms remaining wrapped around him. “And I was thinking about getting an early night before tomorrow.”

There were only centimetres between their lips and Azriel immediately noticed as his gaze threatened to look at them. Despite her more composed demeanour, Azriel could tell Y/N was doing the same.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Azriel said, breathless, as if he had just returned from a full day of training.

Y/N’s gaze dipped down to Azriel’s mouth as she unconsciously leaned forward. He moved his hand to caress the side of her face.

“I was wondering…” Y/N spoke, but as she did so, her lips lightly brushed over his. “...if you could stay with me in my room tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

Everything within Azriel was telling him to pull back as their breath mixed between them. Azriel could already imagine all of the ways he would kiss her, where he would kiss her to elicit those sweet sounds from her lips once again.

Forcing himself to move away, Azriel pulled back and he could have sworn that there was a quick look of disappointment on Y/N’s face. Instead he offered her his hand. “Of course I’ll stay with you.”

A smile returned to Y/N’s face as he took the hand Azriel offered. He led her to her bedroom where she broke off to quickly change out of her day clothes and into something more comfortable to sleep in. Respectfully, Azriel turned away as he changed out of his clothes, leaving only his underwear on.

Azriel continued to face the wall until he heard Y/N crawl under the covers. He turned to find her looking at him, a shy smile upon her face.

Once he got into the bed, Azriel noticed the nightgown Y/N wore, it was silk and displayed the soft skin of her legs, legs he knew the feeling of.

Without thinking, Azriel pulled Y/N into his arms, his chest pressing firmly against her back. She went rigid and Azriel realised the mistake he had made. They weren’t a couple, holding her like this in her bed, her body pressed tightly against his chest, was not something he should have done. Before Azriel had the chance to pull away, Y/N relaxed and leaned further back into his arms and sighed.

Azriel couldn’t help but smile and tighten his grip around her middle.

“This is okay, right?” Azriel whispered into her hair.

“This is perfect,” Y/N replied, her voice breathless.

It wasn’t long before Y/N’s breathing had slowed and Azriel was left laying awake. He had never been more relaxed and content as he was laying in bed with Y/N. All thoughts left his head and were replaced by Y/N. It was as if she was consuming his very soul. She was the only thing he would think about. She was the only thing worth thinking about.

“I love you,” Azriel whispered and pressed a kiss against the back of her head.

Azriel knew she didn’t hear it but just saying it out loud completely solidified his feelings. He loved Y/N. He was in love with Y/N.

When Azriel slept that night, peaceful dreams followed him for the first time in centuries.

Taglist:

@justdreamstars @thesunloveschips @hijabi-desi-bookworm @mischiefmanagers @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @nightcourt-daydreaming @pinksmellslikelove @schultzlindsey5 @mell-bell @we-were-beautiful @fightmedraco @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @luvmoo @daily-dose-of-sass @applerubyy @tonysttank @just-a-social-casualty-1 @scatteredstardustt @i-m-in-loki-s-army @katlyndawn51 @witchymomfrien @tele86 @sfhsgrad-blog @judig92 @prettylittlewrites @mybestfriendmademe @aria-chikage @phoenix666stuff @acphengene @tothestarsandwhateverend @littlelunatica @darkbloodsly @impossibelle @mysticalfuncollectorus @books-and-lit @acphengene @mindofthescattered @loving-and-dreaming @shakiraa-a @lilah-asteria @krowiathemythologynerd @rcarbo1 @bugg06 @darlingoftheshadowss @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @lsminddump @badgerstorms-art

- TAGLIST CLOSED -

#acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger

148 notes · View notes

mothiir · 3 months ago

Text

penance

the black templars discover human women. Nothing nsfw, only vaguely lewd, with canon typical violence and religious themes. Possibly will follow up with a smut if the spirit moves me

alternative summary: where is this strumpet so I might detest her with my own eyes

—

Isaiah takes his helm off to inhale the sweet scent of battlefield smoke. The sky is ruddy with dawn, and the last of the heretic cities is nothing more than smouldering rubble, the would-be rebels against the Emperor’s Will either dead or soon to be. Those too young, or too elderly, to have served a meaningful part in the uprising may yet find redemption as Chapter serfs or servitors — after all, there is little point to justice if there is no mercy to go alongside it.

Sweat gilds his high cheekbones, and drips down his nape. Taking a moment away from his brothers to say his private prayer of thanks to the Emperor is one of the small ways Isaiah keeps his sanity during these long campaigns. He would fight and die beside his brethren with pride — and yet if he has to hear one more of Reuben’s jokes, he may consider —

No. No, none of that, not even in the privacy of his own head: he must be grateful, always. Mindful and grateful of the Emperor’s blessings. Reuben is a blessing. A hardship, yes, but so often blessings take the form of hardships; of lessons to learn. Reuben is an excellent soldier, and an exercise in patience.

Perhaps it is the thought of Reuben’s damned puns that drives him further than usual, or the desire to admire the sight of a battle hard-fought. Either way, Isaiah ends up a good five hundred feet from camp before he quite realises it, crunching over charred bones and burned, unrecognisable standards.

Then: a sound. Thin, high, and vaguely organic. At once, he replaces his helmet, Captain Ezra’s words echoing in his memory: boy, there is no point prancing around like the main character in a holo — the enemy does not need to see your pretty face, and nor do I.

Anyway. The noise. His scanners alert him to a life form, hidden behind a pile of corpses. Humanoid. Rabbit-hearted, and trying very hard to remain unseen.

He upholsters his bolter, and stalks forwards: a faceless, merciless instrument of the Emperor’s wrath.

—

The clouds hang thick and red, like they have absorbed all the blood spilt today, and the heat is oppressive. A thunderstorm is coming; you taste it in the air. Soon, the rain will extinguish the last of the flaming rubble on this planet you once called home. It will fill the empty eye sockets of those who died for the delusions of your rulers. It will wash the land clean.

And you doubt you will see it.

As the Templar yanked you from the rubble, your shoulder had popped from its socket with a sick, wet crack; you had only kept yourself from crying out by biting into your tongue. Now your right arm hangs useless by your side, radiating bright veins of sheer agony. You daren’t make a move to cradle it, to ease your discomfort.

“Your world is guilty of the crime of sedition,” intones the Templar, his voice as final as a tombstone falling into place. “Your leaders rebelled against the Divinity of the Emperor, and —“

”And I should die for it,” you manage, through lips gummed together with dried saliva and ash. “Because we let it happen.”

He pauses. The subtle tilt of his helm could be curiousity; could be an invitation to continue; could be nothing at all. But you are not dead. Not yet. Something in your chest is kindled, and you remember when you were little, at a school now nothing but ash, how your teacher would complain: that girl, she always has something to say.

“We let it happen,” you continue, not sure if you are arguing for your life or begging for martyrdom. “We saw the upper echelons turn to Ch — the accursed powers.” Thou shalt not speak the name of the beast, you remember reading somewhere, lest thou invite it in to feast. “And we did not stop them. We worked away, heads bent and faces averted, and we obeyed orders, and the rot spread and ruined our world. I — I thank you, for your cleansing fire, for your — for His mercy. For bringing the Light of the Emperor to this place.”

You cannot curtesy, not in this shape, and so you drop straight to the ground, knees smacking into hard stone. You bare your nape, awaiting judgement, awaiting the blade, your heart singing against your ribs, that desperate song, that too-late plea: oh I want to live. Emperor above, let me live.

—

“That is a woman,” says Reuben, like he has never seen one before.

”Yes, Reuben, that is a woman.”

“In our dormitory.”

”Yes,” Isaiah says. ”She is in our dormitory.”

As this world lacks any proper infrastructure — due to the intensive bombing campaign needed to bring it back to the Emperor’s Grace — the Astartes have retired to their battle barge, as Marshal Ezra Rothenberg plans their next movements.

Isaiah is honoured to consider himself part of the Edessan Crusade. There are more than two thousand of his brothers dedicated to the continued extirpation of Chaos from the Edessan system: a task that was predicted to take ten solar years, and yet is proceeding far ahead of schedule — due, in no small part, to the enthusiastic participation of the new recruits Guilliman so kindly provided them. If Guilliman hoped that the Primaris Marines would take the edge off the Black Templar’s well-known zealotry, he was swiftly disappointed. Within a few days of arriving, the only way to differentiate between the new recruits and their more seasoned brothers was size.

Isaiah shares a barren dorm with Reuben, and three other brothers. They sleep on plain metal bunks, with a rough woollen blanket and a thin pillow. Other Chapters, Isiaiah has heard, are so decadent and spoiled as to have duvets — which are sacks of feathers — and sometimes even something called a mattress? Absurd. He pities his fellow Primaris Marines, shipped out to such degeneracy. He hopes that they can cultivate an appropriate sense of duty and decorum in the older generation. How can anyone value such petty things as comfort when the Emperor’s enemies still draw breath?

You are sitting on Isaiah’s bed, the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes wide. You have not spoken since he brought you here — barely whimpered when he popped your shoulder back into place.

