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shenanigans-and-imagines · 1 year

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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

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mothiir · 19 days

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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

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thatgirlstrawberry · 2 years

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

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cozyquinn · 2 years

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

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doveywovy · 2 months

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

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thy-golden-knight · 1 month

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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.

#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

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lifblogs · 3 months

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How Each of the Bad Batch Members Use Their Skills On Pabu

Hunter

Tracks and catches game

Provides an early alert for storms and natural disasters (I’m assuming he can sense lightning build-up)

Helps Shep organize manual labor projects with the community

Learns to cook really well because of his excellent nose

Realizes he has perfect pitch from his enhanced senses and picks up music (maybe a string instrument, perhaps?)

Teaches self-defense classes (it started by accident)

Crosshair

Uses his excellent eye and observational skills to pick up doing artwork. Painting, maybe. He has the stillness and the patience for it.

Fishing (also requires the focus and patience he has, and different types of fishing, like spear-fishing probably require a good eye)

Search and rescue during natural disasters

Tech

Honestly, it’d he hard to get this guy to stop technologically upgrading Pabu. You get access to the holonet, and you get access to the holonet! Where would it end?

Tricky home repair jobs that require precision such as working with technology.

Accidentally teaches a class on strategy because he gets fed up that the local children don’t know as much as Omega about these very important things.

Would also be great with gardening given it is technically a science. Pabu’s gardens flourish under his control.

Wrecker

Home and architectural repair

Debris cleaning after storms

Fishing (particularly with nets and hauling in big fish)

Ends up helping the community by carrying heavy things they might need transported

Is always open to helping the infirm and elderly if his muscles are required

Echo

Accidentally starts physical therapy when he realizes he can provide information, help, and support for Pabu’s disabled community

Omega

This girl can do anything and everything, and her job is to live and thrive and grow, snd she does

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #headcanons

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aziraphales-library · 4 months

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Lost Fic #184

1. Hi! A while back ago I saw a fic in which Agnes Nutter wrote one last last prophecy, which read, “He loves ye too, ye dafte olde serpent” or something similar to that. Has anyone seen a fic like that? Thanks so much, y’all do amazing work here! - @seraphic-sibyl

2. Hi there, I was looking for a fic I read awhile ago where Aziraphale speaks to God about his relationship with Crowley, and she describes it sort of like that Crowley is a flaming sword, and therefore Aziraphale is the sheath? I’m sorry if that’s too vague, but thank you for the help you do! -anon

3. I'm looking for a fic and I am hoping you can help me locate it. You all do such a great service finding fics that are lost and I am hoping you can help me. The fic is about Crowley and Aziraphale living in the same building and I think Aziraphale is playing records or maybe plays the piano and Crowley joins him on some instrument even though they can't see each other. Crowley is famous and Aziraphale has a child that he is either looking after or its his son. (Adam maybe?) They go over to Crowleys to see each other and I think Crowley is surprised that Aziraphale isn't an elderly man. I honestly have been looking for it for a while with no luck and I feel like the longer look the more blurry the details get. - anon

4. Hello lovely mods! I am looking for a lost fic that I cannot find for the life of me - it may have been deleted. It was a smutty fic that involved Crowley driving home in 1967 with Aziraphale’s thermos of holy water between his legs, and it results in Crowley “making an effort” for the first time in the Bentley lol. Any help finding it would be much appreciated ty! - anon

5. Hi, hello! Thank you so very much for all your work! I'm looking for a Night at Crowley's Flat fic, but I'm not certain it was tagged that way, and I'm also not certain of the rating. All I remember is they get back to the flat, and are sort of tiptoeing around each other. C decides to go to bed, and leaves A to his own devices. Eventually, A decides to crawl into bed with C anyway, to find him still awake. Thank you again!! - @opheliasflorist

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

#good omens #lost fic #ineffable husbands #mod d

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restrumed · 1 year

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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

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hundredandsix · 1 year

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ok but ellie x milf!reader 😵‍💫😵‍💫 she’d be feral

Strings ✩ [ ellie williams ] ✩

Oh, anon. I love the way you think.

just a girl (part two)

guitar teacher!ellie x milf!reader

✩ wc: 1.3k

✩ summary: Ellie's day gets a bit more exciting when she meets her favorite student's mom.

✩ cw: ellie having absolutely no game

"That's perfect, buddy!" Ellie exclaimed.

