I'm sorry but the tags on your last ask about the deleted fics mede me laugh cos you were like :
Do not cite the deep magic to me witch . I was there when it was written.
Ps . I agree with if you put something on the internet you have to deal with the fact that you can't take it back. That's just how it works. And it's not like people have their full names attached to AO3 profile. It's all mostly anonymous anyway
Do not cite the deep magic to me witch . I was there when it was written.
like i've done this shit for ages man !!! you think i know how to make a comprehensive tagging system of every trope just like that ?? i've ran multiple fic rec blogs before and i promise, almost no author cares if you share their fic after it's deleted. if anything, a bunch don't even rmb why they deleted it and sometimes regret it.
like this one time i had someone ask me for a link of a deleted fic and it was their own !!!! they had deleted it a while back and didn't have any backup copy of it and wanted to repost it.
and yeah, it's just a little funny like its fuckin mcyt fanfiction man, you're not going to hell for it. your fanfiction is not encouraging any misdeed or sin. if anything it brings people joy and comfort and you'll probably rmb it fondly later too. if not, then just forget about it. orphaning a fic also exists.
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𓇻 ft. ezio auditore x civilian gn reader
𓇻 summary. There's just you, Ezio, and a slow, sleepy morning on a rooftop.
𓇻 content. platonic or pre-relationship. pre-Brotherhood.
𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!
read on ao3! - masterlist - join the taglist!
───※ ·❆· ※───
Soft strands of sunlight crests over the city walls, dusting over the roof slates in a golden sheen. It’s beautiful and tranquil, the starlight fading overhead into hues of gentle light. Early dawn has you feeling cold, a little uncomfortable under the brisk air. Monteriggioni feels quiet beneath the sway of your feet, the small city silent with sleep.
Ezio barely breathes - and when he does, it’s relaxed, the motion slow. He’s, somehow, not quite what you imagined and yet everything all at once. Quiet. For all the charismatic clamor you see him with, he watches over the city with a sense of calm that Claudia has never spoken of.
Aristocratic nose, fine cheekbones and firm jawline, Ezio was without a doubt a cut of the finest cloth. Boisterous. Loud. Everything you’ve heard spoken about him - and even seen him act. This is a tender side you didn’t know existed, hidden beneath swaths of fine armour and silky fabric. Looking at him as you do now, his presence almost muted beside you on the rooftop, he seems more man than myth. Gentler, almost, even with the garment of metal strapped to his wrists.
Despite all the armour he typically wears, the imposing and broad figure he cuts, he’s everything but. You’ve seen him out and about, moving along the rooftops and city walls, scrounging for feathers - you still didn’t quite understand that— and tending to mundane jobs. He’s even swept out an arm to guide children back to their feet after a tumble to the street. Which happens a fair bit, even to a young child from your extended family.
Thing is, while it happens a fair amount - Ezio is there to stop it. Always visiting, moving between houses and tending to the people with a spirit and jubilance that you haven’t even seen the Lord cherish the town with. He loves it like his own, a home far from his birthright.
You don’t know much about Ezio’s past, only gleaned some of it from gossip and from Claudia. Even that isn’t enough. Enough would be to hear it from his own lips, to have the man himself explain. But, the strange thing is, despite all the good tidings he gives to the town, when he’s alone with you like this, he grows somber. A million miles away, lost in a world you can’t comprehend.
Other days it’s good. He tends to you like every other townsperson in Monteriggioni, making sure you have everything you need. You’re not even sure how spending time with Ezio like this even happened - what you did to make him choose you. There are many ladies who express an interest in him, many soldiers who want privy into his skills. But he chooses you, takes you for strolls and stops first thing at your market stall when new produce is brought in.
Today is not one of those days.
“I am sorry,” he says then, voice hard in the growing daylight. Not because he’s harsh - never is— but because that’s just how his words sound. “My mind is … quite occupied today.”
“It’s okay,” you breathe out, because it is. It’s okay. You don’t question where his mind goes.
There’s a long moment of silence before Ezio quietly elaborates, “It is close to my Christening day.”
“Oh-” You pause and consider his tone. “I’m sorry.”
His expression twitches then, mirth dancing in his eyes, dark eyebrows knitting together. A small smile plays across his handsome face, fingers spreading across his thigh. “Thank you.” He laughs, an unused sound that rests deep in his throat. “Ah, I’m sure you’ve already heard of Claudia arranging a party, no?” Your pinched expression gives you away and his laugh deepens, eyes turning away.
“She wanted it to be a secret-” You stop yourself there by instinct. But Ezio doesn’t interrupt, he never has. He’s attentive that way, always listening to what you have to say, even if it’s about the soil or the worms in your garden. “You weren’t supposed to know about it.”
“She always tries to make it a surprise,” Ezio responds, eyes tender as he looks at you.
“And yet you know of it anyway.” There’s a twitch of his scarred mouth when you speak.
“Mm.” He gives a slow nod of his head, leaning back, brown hair moving from his shoulder to spill over his back instead. Ezio closes his eyes, the hazy sunlight moving across his face as it climbs into the sky. “Has anyone invited you?”
“The whole town is going.”
“Yes, I imagine.” Ezio laughs slightly then. “I’m inviting you as my guest.” It feels like it should be a profound statement - something awe inspiring or an utterance to make you gasp. It doesn’t. Instead, all you feel is a low seeping warmth that touches the tip of your toes. You look down, swaying you feet over the edge of the roof. Ezio isn’t saying it to be polite - there’s something about the way he speaks and acts with you that makes you feel like he’s genuine.
“Thank you,” you say after a moment. “That’d be great.”
Ezio says nothing to that, though you can feel his eyes turn from you back towards the city at your feet. An emotional eclipse washes over you and you’re left feeling cold. Every moment with Ezio is like this - inviting, like summer days and fireflies. Like he sees who you are and accepts it.
There’s nothing for a long moment, just you and Ezio and the slow march of time. Dew glistens on the lower tiles, the rough texture cold beneath your palms. “Thank you for going,” he says - and the way he says it makes it feel more profound than it originally sounds. Like it matters to him, like your presence is something he basks in.
You look at him, at his battle worn features, weary lines smoothing into something almost peaceful. He needs moments like this, you realize. Needs it like you do - the companionship, the ease from everyday life. The slow, quiet mornings, the yawning pull of life. An insurmountable, insignificant second of life - every second that amounts to something more. Because he exists, you exist, and this moment exists.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” you promise, meaning every word of it. You enjoy these mornings with him just as much as he does.
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