“…what is her purpose here?” Reuben says. He sits on his own bunk, opposite Isaiah, his afternoon reading (a hagiography of one of the more exciting saints) sprawled forgotten on his lap.

“Chapter serf,” says Isaiah.

“Do we need more serfs?”

”Yes. We do. The ones we have are — uh —very devout — “

The pair grimace. The fact that the serfs spend so long in prayer is to be admired, but it doesn’t often leave them much time to perform their duties. Isaiah is sick of doing his own mending because Serf Osric and Serf Jean are once more faint from fasting and all-night vigils to the glory of the Emperor.

“Did the Marshal allocate her to you?”

Isaiah pulls an interesting series of expressions. ”Not…exactly,” he allows, unwilling to lie, and yet not wanting to admit the truth. “But he has been…busy, of late.”

”Yes. Busy. With crusading against the Emperor’s enemies.”

”Too busy to be concerned with this sort of thing,” Isaiah says, hesitantly, dangling the bait before Reuben, waiting for him to take it. Reuben leans forwards to better observe you. Isaiah feels a strange twist of pride when you don’t cringe from his regard, but meet his dark eyes with your own, your chin tipped up, your fingers curling into the blanket. Then you suddenly seem to remember who you are, and where you are, and drop your head in supplication.

“Yes,” Reuben says, slowly. “Far too busy to be concerned with this. Don’t want to bother him.”

Isaiah utters a fervent prayer of thanks to the Emperor, feeling only a little guilty at thanking Him for his brother’s aid in deceiving their Marshal. But it wasn’t really deception, was it? They weren’t lying to him at all — they just weren’t telling him! Completely different.

“Exactly! It’s beneath his concern.”

”She’s beneath his concern!”

In total accord, both Templars grin at each other, before hurriedly smoothing their faces into expressions of solemn piety.

“Yes, brother. I am glad that the Emperor has seen fit to deliver unto us a — hang on, can you sew?” Reuben says, addressing you directly. You glance up at Isaiah, then stammer:

“Y-yes my lord —“

“Excellent.”

Reuben kicks up and off his bunk, rummages in the steel box that contains all his worldly possessions, then throws a wad of fabric at you. It unfurls into a dozen pairs of socks that look very much worse for wear.

“Start with those. Then my tunic needs restitching — the Emperor’s Most Holy Iconography is starting to get a bit tattered. Then —“

”Brother Reuben, you cannot hog the new serf —“

”I am offering her the chance to redeem the sins of her forefathers and mothers with holy labour.“

“Well, yes,” Isaiah protests. “But the holy labour cannot just be confined to your menial tasks—“

”Why — do you have menial tasks that need attending to?”

”Yes!” Isaiah says, thinking of his own increasing pile of ragged undergarments. “You can mend Brother Reuben’s socks, and then you must attend to my laundry —“

”And then she can mend my tunic —“

”No, then she must pray,” Isaiah says, belatedly remembering the importance of even the most lowly baselines in adding their voices to the Emperor’s endless praises. “And attend chapel —“

”Where Marshal Ezra may behold her?” Brother Reuben says. “The serf that we do not strictly speaking have, as she has not been allocated to us?”

Ah. Yes. He had forgotten about that.

”She must pray while she works,” Isiaih amends. “And abase herself before the Emperor’s mercy.”

”Yes. But pray quietly.”

”Do you know the appropriate psalms to recite while conducting your redemptive labour?” Isaiah says. You chew your lip.

“The correct litanies while uh…mending the socks of the Emperor’s chosen may have not been included in my education,” you say. Isaiah sighs. Truly, you came from a blighted world.

“You will learn them,” he says. “The Emperor will guide your tongue. If you fail to learn them then it is a sign that you have not received His Grace, and in that case fear not — we will deliver unto you the Emperor’s Mercy.”

“She will learn them,” Brother Reuben says, with a fervent and touching belief in humanity’s dedication to the Emperor.

Or, perhaps, a fervent desire to have socks without holes in them.

—

And so it goes. The Emperor sees fit to decree that the brothers that share Reuben and Isaiah’s quarters remain on the planet to build a chapter monastery there, taking advantage of the natural resources that are now free for use. No new brothers are installed in the dormitory — a great shame, of course, but it does have the benefit of ensuring that Brother Reuben and Isiaiah do not have to face awkward questions about your presence.

Isiaiah has never been in close contact with baseline humans before, save the serfs aboard the fleet, and he knows that it is his duty to ensure that you are free of Chaos’s taint, and suitably devoted to the God Emperor. As such, he ensures that you have the appropriate reading material, and tests you to ensure that you can recite the benedictions. The first time you stumbled over an incorrect word, he had sighed deeply and sorrowfully, reaching for his bolter. Brother Reuben had dragged him to the side and explained — in hurried whispers — that humans do not have the same eidetic memory as Astartes, and the misstep was not indicative of a lapse in faith but simply a sign of your humanity.

Fascinating.

There are other baseline issues that surprise both brothers. They sleep perfectly well on their hard metal bed frames, and their serfs often deliberately braid thistles into their blankets in order to better scourge their flesh for the sin of being mortal. You, however, suffer greatly for the first few days. You end up with deep purple shadows beneath your eyes, and you wince when performing even the simplest of tasks.

“I am sorry my lords,” you stammer, when Isaiah confronts you on your constant yawning. “It is just — I am cursed to be a woman, and thus I do not have the fortitude that you have, and my body is frail and weak and cannot find rest in the blessed conditions that you enjoy.”

Reuben magnanimously permits you the use of a blanket and two of the pillows left by his brothers. Isaiah thinks that pandering to your body’s frailty could well be slowing your path to redemption, but he bows to his brother’s greater knowledge.

He is perturbed by how much you rest — as much as six hours a night, if you are permitted to sleep continuously. Once again, Reuben explains that this is normal for the baselines. Besides, if Isaiah wants devout serfs, he is more than welcome to once more entrust his care to Osric and Jean.

Isaiah stops questioning your rest hours swiftly. He does not want to go back to the days of having to convince a flagellant to polish his pauldrons. Without the brothers seeking them out, the old serfs seem happy to spend most of their time in the chapel, or wandering the halls while caning themselves and loudly declaring the Emperor’s benevolence to all.

Yes, Isaiah wants to say, we know He is very benevolent and very merciful. He also wants you to do your damn jobs.

The first real challenge occurs ten days into your time aboard the barge. You drop to your knees before Isaiah, assuming the penitential crouch you always take on when you address either of them. The sight of you prostrate at his feet — spine a neat curve, head bowed, hands clasped — always makes Isaiah’s stomach warm and twist. He enjoys seeing you so keen to atone, so eager to please the Emperor, and to receive His mercy.

“My lords, I humbly beg your permission to take a moment to clean myself — I have not managed to do so since leaving my accursed planet, and I fear that I dishonour your presence by performing my duties while unwashed.”

”You have washed yourself,” Isaiah says, frowning. He’s seen you wipe your face and underarms with a wet rag, and you wash your hands every time you go to the bathroom (a sensitive experience for all concerned, given that one of them has to escort you to the nearest convenience, and the other has to stand watch to ensure no one sees you).

”Yes, but — a shower, my lords, that is what I am asking for.”

Isaiah sniffs the air thoughtfully. True, you do smell a little sourer than you did previously, but he has lived with far more odiferous people; Brother Reuben during his ‘bathing too frequently is decadent and an offence to the Emperor’ phase for one.

(That particular penitence had been ended when Marshal Ezra had thrown Reuben bodily into the icy plunge pool and announced to all that the Emperor suffered enough on His golden throne — the Templars did not need to add their stench to the tribulations He endured.)

”Humans require more maintenance than Astartes,” Reuben allows. “It cannot hurt to permit her to bathe.”

Still, they do not want to risk taking you to one of the communal showers, nor do they want to send you off to the serf quarters. Several of their brothers are already suspicious of their suddenly-improved attire, and the last thing either of them want is to face questions about your presence — or, worse still, a request to share. So Isaiah fetches a large copper tub used by the medicae for those too unwell to stand upright to bathe, and fills it with water, and Brother Reuben donates one of his scraps of yellow soap.

“Th-thank you my lords,” you say, from your usual prostrate position; then you stand, a little unsure, eyeing them almost expectantly. The tub is set in the middle of the dormitory; Reuben is reading one of his favourite scriptures, while Isiaiah tends to his bolter. ”Uh — is it okay if I —“

You gesture at your smock. Isiaiah blinks at you.

“Are you asking permission to bathe? I have said that you may — do not waste my time with needless questions.”

He turns back to his bolter, wiping the sacred oils onto the stock, murmuring the appropriate incantations to appease the machine spirit within. A flurry of fabric; a splash; a pained squeal.

“This water is ice,” you yell, and Isaiah, startled, looks up.

His hand remains looped around the bolter, polishing up and down, up and down — but he finds he cannot tear his gaze from you. The water comes up to your waist, but the rest of you is bare, your flesh goosepimpled from the cold, your arms clutching your torso. Your elbows press under your breasts, pushing them up, where they glisten under the harsh dorm lighting. As you shiver, one nipple flashes.