Jackson abandoned the guitar he was holding to throw his arms up in victory. Ellie managed to grab the instrument before it went crashing to the floor, but her heart raced at the prospect of it breaking.

A quick glance at the clock told her she had a few minutes left of the lesson, so she strapped his guitar back in its travel case. When she had the bag zipped up, she pulled her rolling chair in front of his seat to could give him a few parting words.

"You did great today, little guy! I'm going to give you some homew—"

Jackson's hands shot out in front of her face, tiny fingers wiggling erratically.

"Ellieeeee, my fingers hurt!"

With a sigh, she pushed his hands back into his lap.

"That's okay! It's supposed to at first. But if you keep practicing, you'll build up callouses on your fingers and it won't hurt anymore."

Ellie regretted her words when she saw his nose wrinkle. He curled in on himself, horrified by her statement.

"Callouses! What are those?"

She suppressed her laughter at his reaction, leaving a gentle pat on his shoulder to calm him. He was pouting, eyes on his feet as he swung them back and forth under the chair. His legs weren't long enough to reach the floor.

"It's just extra skin. I have lots of them! Here let me show you," she said, pointing to his right ring finger. "You've already got one from holding your pencil at school."

Nose still wrinkled, Jackson held his right hand in front of his face. He peered over his hand to hers, trying to get a look at her callouses.

A gentle knock at the studio door pulled Ellie from her thoughts. It opened with a click.

"Hey, Mrs. Y/L/N. Jackson did great today. He learned all about—" Ellie stopped in her tracks because that was not Jackson's elderly grandmother standing at the door.

Jackson shot up from his seat, a ball full of energy. He ran right at you, sending you sprawling backward into the open door. You cringed at the loud bang of the knob against the wall.

"Mommy!"

"Jackie! Calm down!" you scolded, trying to gain control over the wild child's movements.

Ellie was frozen in what could be called shock. She was positively, wholeheartedly, absolutely starstruck, and she almost wished it was Jackson's grandmother because she didn't think she'd be able to form any words for this gorgeous, otherworldly woman.

She scanned your hands and barely hid her smile when she saw. No wedding ring.

"Sorry about that. I'm Jackson's mom. Usually, my mom is the one who picks him up, but I reworked my schedule. It should be me who gets him from now on."

Despite the 7-year-old's size, you threw him up in your arms like he was nothing. He clung to you like a spider monkey, legs wrapped around your waist.

She'd do the same thing if you gave her a chance. God, she'd do anything to get-

You were speaking to her. And she was staring at you, lips slightly parted, like a complete idiot.

"W-well, it's great to meet you Ms...Y/L/N? I'm Ellie."

She bit her lip, silently praying that you went by your mothers' last name. Please. Please. Please.

"Oh, I know who you are," you winked, and Ellie's soul just about left her body, descending into whatever special layer of hell was destined for lesbians who got the hots for their favorite student's mother. "Jackie tells me all about you. And please, call me Y/N. Mrs. Y/L/N is my mother."

She swallowed heavily. You went by your maiden name. The longer she looked at you, the more she noticed and her pounding heart was short-circuiting. God, your hands, your hips.

She pushed a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. Did she look alright? Ellie didn't exactly have to worry about how she looked all day when teaching guitar to children. She wished she wore the green flannel instead of the red. An ex once told her it made her eyes look brighter.

She realized she was taking too long to respond again when you cleared your throat.

"Are you alright, Ellie?" you asked, an innocent smile on your face.

She was sure you were doing it on purpose. You had to be.

"Mommy, look! Ellie says I have a callous," Jackson exclaimed, pulling his face out of your neck to show you his little finger.

"Wow! Let me see!"

His adorable voice ripped Ellie out of her thoughts again. She pinched her forearm with her left hand, desperate for something to ground her.

"Here, let me get you his stuff," she mumbled, happy for something to do as she shoved the rest of Jackson's things into his travel bag.

Your fingers brush over her entire freckled hand when she handed you the case. Ellie couldn't help it. She visibly shivered against your touch, wondering where else you would touch her if she asked. She just needed one chance.

She allowed herself a second to look at your hands, which most definitely just touched her on purpose. Even Ellie wasn't delusional enough to believe that was an accident. She couldn't stop her thoughts from going to a darker, more intimate place.

"Should I give you my number?" you said, trying to wrangle your son and his bag at the same time.

She tried so hard to stop it, but nothing could prevent the rosy blush that spread across her cheeks. She felt it go all the way to her ears and down her neck. Yes, yes, yes. Give her your number. Give her everything. She could take it. She could take anything you give to her. Anything you wanted.