Brother Reuben stares as well.

“Emperor preserve me,” he mutters, and Isaiah comes to his senses, turning his eyes aside.

“Woman!” he says, sounding only a little strangled. “Cover yourself!”

Another splash. When Isaiah peeks up — just to check that you have ceased to offend the Emperor with your naked bosom — he is gratified to see that you are neck deep in water.

”S-sorry my lords,” you say, teeth chattering.

”You are a Chapter Serf of the Black Templars,” Isiaha says hotly, his grasp tightening on the bolter, his strokes growing surer and stronger, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. “You must act in a way that is fitting for your station! Do not flaunt yourself so! You must conduct yourself with - with decorum, and modesty. Be demure! Mindful!”

Isaiah, a little breathless after his holy vitriol, looks to Brother Reuben for moral support. Reuben is looking fixedly at his book.

“I saw nothing,” says the other Templar. “I am blind to that which does not beatify the Emperor Himself. The nudity of a serf has no bearing on my day’s prayer. It is as insignificant as the passage of a beetle along the floor.”

”Is that why you are reading your scripture upside down?”

Reuben does not look up, even as he turns the book the right way around.

“Brother Isaiah, if you polish that gun any harder it is liable to blast a hole in the wall.”

”It is not loaded, Brother Reuben,” Isaiah snaps. “I am conducting my daily worship to the Machine Spirit.”

”Is that what you call it?” Reuben mutters, and Isaiah elects to ignore him.

—

“Where did you obtain the uniform for her?” Isaiah says, the next day, his voice hushed. It is just after morning prayer-drills, and the pair are walking back to their dormitory to change, before their lunchtime prayer-drills.

”I — just from the other serf’s laundry,” says Reuben, casting a quick look around. The halls of the battle barge are more akin to that of a cathedral than a space-ship, with huge domed ceilings, and statues placed at regular intervals in well-lit alcoves. Isaiah normally takes great comfort in the stern regard of his immortalised forebears, but for some reason today he feels their gaze like a brand, like he is a neophyte and they are watching him commit some secret and terrible sin.

“They do not fit her,” Isaiah says. Reuben frowns.

“What do you mean?”

”I mean — “ Isaiah pauses for a moment, struggling to find the words. Emperor grant him Reuben’s lack of observational skills — truly, his brother is a sterling example of blind faith. “I mean…this morning. When she bent over to pick up the scripture. Her skirt. It — moved in a way that displayed her rump in a way that is most unbecoming to a serf.”

Reuben exhales, his jaw ticking minutely. “Oh? I did not notice. I do not make a habit of looking at the serf’s rear end.”

”I was not looking at her rear end!” Isaiah whisper-shouts. “It was…just there. Wiggling.”

”Wiggling?”

”Yes, wiggling.”

”Is our serf distracting you from your duties, Brother Isaiah?” Reuben says, in a tone of concern so genuine it feels like mockery.

“No! I just — it would bring shame upon our crusade if our serfs are not modestly attired.”

”I quite agree. However, I would argue that our serf is very well attired. Covered up almost to the throat.”

”Almost,” Isaiah says. “When she bends over to wash her face in the morning, if you stand at the incorrect place in the dormitory, and you have the misfortune to be looking for a book on the other side of the room, and then you find yourself looking downwards at the incorrect moment so you may observe the flagstones, you will be cursed with a view straight down her sleeping smock — and you will see both her breasts, exposed quite fully! It is revolting. A blight upon the Emperor.”

”How hideous! We must of course remedy this at once.”

”At once.”

”However,” says Reuben, as they round a corner, approaching their dormitory. “In order for me to avoid benighting mine eyes with such a distasteful view, I would much appreciate it if next time the serf washes her face you were to demonstrate the precise angle that I should avoid standing at. For I only wish to see what is pure and just in the eyes of the Emperor, and in order to do so we must have a full understanding of where to avoid looking.”

Isaiah pauses for a moment. After all, is it not his duty to guide his brothers when they seek to avoid sin? “Yes,” he says. “I will ensure that I show you most where you must not stand, and where to avoid casting your eyes. And — if I may make a suggestion?”

”Of course, brother Isaiah.”

”Perhaps it is not the uniform. Perhaps it is the way the serf has learned to stand and bend. Coming as she does from such a depraved world, riddled with heresy, it is natural that she does not know the right and proper way for a servant of the Emperor to move. Perhaps we should ask her to bend over a few times for us, and thus we can best advise her on how to avoid unnecessary…wiggling.”

Reuben grins at the thought of guiding a sinner onto the path of the righteous. “Yes, brother Isaiah. I do believe we should.”

#Black templars/reader #moth writes #my writing

173 notes · View notes

thy-golden-knight · 3 months ago

Text

Knightly lifestyle ideas

• Carry yourself with confidence, keep your head high and your steps firm

• Always carry a pocket knife in case of emergencies

• Whenever you see a person struggling with heavy bags, especially women and the elderly, make haste to offer help

• If they refuse help, do not press further. Respecting boundaries is essential

• Decadent fur rugs in your bedchamber

• Become passionate about a sport of your choosing, be it a historical one or not

• Your home is your fortress, hence any good knight should be able perform basic repairs to keep his castle running

• Forgo the plastic: drink your water, wine and other beverages out of goblets and glassware

• Be an example to your younger siblings on how to treat other people with respect, dignity and kindness

• Treat hardships in thy life as quests to complete and dragons to slay

• Attend self-defense classes. Learn to take down opponents twice your size

• A signet ring with your family's crest / other personal symbol

• If you have a dog, train it extensively to make it your guardian and a faithful companion

• Assemble a private library full of classical masterpieces and epic poetry

• Gather up your courage and intervene if you see someone getting bullied

• Lush bathrobe in rich burgundy / navy / emerald with a golden thread

• Volunteer to be the mediator in your siblings' quarrels

• Know your way around fine dining, whether it's uncorking a bottle of champagne or using the right fork and knife

• Learn how to play a musical instrument like flute or guitar

• Study different schools of thought, religions and cultures. You might find them not so different from yours

• And overall whenever you see an opportunity to do good, take it at once. Knight's ultimate purpose is to serve, be of service to others, be it friends and loved ones or complete strangers

Part 2 here

#knightly musings #knightcore #code of conduct #this is written from a man's perspective so feel free to adapt it to your needs #it's an indulgent piece mostly for myself #knights #questcore #knightkin #adventurecore #knightblogging #gay knights #knightposting #knight #fantasycore

156 notes · View notes

restrumed · 2 years ago

Text

I can't wait to tell the whole world!! But alas...until that contract is signed, you'll have to settle for some teasers!

#restrumed #musicians #classic rock #music #guitar #upcycled jewelry #guitar pick #guitarist #made in detroit #artist #wrif #pine knob #the machine shop #elderly instruments #festival #super kera

0 notes

thatgirlstrawberry · 2 years ago

Text

Teach Me?

Feb. Requests - 1

In which Spencer asks the reader for help after he buys a keyboard.

Warnings: Smut!!! Fluff, cute/awkward!Spence, making out, oral sex(m), soft dom!Spencer? Hair pulling?, protected piv sex(be safe y’all), lmk if I missed anything!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Spencer’s breath shook as he dialed Y/N’s number. He bit his lip before inhaling deeply.

The phone rang twice before Y/N’s sweet voice filled his ears. “Hello?”

The man smiled. “H-hi, Y/N! It’s S-Spencer.” He spoke quickly. “Are you busy?” He asked. He knew she was at work at this moment. She worked at the music store across the street from his favorite coffee shop.

They met when she was getting coffee before having to go to work. Spencer insisted on walking her across the street after they’d talked for thirty minutes.

“Uh… not right now. I do have a kid coming in for a lesson in five minutes, though.” She said. Spence could tell she was smiling.

“I uh…” He cleared his throat. “I had a case the other day a-and then I went out and bought a keyboard because of this little boy that I worked with.” He started off. He wondered if he was talking too much, if he should just get to the point. “Uh… and this was an impulse decision because I don’t actually know how to play any musical instruments. I did try to play the trombone in high school but I got made fun of and-“

Y/N giggled quietly. “Spence, did you want me to stop by when I get off of work? I can teach you to play.”

Spencer smiled at her warm tone. “Yes, thank you. I would really appreciate that.” He nodded even though she could see him.

-at the music store-

“Okay, great! How’s your day going so far?” Y/N asked, leaning over the counter. She glanced up at the door when an elderly woman and her husband came in. She shot them a smile and they nodded at her.

Spencer cleared his throat. “I’m good, just doing paperwork today. I’m actually about to head home. How’s your day?” he asked.

Y/N sighed and looked down at the lesson sign up sheet. “Good. Though, I had a fourteen year old scream at me because she couldn’t figure out how to play Twinkle Twinkle little star.” She giggled.

She heard Spencer laugh. “Well I promise I won’t scream at you, Y/N/N.”

Y/N checked her watch and saw a boy and his mother coming in. “That’s good, Spence. Hey, look— I gotta go but I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yes- yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”

She said goodbye and hung up the phone, sliding it in her back pocket, waving at the boy and his mom. “Hey, Kevin! Ready to be a rockstar?”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Spencer sped around his apartment making sure that everything was perfect and neat.

He didn’t have a bench to set in front of his new keyboard so he moved his coffee table into the kitchen and pulled the instrument in front of his couch.

He had also stopped at Y/N’s favorite Italian place and got dinner. He stopped in front of the door when he turned back and realized that this might have been too much.

Before he could scramble around again and unnecessarily move things, there was a knock at the door.

He silently cursed and shut his eyes. He exhaled deeply and opened the door with his eyebrows raised and a smile on his lips. “Y/N, thank you so much again for coming over.” He greeted.

“I couldn’t say no to my favorite guy!” She smiled, walking past him into the apartment. “And I got dinner from your favorite Chinese place.” She smiled nodding down at the brown paper bag in her arms. “I should have called and asked if you had eaten but- oh.” She stopped when she saw the containers from her favorite food place.

Spencer blushed as she turned around. “I- got dinner too.”

Y/N smiled. “Well who says we can’t have Spaghetti and fried rice?”

Spencer subtly admired her as she went to set the bag in the kitchen. “Why is your coffee table in the kitchen?” She giggled.

Spencer followed behind her, scratching the back of his neck. “I needed space for my keyboard, so I put it in front of my couch so we had space.” He finally got a good look at her outfit.

She wore a pair of really tight skinny jeans, that showed off the curve of her ass and hips perfectly and a loose red sweater. Spencer was glad she wasn’t looking at him because then she would have seen him visibly gulp as he gawked at her beautiful curves.

Y/N nodded and laughed. “Okay. Is it okay if we start after we eat? I didn’t get a lunch break because freaking Kevin couldn’t get the keys right.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically.

“Freaking Kevin.” Spencer joked, rolling his eyes as well. “Yeah, let’s eat.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N laughed as she finished her egg roll, looking away from Spencer who had his mouth dropped open in shock as they finished an episode of Hoarders on Netflix.

“She has cat poop in bottles!?” He exclaimed after chewing a meatball. Y/N nodded as she laughed, leaning against his shoulder.

After a moment more of laughter, the two quieted down and looked at each other. She cleared her throat and looked away from him. “Okay, tonight we’re gonna start with the letters that correspond with the keys.” She spoke. “It’s called a staff.”

Spencer nodded along, sitting up on the couch after turning the TV off. She scooted up and sat in the edge of the couch, looking back at Spencer.

“Wow, this has 88 keys.” She whispered with a smile. “Come here.”

Spencer immediately scooted up next to her and gazed at her as she let out a quiet breath. “Okay, start down here.” She smiled, reaching across Spencer to tap the very first key. “This key is A.”

The man held his breath as her arm brushed his chest. She pressed down on the key and began to move her fingers down. “Then, you just keep going down the keys until you stop at G. Then you start over.” She moved her arm back to her side slowly, almost teasingly.

“Uh… w- uh what are the black k-keys?” He asked, already getting flustered at their closeness.

Y/N chuckled. “These are sharps and flats.” She said pushing the black key closest to her. “Basically, it’s the sharp of whatever note to the left of it and a flat to whatever note to the right.”

“S-so if I play…” He pressed his finger down on the A key. “This one,” He pressed the black key to the right of it. “Is A sharp?”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “Exactly!” She nodded, placing her hand on his bicep. “Now find… G, play that and then play G sharp.” She instructed.

He hesitantly did as he was told and Y/N hummed. “Perfect.” She smiled.

An hour later, Y/N yawned as she watched Spencer play notes painfully slowly. He noticed this and turned to her. “I’m sorry, are you tired?” He asked.

“Just a little bit it’s okay, I can stay.” She shook her head, her tired eyes betraying her.

Spencer shook his head as well. “No, it’s okay. And you’re working tomorrow.” He smiled. “Go home and get some rest.”

Y/N opened her mouth to object but Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Fine. But I’ll be back over tomorrow night and we’re gonna get down and dirty with this keyboard, okay?”

His heart skipped a beat when she smirked at him. “O-okay.” He nodded.

Y/N got up from the couch and made her way over to the door, Spencer following close behind. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Beethoven.” She winked.

Spencer gulped again, opening the door for her. “See you tomorrow, Y/N/N.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N bit her lip as she walked up the stairs to Spencer’s building. Her hands were sweaty so she kept running them along her gray tank top.

She wore tight black skinny jeans because she had caught Spencer eyeing her body in them the night before. She also wore a pair of black boots that laced up in the front.

When she met Spencer, a crush was born immediately. He walked her across the street to her job when they ran into each other (literally) at the coffee shop.

Now, he was one of her closest friends. But she just goes that they’d turn out to be more.

She approached his door and exhaled deeply as she stopped in front of it. She smiled and knocked on the door quickly.

She heard shuffling inside and a thud followed by a string of what was supposed to be quiet curse words.

“Shit! Fuck, ow! Mother fucking dick sucker!”

Y/N grimaced as she heard a loud sigh and heavy footsteps traveling towards the door.

It swung open and there stood Spence with sopping wet hair. “Y/N/N, hi.” He smiled, panting a bit.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Hey, Spence… what’s… uh what’s going on here?” Her eyes glanced at his dripping hair.

“Sorry, I just got out of the shower. I thought you would be here a little later. But come in!”

Y/N smiled as he stepped aside and she walked into his apartment. It was set up in the exact way it had been last night and she gasped. “Food!” She spun around after spotting a bag from The Cheesecake Factory.

Spencer chuckled. “And cheesecake.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, I think I love you.” I do love you.

The man smiled and walked forward. She caught his eyes betraying him as they did a quick once over of her body and outfit. She inwardly celebrated and sat down on his couch.

She looked down at the keyboard and pressed a few keys before playing a simple song. It was the Barney theme song. When she was down, she looked up at Spencer. “That’s what you’ll be learning today.”

He chuckled. “We’re getting down and dirty with Barney?”

Y/N laughed out loud and sighed. “Yes, exactly. Now let’s sit and eat and watch another crazy reality show.” She patted the spot next to her and Spencer grabbed the bag of food and brought it over as she grabbed his remote control.

They ended up watching Love Is Blind for an hour and it had Y/N in a rather romantic mood. “She sighed as the second episode ended and looked over at Spencer who had been oddly quiet.

“Spence, are you okay?” She asked, sitting up. He looked down at her, a smile growing on his lips.

“Toni and Andrea are gonna end up getting married. They’re in love with each other.” He told her.

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Do you think he’ll love her even with the big wart on her forehead?” She asked.

Spencer chuckled. “He’ll love her, wart and all.”

Y/N smiled and giggled. “Thank you for dinner.” She nodded. “I shall now pay you back in musical favors.”

The man nodded and they got situated on the couch when they were sitting, thighs touching— god her thighs.

Spencer thought. He just wanted to spread them open and bury his hea-

“Spencer?” Y/N’s voice pulled him out of his particularly dirty thoughts and he cleared his throat. “Now that you’re back on earth, do you remember l- who am I kidding, you remember everything.” She rolled her eyes with a playful smile.

“Yeah-“

“Don’t you dare start bragging Spencer Reid.” She laughed, placing her hands over some of the keys on the keyboard.

Spencer laughed along with her and he watched her hands. “How are you gonna teach me this song?”

Y/N smiled. “I’m gonna play a couple notes, you copy me.”

She bit her lip when he nodded and began playing.

G, G, D, D, E, E, D

Spencer stared at her lips as they parted. When she looked at him, he quickly looked back down at the black and white keys. He shakily played the same pattern that Y/N had.

After he was done, he looked at her smile. “Good.” She said.

Something in the air shifted around them. Spencer’s hear word up. Y/N felt her breath hitch. “So… then you… um you play…”

She played the next 7 notes and looked up at Spencer. “So… you that’s C, C-“

She stopped when she went to play the note again at the same time Spencer did. He stared at her, she stared at him.

His eyes glanced down at her lips and they transformed into magnets. Their lips touched softly for a few seconds until Spencer pulled away. There was a blush on her cheeks and her eyes followed him as she looked away from her.

“I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head. “I just… I really like you but I know you don’t like me like that—“

“Spencer—“

“And I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you a-and our time because I-“

“Spence, wait a sec-“

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. I understand if you want to leave.” He shook his head and finally forced himself to look at her. “Why are you smiling?”

Y/N’s grin widened. “Because you’re the smartest man in the world and a behavioral analyst yet you couldn’t tell that I’ve like you since we met.”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised a little. “Wha- you have?”

Y/N hummed and nodded. “Of course I like you. Have you met you?” She giggled.

Spencer smiled. “I… I just thought that I was imagining things-“

“Spencer,” Y/N spoke. He stopped talking. “Can you kiss me again?”