You smiled wide, teeth shown in a grin that almost doubled as a laugh. Your hand reached out to squeeze her shoulder, nails gently scratching against the flannel.

"Just in case something happens. With Jackie," you clarified.

Ellie had to physically shake her head to pull herself out of her thoughts. It was so wrong to think of you that way. Of course that was not what you meant.

"Right," she said, taking your phone from your waiting hand.

Hands shaking, she managed to put her number in your phone. There was no way you missed the way she was shaking when she handed you the phone back.

"Great! Now tell Miss Ellie thank you!" you said, turning toward your restless son.

Ellie kept forgetting Jackson was there. There was never a quiet moment with him, but he was silent now, eyes scanning between you and her.

"Bye! Thank you!" he said, hopping down from your arms and grabbing your arm.

"Bye, Jackson! Don't forget to practice the notes we learned, okay?" she said, feeling bad for neglecting her favorite student for a moment.

"Thanks, Ellie," you said, sending her another wink.

You let your son pull you out of the room, and as soon as you were out of sight, Ellie let herself fall against the door. She was ready to shut it and lock herself away for the rest of the afternoon, but she stopped breathing when she heard a voice from down the hallway.

"Mommy, do you think Miss Ellie is pretty?"

Her heart skipped another beat or two as she awaited your response.

"Well...um—She's a great teacher, isn't she?" you said, voice strained as you tried to come up with a response.

He was giggling now and she could see the look on his face. She had never met a happier, more expressive child.

"I think Miss Ellie thinks you’re pretty. Just like Hannah in my class! She always says..."

The rest of his sentence faded as you walked out of her earshot. Ellie cursed under her breath and added being exposed by a literal seven-year-old to her list of things that would torment her while she was trying to fall asleep.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a/n - I kind of feel like this is going to flop, so let me know if you want a part two!

#ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader #lesbian #tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie x y/n #sub!ellie #bottom!ellie #guitar teacher!ellie #answered asks #hundredandsix

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cambion-companion · 2 years

Note

Aemond and the trope "Reluctantly has a crush on his favourite weirdo and hates that he's soft about it but damn they're cute" gives me life

"I hate that I'm in love with you, what no I didn't say love, shut up" vibes

'Y/N, try to act like you're enjoying this."

"Bite me, Aemond."

haha this was the perfect ask for my newest enemies to lovers oneshot.

Aemond x fem!reader | enemies to lovers | light smut at end

“In public, we’re in love. In private, we are in a civil war. Remember that, or we’re fucked.”

Aemond stifled a snort of derision at your terse whisper, turning it into a polite cough as he nodded at a group of huddled onlookers. You shot him a sidelong look, quickly looking away to smile at a pair of elderly women who were clapping for you. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Hush, we can air our grievances once we get someplace with less listening ears.” Aemond’s arm around your waist tightened, almost painfully, as he steered you through the crowded hallways. “Besides, I am madly in love with my betrothed.”

“Oh, you’re going to have to work on that.”

“Hmm.”

The stone corridors Aemond and you now walked through were empty, he led you to a set of great oaken doors that swung open on silent hinges. A darkened arched space and smell of many old books greeted you beyond them. “The library, how romantic.”

“Private is more what I was going for.” Aemond pushed the small of your back and you stumbled into the room, shooting him a withering glare over your shoulder.

“You know, I’m not pleased about this either.” You snapped, smoothing your skirts haughtily.

Aemond quickly closed the doors and scanned the room with his violet eye, making sure you two were alone. A fireplace flickered in the hearth, the only source of light in the spacious library. “You are from a house that openly declared for Rhaenyra.”

“Yet…” You had walked over to the mantlepiece by the hearth, running a finger along it and looking in distaste at the dust you gathered. “I find myself suddenly betrothed to Aemond Targaryen who, if I remember correctly, is not on her side.” You let your gaze wander to where he stood stiffly, eyeing his leather jerkin tied at his trim waist with two buckles and sporting intricate dragon fasteners. His sword was at his hip, a small sapphire gemstone inlaid upon the pommel. “Your mother, or rather her father, stole me and are now forcing us to get married so as to ensure my house’s allegiance.”

“They hardly stole you.” Aemond defended, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You were handmaid to my sister.”

“Am I allowed to go home?” You asked, eyes widening in mock surprise.

“No.”