The man let his tongue dart over his lips and he leaned forward again, this time with some passion. His lips tangled with hers and his hands found the sides of her face. She gripped his shoulders and sighed into the kiss.

Spencer’s tongue darted out, pushing at her lips. She opened her mouth a little wider and let his tongue slide into her mouth.

She hummed one of his hands slid from her face to the Sid rod her neck and kept going down, stopping at the curve of her waist.

She was the first one to pull away. “Spence…” She bit her lip as she stared at him damn near panting.

He pulled her back in before sliding both hands down to pull her onto his lap. Her knees separated and now she was straddling him.

Her lips met the corner of his mouth before they trailed down to his jaw. “Do you know *kiss* how *kiss* long I’ve been waiting to *kiss* kiss you like this?” She asked.

Spencer squeezed her hips before they went even lower, resting under her thighs. “Trust me, it’s been the same.” He groaned. “Torture.” He whispered before grabbing her jaw gently and pushing his lips on hers.

Y/N was surprised. She didn’t think Spencer would take that kind of… power. She moaned into his mouth when the hand gripping her jaw fell between them and onto her thigh and he started to rub it softly.

Her hips subconsciously moved as the kisses deepened and sped up. Spencer grouped her hips again, helping them move across his lap.

She felt him grow hard and opened her eyes, pulling away. She lazily smiled at him as he continued to move her against him. “I can feel your friend down there.”

She thought this comment would make him blush and stutter but what he said next shocked her and gave her butterflies.

“And I can feel how wet you are even through these little jeans.”

Y/N blushed and he smiled. “Well, you are hot as fuck so it’s kinda hard to stay dry when your lips are on me.”

Spencer chuckled and her hands glided over his chest and then his shoulders. She bit her lip and stared at his beautiful, sexy face.

His fingers unbuttoned her jeans as he stared at her. “Is this okay?” He asked softly.

Y/N bit her lip so hard that she almost made herself bleed. “It so okay.” She nodded.

Spencer smiled and pulled down the zipper. “I love you in these jeans.” He told her. She lifted up so he could pull them down.

Y/N nodded and laughed breathlessly as she shimmied out of her pants. “Yeah, I know.” She shrugged. Spencer looked confused but leaned in to kiss her neck. “You might be the behavioral analyst but I so caught you staring at my ass last night.”

Spencer chuckled into her neck and he played with the lace hem of her underwear. He sucked on a spot repeatedly when he noticed how her body reacted.

Y/N moaned and let her hands fall into his curls as her hips resumed movement. “Spence…”

He hummed and licked the spot on her neck.

“Can I… can I do something for you?” She asked, a blush taking over her cheeks.

Spencer pulled his face out of the crook of her neck and looked at her. “What baby?”

Y/N swallowed and bit her lip. “Y’know…” She got off of Spencer’s lap in a swift motion. He grabbed her hips confused but he almost lost his composure when she got of her knees. “Can I?”

Spencer nodded. “Shit, Y/N.” He whispered when she smiled and reached for his belt. He swallowed as she undid it skillfully and placed her hands on his thighs.

Spencer lifted his hips and quickly pulled his pants off leaving him in his boxers. His hard dick pressed against the fabric.

Y/N maintained eye contact with him as she leaned forward and trailed her finger along the waistband of his boxers.

“Shit, Y/N. Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.” He groaned. Y/N gave him a look and quickly pulled his boxers down, audibly gasping.

“Holy fucking shit, Spencer.” She glanced up at his face.

Spencer was going to say something but his brain fogged the second he felt her hand wrap around the base of his cock and her lips on the tip.

“Fu- Y/N.” He squeezed his eyes shut before opening them to see her lower her head down more, taking more of him into her mouth.

All while her eyes were still on his. Her nails dug into his thighs and he placed his hand on her head. “Fuck, such a good job.” He breathed out.

Y/N moaned around him and shut her eyes as he gripped her hair gently and helped her head go up and down.

She continued to suck for another minute before Spencer pulled her head up softly. She looked up at him with confusion in her eyes. “Was that not good? I’m s-“

“No, baby.” Spencer shook his head, moving his hand to her chin and using his thumb to wipe her lips. “I was gonna come but I need you to finish first.”

Y/N blushed and licked her lips. “Me first?” He stood up, looking down at her.

“You first.” He nodded, pulling her off of her knees. “Always.” He kissed her heatedly, gripping her hair again.

She bit her lip as he grabbed her hips pulling her into him. “Do you have a condom?” Y/N asked, pulling away.

Spencer nodded, not being able to resist kissing her again. “Jump.” He whispered between kisses.

Y/N did as he told her and wrapped her legs around his waist. He held her up with his arms underneath her ass.

He carried her into his bedroom, lips never leaving each other’s. She whined softly when he put her down on his bed and walking away from her. She watched him walked over to his bedside table and opened it, searching around for a moment.

He pulled out a shiny golden packet and stuck it between his teeth. He crawled onto the bed where Y/N was watching him with a smile.

When he hovered over her, she snatched the condom from his teeth and pulled him down into a kiss, unbuttoning his shirt quickly. He let her pull the shirt off of him and thought it was unfair that she was still in her tiny little tank top.

He hummed and reached for her tank top, pulling it up and off as he was pulling away from her lips. Spencer groaned at the sight of her chest and shut his eyes. “You’re so sexy, baby.” He told her.

She bit her lip and tried to hide a smile. He kissed her again before paying attention to her panties. He pressed his fingers against the fabric making Y/N’s breath hitch. “Gotta take these off.” Spencer spoke.

She lifted her hips off of the bed and he pulled them off of her. “Jesus fu- oh my God, you’re so wet.” Spencer mumbled, damn near staring at her core.

He looked up at her. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s okay if you don’t.” He nodded, his eyes softened.

Y/N smiled and pressed her hand against his cheek. “I’m sure. I want you more than anything.” He but his lip and took the condom back from her, opening it and sliding it on his length.

Spencer smiled and pressed his tip against her entrance, eliciting a gasp from her lips. He pressed his lips against hers as he pushed in slowly. She moaned into his mouth and squeezed his biceps.

This moment felt different. It felt softer, more passionate. Less like lust and more like love.

Spencer groaned into the kiss and pulled away slowly, staring at her closed eyes hoping they would open soon so he could look at her.

“Open your eyes, baby.” He told her quietly. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”

Y/N opened her eyes and met his as he chest heaved. He began to move slowly, sinking all the way into her before pulling out but not all the way.

He loved the way her mouth dropped open and her eyebrows creased. Sweet, sweet sound came from her.

“Fuck— Spencer!” She said closing her eyes again.

He grabbed her jaw. “Uh uh. Eyes open, pretty girl.”

Y/N opened her eyes right back up and bit her lip. “Faster. Please.” She mumbled.

Spencer snapped his hips a little faster. He let a hand come down between them and start rubbing her clit.

“Fuckin- tryin’ to kill me?” She asked breathlessly, through a smile.

Spencer chuckled and rubbed faster. “This feel good, baby?” He asked. She started nodding almost immediately letting out an incoherent word.

“Fuck, Spence— M’close.” She spoke, feeling the tightening in her lower stomach.

“Fuck baby— feel so good. So tight.” He spoke as she uncontrollably clench around him. “Y/N/N, I’m so close baby.”

Y/N let out breathy moans and dug her nails into his back. “I’m gonna come.”

“Come for me, baby.” He whispered in her ear.

Y/N squeezed around him again before she released. She looked up at him as he kept thrusting into her. “You make me feel so good, baby—“ Spencer nodded as he filled the condom.

Y/N panted and smiled up at him as he squeezed his eyes shut, hips stuttering.

After a moment of silence, Spencer looked down at her with his chest heaving. He pulled out of her slowly and tapped her hip. “Come on.”

Y/N giggled. “Spencer, I don’t think I can fuckin’ stand.”

He smiled at her and pulled her up. He dragged her towards his bathroom and let go of her body when he went to turn on the shower.

Once he was done checking the temperature, he pulled her back to him and stepped inside the shower.

They showered, not speaking but just staying in each other’s presence. Y/N thought it was awkward at first but she settled in when Spencer helped her wash her body.

Hours later, Spencer had given Y/N a tshirt, a pair of his boxers and socks to put on since her clothes were dirty now.

She sat up in his bed, watching him read. Yes, they had talked to each other about the events of the hours before but it was weird.

After a moment, she heard Spencer sigh and he put his book down on his bedside table.

He turned to Y/N and held out his hand, scooting down to lay on his side. She smiled and grabbed his hand, using it to pull herself down to let next to him, cuddling into his side.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He spoke suddenly.

She furrowed her eyebrows and looked up at him. “F-for what?” She asked.

“I… I didn’t want you to feel… I don’t know, rushed?” He sighed. His voice was quiet.

Y/N shook her head. “No, no I didn’t feel rushed.” She told him. “Spencer, do you not understand that I really really like you?” She asked, smiling.

Spencer felt his heart speed up. Y/N had really really liked him. “I really like you, Y/N.” He nodded. “I want to take you out.”

“On a date?” She asked, her grin widening.

“On a date.” He nodded. “We can go out, we can eat, go see a movie and then I can kiss you. And then I can call you when you’re in bed later that night and tell you what a great time I had.”

Y/N giggled and his her face in his chest. “Okay. Take me out then, Spence. I would love that,”

The rest of that night was spent cuddling and talking and watching stupid reality shows until Y/N fell asleep.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.••.•.

Thank you so much to @f-me-reid for this amazing request!!! I really enjoyed writing this one!

#spencer reid #spencer fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x original female character #criminal minds #spencer x oc #spencer x reader #crimimal minds #spencer x you #the bau

2K notes · View notes

cozyquinn · 2 years ago

Text

Not bad, old man

Hopping on the older!eddie hype here, seeing as its the only thing I've been able to write anything for recently, bloody writer's block. I'm a sucker for age gap fics, so couldn't resist going for the upper end of the age gap here- Eddie is late 40s, reader is written to be 22-24 (these ages are not mentioned in the fic but they are the ones I had in mind when writing)

A/N: I've left reader's description as bare as possible, down to not specifying what clothes are worn by reader to make it as plausible as a self-insert as possible. I hope it doesn't retract any from the fic! Not 100% happy with this one, but hope it suffices!

I have since gone back through and amended parts that perhaps could have been thought through a little better and added bits in to smooth things out a bit!

Also, I do not give permission for my work to be replicated or reposted anywhere.

summary: When Eddie agrees to resume his place in Corroded Coffin for one night as a favour to Gareth, he doesn't expect the Hideout to offer an opportunity to go home with anyone, let alone the pretty girl half his age.

warnings: 18+ smut ahead, minors DNI. Blogs interacting with this work who do not have their age in bio will be blocked.

No established timeframe, NO established relationship, older!Eddie x fem!reader, NO use of Y/N

trigger warnings for: age gap, daddy kink, use of pet names (sweet thing, sweetheart, baby, baby girl), use of 'fetish' or kink related nicknames (Daddy, Sir), p in v intercourse, oral (f receiving, mention of m receiving) spanking with hand, choking aftercare at the end! Please let me know if you find any others, but also note that this list is not exhaustive- please consume content safely and cautiously! If you don't like this kind of content, please just scroll on!

Your sober mind does little to dull out the unpleasantness of the Hideout in all its stale and smoky glory. The unfamiliar surroundings and gawping eyes of older men have you shrinking into the peeling wallpaper.

Only here thanks to the lack of excitement anywhere else mid-week in Hawkins, Indiana, and the promise that the headlining bands didn't always suck, you settle yourself comfortably against the wall.

Swearing to yourself you'd stay sober tonight, you nurse a tepid Coke -if you could call it that- in your hands, the measly dash of ice now fully melted by the heat of your hands and the heavy smoker's breath filling the room; condensation on your glass matching the slow drip of perspiration at the nape of your neck, both cooling your skin some.

A murmured voice announces the headlining band of the night, and you watch as four older men bustle on to the stage; a concoction of greying hair and fading ink that adorns the skin on show.

The band's entrance is blighted somewhat by a commotion amongst the 18-strong crowd; an elderly patron being shooed from the bar for his rather chancey grope at the band's sole groupie's backside.

On the stage, Eddie shakes his head with a smirk, remarking to himself how some things never change. The wrinkles forming around his eyes deepen as he squints into the cheap fluorescent lights blaring down on him.

Breathing in the stale air of his old stomping ground offers him a little confidence, but doesn't mask the time passed since he was last here; reminiscing on days of shooting the shit until early hours and thrashing himself across the stage until his bones ached.

He scans the room finding mostly dull eyes, only partly bothered by the presence of the aged misfits readying their instruments; the overall response not helping to calm his nerves from years of avoiding any kind of stage presence. This appearance was just a favour to Gareth, after all.

That is, until his eyes fall on you tucked quietly to the side of the room. Entirely out of place, but a gracious reprieve from the groaning oldies giving Eddie an age complex in his forties.

He feels a pang, a warmth, radiating from you across the room; he shakes the years from his heavy shoulders, only breaking your eye contact with a confident wink in your direction.

You quirk a smile up at the older metalhead on stage, his eyes glinting back in amusement as his bandmate musters up an anticipatory drumroll behind him; the rumble sent out across the floor lit a flame of energy below your feet, the vibration coaxing boldness through your bones as you sway to the music.

You keep your eyes trained on him throughout the set, darting between the silver strands scattered throughout his brown curls, his strong hands adorned with rings commanding control over the slender neck of his guitar, and the snarling twitches of his lips as he belts out vocals.

In Eddie's mind, the set goes without a hitch- minus the few misplayed notes dotted here and there from a lack of recent practice. 'Not bad for an old timer, huh', he thinks to himself.

He sets down his guitar, letting the guys know he was heading to the bar to wetten his hoarse throat.

Despite his best efforts to resist temptation -to remind himself of his seniority- he finds himself veering towards you where you'd settled on the left side of the bar, taking in your misplaced youthfullness amongst heavy smoke and wrinkled skin.

He approaches you, announcing his presence to your turned back with a kind greeting to the bartender. You turn your head just as his palm gently brushes your shoulder.

"Hey there, sweet thing. Mind if I sit here?" He says, gesturing to the seat to your right.

"Go ahead" you nod, turning to face him as he settles onto the fraying fabric and creaking wood.

"Thanks doll, the name's Eddie"

He reaches for your hand, bringing your knuckles to his chapped lips; a blush rising from your chest as you garble out your own monicker with as much composure as you can muster. A tarnished ring catches your finger as he gently pulls his hand away, electricity seering through your palm in its wake.

"I see you stuck around for the set. What'dya think?" He keeps up the conversation, a warm smile never leaving his face.

"Yeah, I saw you up there. You were pretty good, for an old man" You quirk your shoulders, a sly grin gracing your soft features as you eye him up from your periphery; doing anything to force a calm facade amongst the flurry of entirely inappropriate thoughts breaching your mind as you eye him up close.

"Oh, low blow. You wound me sweetheart" He chuckles with a hand held mockingly to his chest, any suggestion of real hurt in his voice dampened by the deep-set grin adorning his face. He continues before you can respond.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing here, anyway? Would'na taken this place to be your kind of scene"

You shrug, dipping your head to focus in on your fingers fidgeting against the cup in your hands, doing your best to hide your blush from his attentive eyes.

"I guess I was just looking for something different. I'm sick of all those hyped up bars charging twice the price and offering glorified karaoke as headline bands, you know?" You say, a mischievous glint in your eye as you watch him through your eyelashes.

This earns you a deep chuckle, the gruffness settling heavily on your chest and lighting a warmth under your skin.

"Yeah, I get that" he nods, his eyes squinting in thought for a second.

"Uh, can I get you a drink? Least I could do since you stuck around for the whole set?" Eddie's eyes light up at his own gentle humour, a kind smile settled on his lips to keep you sweet.

Smiling sweetly in thanks for the offer, you reply.

"Oh, I'm not drinking tonight. Not alcohol anyway, just sticking to whatever sugar saturated crap this is supposed to be."

You raise your half-full cup to him with a laugh, trying desperately to ignore the throb settling between your thighs with each look he sends your way.

He laughs deeply, nodding understandingly at your response. He shifts on his seat, his calloused fingers reaching to scratch at the base of his neck.

"I forgot how humid this damn place gets" His voice is hoarse with age and strain but smoothens out with a cough.

He stands, shrugging off his thinning red flannel to reveal a plethora of faded ink dotted down his arms. Your eyes settle on the slightly blownout bats rounding his forearm; wondering what else could be hiding beneath the black shirt left hugging his torso.

Your heart thumps a little harder as your eyes scan out wider, along his broad shoulders and down towards his covered navel. The heavy breath leaving your lips thickens the air around you, winding around your throat in a way you imagine Eddie's rough hand would.

You're cruelly brought out of your thoughts by the sound of Eddie's voice above you.

"Hey darlin', you got a lil bit'a drool right-" he pauses, bringing his forefinger to the corner of his upturned mouth and brushing the greying fuzz above his lip.

You bring your hand up to your face with speed, frantically wiping and prodding at your lips; your mind burning with embarassment, your cunt betraying you with a clench.

He leans down, the scratch of salt and pepper scruff along his jawline tickling your cheek as his supple lips tease the shell of your ear. A gentle whisper sending a flush from your cheeks to your gently throbbing cunt.

"I'm just teasing ya, sweetheart" He takes a small breath before continuing.

"But don't think I haven't seen you eyeing me up. Didn't your daddy ever tell you it was rude to stare?"

His words punch a gasp from your chest, and his sly grin darkens the red tinge adorning your cheeks.

With eyes wide and pupils blown, you lean back. Your mouth agape, lips lightly trembling, as you search your clouded brain desperately for a response.

Eddie beats you to it, his right hand now gently approaching your cheek, his forefinger outstretched to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear; the clench of your thighs doesn't go unnoticed.