“Then I am a prisoner here.” You turned your back to him, looking into the flames.

“With our union, we gain a key asset to our side.” Aemond said bluntly, his footsteps muffled on the stone floor as he approached you slowly. “The support of your house is instrumental in winning the coming war.”

“Will you stoop so low?” You whirled on him, anger pulsing in your veins, jabbing a finger at his chest. “First your family declares Aegon king against Viserys’ wishes, now you take political hostages!”

Aemond caught your wrist, holding it firmly and jerking you closer. “King Viserys’ last wish was for Aegon to be named his heir.”

“You cannot believe that.” You looked aghast at him. “Surely you’re cleverer than that, Aemond.”

“It matters little what I believe.” The prince released you, shaking his silver head. “I serve my family. A member of which you are soon to become.” A rueful smile pulled at his curved lips. “Whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t.”

“Hmm.” Aemond rolled his eye, running a hand through his long hair. “Perhaps in time you will learn to.” He turned from you, walking crisply to the door. “Don’t stray too far, Y/N. At my behest, you are to be treated with the dignity of a guest. Yet you are not free to leave the Keep.”

“A prisoner.” You muttered again, watching Aemond leave the library, closing the door behind himself.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Don’t you think you’re holding me a bit too tight?”

“Well, do you want this to be convincing or not?”

“I do, but a little looser than this would still be convincing.”

Aemond acquiesced. Loosening his grip on your waist as you both slowly swayed on the dance floor. The two of you were having a terrible time. You were barely managing to keep a convincing smile on your face, feeling much more like you were about to begin crying.

“Try to look less like you’re about to vomit, Y/N.”

“Maybe the soup was off.” You smiled sweetly up at him. “Why does it matter whether I appear happy or not? Surely the commonfolk don’t care…maybe they’d like it more if I were wailing and thrashing.”

“There are houses allied with your own who would not be so pleased.” Aemond murmured, bringing his mouth to your ear under the pretense of wishing to hold you closer. “If they saw you were…so unwilling they’d declare against us, and we would be forced to take drastic measures.”

Your stomach clenched. “I’d rather not know what that means.”

“Indeed.”

A ringing of metal on a crystal goblet halted the lilting music, you dropped your hands immediately from Aemond’s shoulders, but he tactfully kept hold of your waist.

“A toast!” It was one of the nobles, his face flush from many cups of wine. “To the two lovebirds! May your wedding day be festive!” Cheers rose up around the room. “And may your wedding night be productive!”

You ducked your head into Aemond’s shoulder, hiding the grimace you couldn’t keep off your face. Clapping and laughter echoed all around you followed by the scrape of goblets against the wooden tables as people toasted your happy union.

“Kiss!” Shouted one drunken reveler. “Give your love a kiss!” Cried another in agreement.

“Oh no.” You murmured into the leather of Aemond’s tunic.

As the crowd took up the chant of “kiss”, clapping their hands in encouragement, you felt Aemond’s finger slip under your chin. He pulled your face up to look at him, his lilac eye sparkling with something akin to mischievous mirth. The sound in the hall grew louder as the two of you hesitated, inches apart. You bit your lower lip, drawing Aemond’s gaze to the movement.

He looked back into your eyes. “May I kiss you, my lady?”

You couldn’t speak, settling for a curt nod. Aemond smirked, bringing his lips to yours with a smooth duck of his head.

A pulse of electricity shot to your core as Aemond’s warm mouth moved against your own. A small, pleased sound escaped your throat, despite your attempts to regain full capacity of your faculties. You had not expected your body to react like this, and it was with surprise you found yourself tangling your fingers in Aemond’s silken hair as he bent you backwards. The crowd laughed, pleased at the show you’d given them, as Aemond pulled away. You avoided his eye as it roved your features, very sure your red cheeks shone like beacons.

You spoke very little the rest of the evening, the feeling of Aemond’s lips on yours thoroughly distracting you; to the point you almost poured gravy into your cup instead of wine. Thankfully, Aemond saved you from that embarrassment, looking at you with mild concern as he poured your wine. You looked away from him quickly, hating yourself for the burning in your cheeks and erratic beating of your heart.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“The boat awaits, my lady.”

“Thank you.” You gathered your skirts, moving to collect the few bags you’d managed to pack for your escape from King’s Landing.

Your waiting maid curtsied, a small frown upon her face. You looked at her, briefly wondering the reason for her mood before a rapping knock at the door sent your adrenaline spiking.