A quiet whimper leaves your lips as he brings you closer, his rough palm now caressing your neck. His thumb gently rubs along the vein pulsing through your skin, applying enough pressure to have your eyes fluttering closed and your hands reaching up to his tousled curls for purchase.

Without a second thought, your lips are on his. Chapped against smooth, you taste a hint of settled smoke and mint. You deepen the kiss, wanting to taste more of him. His rough tongue fights with yours, experience overpowering desperation.

His hands map out the path of your body, cupping and pinching in all the right places before they settle on your ass. Experienced fingers pressing into your flesh with a delicious sting, soothed by the lick of cool metal. His lips leave yours as he trails kisses along your chin, suckling a sweet red bud into your skin where your neck meets your jaw.

His mind fights an internal battle. He knows better, you've got to be at least half his age, but the aching pulse from his cock wins over.

"How about I show you what this old man can do, huh?" He growls into your ear, pulling you up onto your tiptoes as he nuzzles his strong nose into your throat.

You squeak out a "yes", the word drawling into a squeal when his teeth nip at your soft skin.

"Was hopin' you'd say that"

With that, he's leading you towards the door, leaving behind any semblance of your control and the now-flat cola you placed clumsily onto the bar.

Your feet stumble slightly underneath you as you try to keep up. The thrash of your thighs against each other with each small misstep eliciting a feeble whine from your lips.

Disregarding the call from Gareth across the room, Eddie thrusts you both out into the crisp air; gently draping the thin material of his flannel over your shoulders as he leads you to his van parked in the lot just a few feet from the door.

Throwing himself into the drivers seat with an urgency he thought he lost in his thirties, Eddie starts the engine and whips the van out of the lot quicker than your hazy mind can keep up with.

Your pulse races to the thrum of the engine, Eddie's hand squeezing your supple thigh leaves you twitching and aching for more; thanking all that's holy for the short distance between the Hideout and Eddie's trailer when he parks up.

He helps you out of his van, his arm flexing around your waist as he half-carries you to the threshold of his front door; swinging it open gently with the rattle of rusting keys.

"Sorry sweetheart. It ain't much, but it's mine" he murmurs, lightly gesturing to the small space of his living room.

You shake your head, a whispered reassurance of his home's perfection slipping through the crack of your swollen lips, you grasp his forearms with desperation, hoping he'll feel the throb of your hole through your hands.

Eddie seems to get the message, pointing in the direction of his room, sealing his promise of joining you in a moment with a kiss.

You rush to his room, peeling your outer layers of clothing from your body, fondling your breasts and teasing the slope of your hips as you go. Unclasping your bra, you toy with the straps in a teasing game, edging yourself with fingertip caresses against your skin.

A hungry grunt behind you grabs your attention, halting your sweet touches. You turn, gently circling your shoulders to tease away the straps sitting pretty on your clavicle.

You spread your arms out infront of you, sending your bra tumbling to the floor; a gentle request for closeness, your skin screaming to be touched.

Standing in just his underwear, Eddie's eyes trace your figure from top to bottom, his chapped lips being soothed with the brush of his tongue across them; you parallel his softness with a harsh bite to your bottom lip as your eyes follow the path of his tattoos to the bulge tenting his boxers.

The only reminder of his age sits at the edge of his eyes, the lines there softening his rugged look. He gives you little time to admire his mature but toned body as, with a feralness you've never before experienced, Eddie has you pinned to the bed.

His hips hold yours to the mattress, the giration of his pelvis offering sweet, agonising relief to your swollen clit through the layers of fabric.

He pulls away, planting hot kisses down your body with a desperation unmatched, the tickle of coarse stubble against your skin soothed by the drag of his warm tongue.

As he reaches the peak of your mound, your jittering hands inch down to circle your thumbs across his cheeks. His deep brown eyes settle on you, committing your vulnerable beauty to memory.

Your fingers loop through his hair, his silver curls adorning your digits like delicate rings as you rut your hips towards him. A sweet whine is all it takes to beckon the touch of his thick fingers through the cotton modesty of your panties.

You writhe and whine, begging for more; the blush of your cunt calling to his cock like a siren's song to a sailor. A slow stream of arousal fills your panties, hollowing the material to show the empty clench of your heat.

"Please Daddy"

It's barely a whisper but Eddie hears it, clear as a bell. His eyes widen for a moment, mirroring your disbelief at the words uttered from your mouth, before he's smirking into your clammy skin.

"What was that baby? Want to repeat that for me?"

You whine, shaking your head as your desperation fights shame. You squeeze your eyes shut and plead, "please Daddy, need you"

He smirks to himself. Whispering so low you'll never hear, "Daddy kink, huh. Should've guessed that one".

Raising his voice enough to flood your senses, his words ring out.

"Sweet little girl wants more, huh?" The smirk evident in his words.

He settles a rugged finger under your chin to coax your gaze back up to his, holding you there whilst you squirm; tears brimming your stinging eyelids.

"No need to cry sweetheart, Daddy's got you" he promises with a gentle tug and pull at the waistband of your panties until they hang idly from your ankle.

He wastes no time in blessing your bundle of nerves with his experienced tongue, branding the Munson name into your skin amongst calculated figure-of-eights.

You sob sweet nothings into the heavy air as his fingers breach the cusp of your entrance. His free hand takes purchase of your chin, curling you in on yourself to watch as the tattoos decorating his knuckles disappear into your heat with a squelch.

The cold sear of his rings against your sore folds has you hissing under your breath; each plunge of his fingers offering a new sweet wetness over the shimmering metal.

You beg to repay the favour, offering him your desperate mouth, as a blinding pressure builds in your core. He reassures you "next time baby", as you soak his fingers, extinguishing the flame of the inked candle on his middle finger with your wet.

Leaving you no time to regain your breath, his mouth is on your lips, your cheeks, your throat. Plump lips caressing your skin as the throbbing head of his cock kisses your entrance.

You whine as he enters you, the stretch unholy as you adjust to his size. His heavy balls rest against your pert arse and his hazy smile tells you he's exactly where he wants to be.

"That's it baby girl. Feels good, huh? Old man still got it?"

He taunts you with your earlier jabs. The curve of his cock relentlessly prodding at your aching walls, sweetening the sting of his jeering.

Flashes of white appear in your vision with each harsh thrust of his hips and snarl from his chest, and you grind your hips further down on to his pulsing cock.

You nod frantically to answer his question, your hands caressing his still-soft skin before puncturing your nails through the swell of his shoulders.

His desperation starts to show, his calloused hands slipping beneath your backside to hold your hips at an angle. His tip kisses your cervix, punching harsh moans from your chest as his thrusts start to falter.

"Gonna cum, sweetheart. Tell me where you want it"

Your head lolls back as you whimper a pathetic "inside me Daddy, please", your own words driving you over the edge to your honey-sweet climax as you quiver beneath him.

His cock throbs inside you, each flex against your walls sending aftershocks through your spent body. His forehead rests against your breasts, both of you rapidly chasing steady breath. As you calm down, he gently removes himself from you, rubbing soothing circles into your hips to lessen the sting.

"I'll be right back babygirl", he whispers into your cheek with a kiss, leaving the room momentarily to grab a damp cloth to clean you up.

You turn to him once the rise and fall of your chest has steadied, your bleary eyes finding adoration staring back. He smiles widely at you as he pulls you in close to his side, but you're the first to speak.

"You okay?", you ask quietly with a smile, not wanting to disturb the moment.

"More than okay. How you holdin' up, sweetheart?"

You only nod in response, your gentle eyes reassuring him that you were doing just fine.

His smile widens, a mischievous glint taking form as your eyes flutter closed.

He chuckles to himself, the vibration of his chest caressing your cheek as his gruff voice fills the air again.

"Not bad for an old man, huh?"

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot #older!eddie #older!eddie x reader #older!eddie x you

3K notes · View notes

doveywovy · 4 months ago

Text

A drabble trade with @domoz, with the prompts "marriage hunt" & "cultural differences"!

-------

This was the first time in over two hundreds years that the Senju had allowed another clan to be present for the midsummer hunt, much less partake. An act of trust, Hashirama had called it. Tobirama wasn’t entirely opposed, but he did wish Aniki had bothered to explain the details of the ceremony to the other clan.

The Senju Midsummer Marriage Hunt was a celebration of life. It was a matter of connecting to nature, reconnecting to their place in nature. The intricacies of the rituals surrounding it, as most long-ago formed religious practices, were as detailed as they were endless. Dressed only in cotton, bringing only bow and arrows as their weapons, and all of them barefoot- the Senju had taken great efforts to ensure the event remained connected in all ways back to nature. Hashirama had reassured him multiple times that it wouldn’t be trouble- that the Uchiha, as a clan well known for their hunting prowess, would not disturb things where it mattered.

The sun high, the day hot, and the Uchiha’s arrival to the meadow was already proving his brother wrong.

They arrived in a burst of color through the brushwork, making noise that shinobi normally are naturally devoid of. Some are playing instruments, drums and flutes, and there’s laughter and yelling and the clatter of wooden geta knocking together. Tobirama makes a mental note to direct the hunt in the opposite direction from which the Uchiha had come; there would certainly be nothing to catch along the trail after that terrible racket.

Despite all the noise, it’s a smaller group then Tobirama would’ve expected. No children, no elderly; only a small group of presumed-shinobi.

Hashirama’s welcoming smile grows strained, but he still calls out to the procession. “Hello, hello! So glad you accepted our invitation!”

Madara Uchiha makes his way to the front and accepts Hashirama’s excited hug with good nature. As the noise finally died down, the two groups were able to observe each other- and Tobirama is surprised to find matching looks of disdain across the way. Both the Senju and the Uchiha clearly do not approve of each other’s choice in clothing.

The Uchiha are dressed in finary. Delicate silks, layers of jewelry. Even Madara has bothered to tie his hair back in an imitation of a presentable style. They look dressed to meet the daimyo, not for a day and a half of hunting on a boiling hot summer day.

Izuna shoves his way forward. He’s dressed even nicer than the rest, with bright red makeup smeared at the corners of his eyes and his hair a glossy well-groomed braid along his back. He gestures at Tobirama, turns to face Madara, and says, “I told you!”

“Izuna.” Madara responds, in a reprimanding tone near-identical to Hashirama’s. It’s a little funny, but Tobirama hides his mirth for fear of making the situation worse.

Hikaku- and ah, unusual for so many members of the Uchiha main family to have come all together- makes his way to Izuna’s side and pats him reassuringly on the shoulder. “We mustn’t judge the Senju for….aesthetic differences. If their tradition calls for more practical clothing, we should respect it.”

He says it very nicely, but it certainly sounds judgemental. Tobirama would be offended if he wasn’t practicing a very similar judgment of the Uchiha tradition. Dressing up for hunting in old growth forests seems unbearably foolish, regardless of historical precedent.

“Look, look, this is my fault. I really should’ve explained it better.” Hashirama offers, which does seem to mollify both halves of the crowd. “We Senju host a hunt every midsummer in honor of all the marriages in the past year. It’s a way to reconnect with our place in the natural order, which is why we tend to dress down and-”

“Honor the marriages?” Madara stutters out. All of the Uchiha, in fact, seem more confused at Hashirama’s words.

“Yes, exactly! Because of- you know, the spring babies growing up and…” His voice trails off.

“The Uchiha,” Hikaku explains, face flushed a bright red, “Have our own tradition called a marriage hunt. A tradition where a shinobi can catch a spouse. We had assumed…”

Tobirama waits until the clamor from his own clan dies down- outrage from some, certainly, but more laughter than anything. Such an outrageous miscommunication, it’s hard for any of them to find anger and not humor.

“I believe, with some effort, our traditions could be merged.” Tobirama offers politely, and ignores the weight of a very intense stare at his words.

#i wrote this as #tobiizu #but its honestly open to multiple ship interpretations #including multiship actually. that would be a very fun additional cultural difference #the uchiha all dress nice because its a WEDDING to them #meanwhile the senju are going full hippie #truly the worst combo

101 notes · View notes

yelenasdiary · 1 year ago

Note

Kate Bishop x Reader. Taking place during Episode 2. Reader is a young surgeon and Kate's girlfriend. Kate returns injured with Clint. Reader may be Clint's daughter and doesn't know his daughter is dating Kate.

Secrets Out

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Surgeon! Barton! Reader

Summary: Treating your girlfriend wasn’t how you thought you’d be spending your Sunday afternoon at work.

AC: Thank you for sending this!! Although I have only seen Hawkeye once, I loved the idea and there needs to be so much more Kate fics! I hope you enjoy this x

As part of your studies to become a surgeon, you had to do some volunteer work at the local hospital to help put what you've learned so far into practice. Of course, given you're only half-way through your second year of med school, you weren't expected to do any major operations like a heart transplant. You would scrub in on operations like that and watch as the surgeon did their magic and other times you'd help out in emergency.

Tonight, was exactly that, a few hours in the emergency room helping out the nurses. You never knew what injury would walk through those big sliding doors. "Alright, Mrs Anderson, take it easy for the rest of the week, okay?" you smiled softly at the elderly woman who had slipped in her kitchen while making dinner. She required a few small stitches.

"Thank you, doc!" the woman smiled before you showed her out. With her cart, you placed it in the filing system at the front desk before taking a much needed mouthful of your soon to be cold coffee when your eyes locked onto the next patient who walked into the ER.

"Dad?" you questioned as you wandered over to him, "are you okay?!" you asked in a worry. Your eyes scanning every part of him for any injuries or signs of blood.

"It's not me honey" he assured you, "it's Kate" he added. Your heart sunk as you saw your girlfriend standing behind your father with a soft smile and a large gash on her forehead as she mouthed "I'm sorry" when you raised a concerned brow at her.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I slipped" Kate lied which only made you tilt your heard at the dark-haired woman.

"Take a seat on bed four, I'll be with you in a moment" you replied, giving your girlfriend a non-impressed look. Your dad, Clint, followed Kate to the bed where they both waited for you to return with fresh instruments to stitch Kate's forehead up. It was hard for you to keep your worries to a minimum when your father was yet to know about your relationship with his crime fighting partner.

You returned with everything you needed and began to clean up the blood that made a river down the side of Kate's face. She would see the worry in your eyes and knew she'd be getting a talk when she was home alone with you. Clint offered to get some fresh coffee as it would take a while for you to make sure Kate could leave in be better condition she arrived in.

"What happened?" you asked as you jabbed her with some lidocaine to numb the area before giving the woman stitches.

"It was just a little fight; you should see the others! I think they'll need a lot more than stitches" she replied with a chuckle. You didn't find it funny though.

"Baby, I already worry about my dad out there fighting aliens and whatever else, now I have to worry about you as well and somehow, I'm more worried about you than my dad" you explained as you prepared the stitches. Kate gently placed her hand over your blue gloved hand, making you look at her once more.

"I promise you, I'm okay" she assured you.

"Honey, I'm about to give you 4 stitches, I wouldn't exactly say that's okay"

Kate didn't want to make you worry any more than you already were, "what can I do to make this up to you?" she asked.

"You could be more careful? Maybe not throw yourself into fights?" You raised a brow at her once more. Kate raised your hand to her lips and kissed your covered knuckles as she looked up at you, "your wish is my command" she smiled softly. Her cuteness was more than enough for you to forgive her and make you blush, you chuckled, "now I have to change my gloves again" you playfully rolled your eyes before taking off the now contaminated gloves.

As you turned around to get more gloves, you were met with the very protective look of your father who had just seen everything. He moved slightly to the left and made eye contact with Kate while instantly gulping and sloughing in hopes it would hide her from the glaring look from your father.

"So, which one of you is going to explain this?" he asked, placing the two take away coffee cups in the bin before crossing his arms over his chest.

"Dad, not here, not now" you tried to keep professional as you grabbed a fresh set of gloves.

----

You would've had Kate stitched up and out the door by now if it wasn't for the glaring stare your father was giving the two of you. Not a word was spoken as you stitched up your girlfriend's gash while your mind tried its best to not think about the talk you're going to have to have with your father.

It was safe to say that your dad has always been extremely protective of you, you're his eldest child and nobody would ever be good enough for his little girl. Even through high school, anybody you dated not only got a talking too from your father but also his friends, the avengers.

"How long have you two been dating?" Clint asked, breaking the silence. Kate looked at you as she chewed the inside of her cheek, it was clear she was slightly scared of what your father and her mentor might think of her dating you.

"A few months" you replied as you began to finish up Kate's stitches. Your father's eyes looked direct at Kate as you backed away from her and removed your gloves once again. "Remind me again my number one rule, Bishop" he spoke sternly.

"Not to flirt with your daughter" Kate confessed.

"Lucky you because it was me to who flirted with Kate" you turned to your dad who wasn't impressed. "Why? I mean, you can ha-"

"Dad!" you interrupted him, "I know you love me, and you care about me but, so does Kate. She's amazing, she's respectful, she's funny, she's smart and beyond beautiful, she makes me happy and for once, please, just give this one a chance. No talks from your or the others, if I didn't think Kate would be good for me, I wouldn't have asked her out myself" you explained, slightly unloading some built up feelings.

Clint took a moment to think about what you were saying, his eyes drifted back to Kate before he sighed in defeat. "Can I just say one thing?" Your father asked, you nodded.

"You hurt her in anyway a-"

"I know, you'll kill me and then most likely the Avengers will kill me and for some reason I feel like you'd kill me again" Kate interrupted, chuckling nervously at her own words. You couldn't help but shoot your dad and unimpressed look before he opened his mouth again.

"You best come to dinner Friday night then, Laura is going to want to know about this" he replied. Your dad won't admit it but he couldn't have picked anybody better for you to date. He knew Kate would never hurt you and that she would treat you with nothing but love and respect, it just meant now he had to really make sure that she wouldn't get hurt on the job.

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop #hawkeye #marvel #fanfiction

404 notes · View notes