Your maid hurried to the door, opening it a crack, before curtsying low as Aemond pushed his way into your room. He was fully dressed despite the late hour, his coat and gloves of deepest green, contrasting with his silvery hair. His violet eye snapped to focus on you with dangerous intent. “Leave us.”

The maid curtsied again, looking terrified at the ground.

“See my mother in the morning for your coin.” Aemond dismissed her, not breaking his gaze from your face.

You watched the traitorous girl scurry from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

“My brother may be incompetent and unaware…” Aemond took measured steps toward you. “I am not.”

Tears welled behind your eyes, anger and frustration mixing in your chest. You moved to stride passed the prince, but he caught your arms, spinning you to face him. You fought against him, useless as it was, the tears falling freely down your cheeks as he held you firm, unflinching as your fists met his chest.

“Y/N.”

“Let me go, Aemond!”

“Y/N-”

“I cannot be kept here like some prize animal!”

Aemond moved with you until your back hit the wall. Your fists on his chest flattened as you pressed your palms against his coat, your eyes puffy as sobs racked your body. Aemond made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his hand cupping the nape of your neck as you leaned your forehead against his chest, beneath his chin. His other hand rubbed the small of your back soothingly.

“There is little I can say to make this easier, Y/N.” Aemond took your shoulders, encouraging you to look at him. “I am truly sorry for your distress. I do not wish for you to suffer.”

“What do you wish for, Aemond?” You sniffled, feeling his fingers lightly brush your tear-stained cheeks.

“A great many things.” Aemond’s gaze, so cold with anger a moment ago, had softened as you looked up at him with watery eyes. “War not being among them. Nor wedding a woman who despises me.”

“I don’t despise you, Aemond.” He stilled at your words looking at you with a guarded expression as you continued. “You’re a pawn in this as much as I am.”

“I don’t know how to take that.” A wry smile curved his lips as Aemond continued watching you.

“Will I ever be able to see my family again?”

“After the war is over, and the threat to Aegon’s rule is removed.” Aemond smoothed your hair, tucking a strand of it behind your ear. “It won’t be long, Y/N.”

“How do you know?”

Aemond sighed, unable to answer, his eye searching your own. Silence stretched between the two of you, heavy with unspoken words.

“Don’t try leaving again. I might not be the one to catch you next time.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Aemond?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m observing.”

You rolled your eyes, quickly schooling your fond smile into a more neutral expression. “What do you see?”

Aemond didn’t answer, a small smirk curling his lips as he continued to observe you over his book.

“What?” You snapped your own book shut, rising to your feet, your brow arched.

Aemond methodically marked his place, shutting his volume of philosophy and setting it aside before standing to meet you. “An infuriating woman, is what I see.” His reached out to knead the fabric of your skirts with his fingers, his gaze lilac intent on your face.

“I’m flattered.”

“You are something, Y/N, that much is certain.”

“You’re a royal pain in my-” Your words were cut off in a gasp as Aemond swiftly pulled you to him, capturing your mouth with his own, drinking down the gasping moan that escaped your throat.

You felt his hot breath fill your lungs, your hands wandering the planes of his back, curling in his hair, tugging the silver locks to make him hum in pleasure like that again. You felt his knee part your thighs, his touch tracing lines of fire along the exposed skin of your throat and chest. You lost yourself in the feel and taste and smell of the prince as he deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth. You arched into his hand, pressing into where he palmed your breast through the velvety bodice you wore.

“Aemond.” You breathed, your lips brushing his as he made to pull away from you. “Don’t you dare leave me here like this.” Your hands tugged at his trim waist, urging his body to press back against you.

“You want this?” He asked, his eye hooded as he looked down into your flushed face, his own cheeks faintly pink.

“I want this.” You sucked in a breath as he nipped at your throat. “I need-”

Your words cut off in another heady moan as you felt him mark your skin, sucking trailing kisses down to the swell of your breast straining above your corsage.

“Hmm?” He murmured against your flesh. “What do you need, my love?”

You felt his hands bunching the fabric of your skirts, the heat of his fingers finding the inside of your thighs.

“Aemond-” You gasped, his exploratory hands dipping beneath your smallclothes.

“Ah.” He chuckled low, kissing the corner of your panting mouth. “I see.” He looked at your wanton expression with a dilated eye. “In that case, let me give him to you.”

You ground yourself against his hand, your lust taking full control as you kissed Aemond roughly, pulling his hair so that his head tipped back, exposing his throat to your own bruising kisses.

“If it is within my power, I will give you all that you desire.” Aemond promised, his voice husky with want. He lifted you into his arms, you wrapped your legs around his torso as he backed you against the wall, his lips descending hard upon your own once more.

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grapejuicestyless · 1 year

Text

Unforgettable

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Y/n Y/l/n is a classic rockstar with a magnetic pull and a bad reputation with men to her name. Turns out Y/n might not be such a bad girl after all and the men she used might have not been the truth.

Pages bursted from every seam of her notebook, littered in scribbled lyrics of failed beginnings, one night stands and the most innocent poetry writings that reflected the opposite of the devilish woman behind the pencil marks.

Everything about her was shiny. Her glittery deep purplish blue eyeshadow and the highlight on the tip of her nose to the glistening sweat that dripped underneath her top.

She was messy, yet so detailed. Every hair out of place seemed to fit perfectly a top her head. The lazy smear of lipgloss and eyeshadow applied carelessly yet laying in such way that it almost looked intentional.

It was that careless attitude that was so magnetic about her. The rockstar exterior she possessed attracting the innocent into her wild web of her craft.

But, despite her rockstar complexion and her love life reputation, the girl had an undeniable talent that could not be ruined by the poor press that swirled her name.

So it could only be fitting to place the most standout woman there into the cleanest band reputation wise. It was humorous, when it was announced. Y/n Y/l/n, joining Harry Styles for his long awaited Love On Tour.

Harry, who had hand picked her from the bunch of bassists waiting to wow him, was immediately aware of her presence. Her look sharp and eye catching, but her talent even better. She had a skill for her craft that nobody else was even able to come close to achieving. It was almost destiny she had shown up, notebook stuffed full of sloppy writing and bass scratched from her frustration.

Truthfully, Y/n hadn’t really longed to be placed into the band. She didn’t exactly enjoy the bright pinks and pop music that blasted through the speakers. She had only gone to the audition because she had been itching to play. Having traveled the world with some of the biggest inspirations, and by herself on a successful world tour a couple years ago, Y/n found herself bored in her home for so long. She was just about ready to go out a preform to a room filled with angry elderly people who hated all loud noises. Anything to give her the thrill of being in front of the crowd again.

So, when she was emailed one August evening, detailing of an audition for a bassist to join a well known artist on stage, she pushed aside her unfamiliarity with the genre.

It wasn’t that Y/n disliked pop music, it just wasn’t her favorite. She’s spent most of her time closer to a soft rock sound, pulling from past inspirations and old sounds that could be reworked into her work. The glitz and glam of the fresh and new sounding pop music was only something she hadn’t really gotten into, explaining why she felt more nervous than glad she was selected.

Yet, her ability to adjust and charm her way through her lack of experience within the genre was enough to keep her going, placing her where she was now. Standing next Harry, under the intense lights of Madison Square in the middle of one of the hottest summers to date.

…

A year had passed, just about, since Y/n first stepped onto the stage, her bass slung around her neck with a tattered strap that was practically molded to her shoulders. She gave a good amount to the band, adding in bass lines that ascended the songs into a better form of themselves. Making sure not to overpower the other instruments, but to lift them up and amplify how they sounded collectively as a band.

“That was good, that sounded great actually!” I turned back, the side of my lip pressed into the surface of the microphone. My hands found their way around the cord, untangling it to gain some more movement around the stage.

“Why don’t we recollect, get some water and stretch out?” I shot a thumbs up to the sound guy, who had been playing around with some switches behind a small barricade farther back in the arena. After the go ahead was given, the lights dimmed to a soft glow on top of the stage and the heat seemed less intense.

“No way, that’s so cool! Where did you find that, I’ve been having so much trouble looking for a new bass recently.” Her voice was slightly raspy, deeper too, I noticed from the dryness that I assumed was itching at her throat.

I watched her toss her head back, lips wrapped around the plastic water bottle until it crinkled beneath her hands and was left with nothing more than a few stray drops of water pooling at the bottom.

Elin, who she had been conversing with enthusiastically, seemed to match her energy precisely, showing Y/n the same amount of excitement over the new piece of equipment. Eyes gleaming with interest and passion over the topic. It felt warming knowing that work felt less like an obligation but instead was a privilege.

A close knit family that brought a dopey smile to my face at only the thought of it. I listened to them and there insane energy inconspicuously, eyes avoidant of the women and instead settled on the ledge between Sarah’s drums and where the trumpet players would stand later that night where the nearest supply of water was.

From afar, underneath the sound in my head of my aggressive swallowing of water, it sounded like the pair were dispersing. The conversation ended with a faint laugh that dwindled out the longer the conversation ended.

It was a true laugh, sincere. Almost a belly laugh but just not quite there yet. The sound so familiar it was instantly pinned in my mind as Y/n’s.

The common misconception about Y/n was that she was shallow, unfeeling and unknowing of basic relationships and proper manners. The media had poorly labeled the innocent woman, her lyrics thought to be too provocative and explicit. Too in depth and detailed that gossip accounts were ready to start this false narrative about the most undeserving person of the hate.

Maybe it was her careless expressions after completing a hard bass line, or her rockstar style that made her such an easy target for the untrue opinions and thoughts. She had that old grungy thing about her that both made her desirable and criticized, yet she made it work.

Y/n was the sun, in my eyes. A bright, young woman with wisdom beyond her years and heart so full it was overflowing with empathy and sympathy. Her lyrics reflected her past experiences, like any other artist. Her failed relationships that left her in the darkness and her distantly timed hook ups to fill the cold loneliness beside her bed.

Truthfully, she was more like the rest of the industry than any gossiper could comprehend. Her writing abilities expressed so freely, so vulnerable that it caused that discomfort, that pit in the listeners stomach forming with each song she put on her albums. The real truth was that she wasn’t some shallow, sex driven girl who dated guys to write about how they did her wrong. She was a loving woman who loved everyone more than life and was overly naive. She dated trying to find someone who could understand her like she understood everyone else. She spoke what was on her mind completely true and unfiltered constantly. Not fearful of the backlash her opinions would bring. That’s what continues to draw me to her throughout our time together.

“Hey, Harry.” Her voice was sweet, laced with honey and dripping in sweetness. I barely noticed her touch on my shoulder until I looked down at her guitar string scarred hands and found myself smiling.

“What’s up, Angel? What’s going on?” I turned my back to her, head thrown over my shoulder to look back to her face while my hands worked on screwing on the cover to my water bottle.

“You know, the usual. Just wanted to tell you I thought that note change during Sign of the Times was beautiful. You should go for those higher notes more often, you hit them every time.” She was completely honest in her opinions, which is why I held her words dear to my heart.

Y/n had no issue telling me what she thought. She was rather quick to give pointers of what worked better and how to substitute those notes that were strained and uncomfortable. Yet, she did it with such a down to earth point of view. She remained humble, even if everyone here knew she had talents beyond all of ours. She acted like she was just as good as the rest of us, like we were equals.

“I know, it’s just hard with so many people around. Don’t want to fall flat and ruin it.” Shrugging, we walked together to the stairs at the edge of the stage.

“Don’t psych yourself out, Styles. You nail those notes all the time. Your range is unbelievably complex. You have that ability to hit the higher notes every time.” She placed her hand in mine, following me down the stairs cautiously as the last one was always less steep than the rest, causing mishaps occasionally.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” We nodded at each other, silently understanding that the conversation was ending but still taking each other in. It almost felt like something was pulling us closer, eyes growing heavier and smiles getting looser. Breathing sharper.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” It was breathy, the way it came out of her mouth. Almost like it was something she hadn’t wanted to say but forced herself to.

I nodded, watching her eyes crinkle before she turned away briskly, quick to find her escape through the illuminated tunnel. For a moment I felt like a fly in a web that was her creation, stuck in place to just stare as she left.

…

The show was unworldly. An atmosphere so intense and the energy so insane the floor swayed beneath my feet. The shows were structured the same each night, yet each one felt like a completely new experience. It was how the fans danced together in a formation that they’d created during Treat People With Kindness and how they’d share different experiences drawn out on their cardboard signs. It was surreal, something I felt lucky enough to experience with some of my closest friends, my band.

It went by smoothly, as projected to. The lights and the transitions between each songs igniting an excitement beyond no other I had ever experienced. Sarah played the drums precisely, hitting every beat necessary as her husband, Mitch, created the familiar tunes that were the songs of the past few albums. Within in the music, Y/n stood perched just next to Pauli, continuing to support Mitch and Elin within her bass playing.

By the time Kiwi had reached its end, I caught myself looking back to catch a glance at Y/n. Telling myself it was only to get a short moment to observe her living in her passion. Really, deep down I knew it was something more, something that had always been there yet I hadn’t had the courage to admit until that out loud.

…

The dressing room was quiet, after the show. The post show blues, as I used to refer to it as. The ultimate high coming back down with the realization that it was all over.

I let myself peel the sweaty chevron shirt off of my body and kicking off my green Gucci shoes. I left on the mismatched bottoms while ruffling through the pile of clothes packed in my suitcase for a shirt and shorts.

“Hey, rockstar. Trying a new look?” My head raised, turning halfway to meet her eyes.

“Yeah, really going for that oiled up 2000’s boy next door idea.” We laughed, eyes closing at how stupid I must’ve looked to her. Finding it funny and slightly embarrassing as the rose tint spread like wildfire across my cheeks.

Soon, our laughs turned into silence, warm smiles reflecting off of our faces onto the others. It was comfortable, lip caught between her teeth and mine pulling at the skin of my bottom one.

“I heard what you did tonight. Proud of you. I told you, you could hit that note change. Honestly, sounded better out there than at soundcheck.” My heart fluttered.

“I could say the same about you. It’s like you gain more power with each show.”

“Stop it, you just might make me blush.” She stepped closer, merely a few inches left separating the two of us. Her breath tickling my skin, her hands clenched by her sides nervously.

Suddenly, she had lost all that confidence that told the world she could play anyone like a fiddle. Suddenly she lost that fog around the mirror that created the illusion of a rockstar super player who moved from one man to the next, without rhyme or reason. She became what we’d all learned of her. The girl who loved long and hard on the people close to her, and the girl who despite was she was destined by the media to have been, had only had a couple relationships past the one night stands that filled her notebook. She batted her eyes, and I held my breath.

“Y/n…” It was a whisper. A soft murmur beneath my breath, but I was sure she’d heard it.

I found myself slowly reaching for her hand, opening it on top of my palm and brushing my fingers gently over the creases that ran along them before letting it fall back to her side. My eyes lifted from where we touched back to her face. Only to allow myself to find contact again. I let my hand slip around her waist, pulling slowly until our bodies were pressed together. The only thing separating our lips was the small gap we’d placed between them.

“Harry..?” She seemed conflicted, unsure almost. Hesitant.

“Is this okay?” It came out shaky, the nerves reaching a point that could only be cured by her acceptance.

“I…I just…” She thought on it, “I don’t want you to believe everything about me. I don’t want to lose you when you realize I’m not who you think I am.” The confession sounded like it was almost painful to admit.

“Oh.” I blinked, “Y/n, angel, no. I would never think that.” Her eyes were avoidant, her body more tense than moments prior.

“Please, look at me.” I let my other hand raise under his chin, pointer finger hooking underneath her chin to raise her gaze to mine, “To me, you are everything. You understand me. You see things that nobody else sees. Y/n, you bring out the best in me. I would have never had the courage to push myself and change that note tonight if you hadn’t pushed me to do it. You have this honesty that makes everyone value your words and you have this power over me that continues to draw me to you. I can not explain it, but believe me when I say you are all I want.” Her eyes fogged with what I believed to be her taking in my sudden confession. Yet, with her realization at what I had just said, she still remained silent and I felt the instant regret growing harder in my heart.

I had been through enough rejections to build a home. Yet, the thought of her rejecting me hurt more than anything I could’ve put myself through.

“Shit..Im sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ My explanation was no use, her hands on my cheeks and her lipstick smearing across my lips in a red hue as her lips pressed hard into mine in a sudden burst of confidence.

My eyes shut quickly, settling into it, only for it to be taken away quicker than I had longed for. Eyes opened in a lustful haze. Yet it wasn’t sexual, but completely innocent and perfect in every sense.

“I love you.” The words slipped passed my lips before I could stop them. A smile growing in a lovesick fashion across her face as my confession Is held in for so long reached her ears.

“I love you too.” She returned the confession, leaning in again to press her lips harder into mine and a heavenly sigh escaping her throat.

It was passionate and loving in a way that I’d never experienced before. The shared feelings were strong, new, vulnerable. A new beginning that both of us secretly longed for.

How funny the public would find it if the news ever broke that their precious bad girl rockstar was actually a giant love bug and an angel on earth. How much of a shock it would be to those who tore her down for her fashion choices and her lack of precautions in the public eye.

She might not be who she was made out to be from the exterior, but the one thing the press had gotten right about the devilish woman who broke too many hearts and dished out too many fights she could handle.

She is unforgettable.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

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