#assassin's creed reader insert

[ridingtorohan]

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.

[fandom-smutty-shots]

The assassins kissing their s/o for the first time

Request

Masterlist

| ~ * ~ * ~ |

Characters: Altaïr, Ezio, Edward, Arno, Jacob, Evie, and Basim

Warnings: Maybe a little suggestive content?

| ~ * ~ * ~ |

Altaïr Ibn-LaʼAhad

Altair would be so shy.

I mean, he knows what he's doing, of course, he's been married before, but that was why he was so afraid to show you he cared.

He would put his finger under your chin and lean in carefully, giving you a gentle but dazing kiss before letting you go with a goodnight.

You both couldn't wait to do that again.

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

He'd be teasing you first. He'd have his arm against the wall with you backed up, leaning down on you with that smug smile.

He'd whisper Italian in your ear, his hot breath sending tingles down your spine before he moved, painfully slowly, to your lips, hovering over you as you looked into his eyes with desperation.

Finally, he'd tug you in, one hand in your hair and the other on your waist as he crashed into you, moving so fast your head spun.

You were breathless by the time he pulled away, your gasps filling the otherwise silent air.

"You think I'm good at kissing, mi amore? I have so many other things to teach you."

Edward Kenway

Man, Edward would sweep you off your feet with your first date and kiss.

You would be so in love so fast you won't know what hit you. He would kiss you so passionately, pushing you up against something and cupping both sides of your face while your hands roamed his back.

It would last minutes before he finally broke it off, stepping away with his final words.

"You look beautiful tonight, (Y/n). Just in case you I didn't make that clear."

He had made it pretty clear.

Arno Dorian

He'd take you out for a nice dinner before walking you home, holding your arm as he escorted you

He'd give you a gentle goodnight kiss, just a simple peck to remember him.

And a promise to be back to take you out again.

Jacob Frye

Your date had been... interesting at best. The food was bland, the drinks were watery, and the conversation was forced.

You didn't know what had gone wrong. You had great chemistry when you first met, but the dinner had just been... awkward.

Just as you were ready for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow you, Jacob stopped in his tracks and turned to face you.

He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours, moving slowly and confidently as your eyes fluttered closed and you eased into his arms. It lasted minutes, just the two of you in your own world away from everyone else.

It was perfect.

Evie Frye

She'd take you out for a day around town, chatting you up and showing you a good time.

Finally, she'd sit you down, lean in slowly, and hold the back of your head before devouring you. She'd kiss you hard and deep, filling you with every bit of want she had for you.

Basim Ibn Ishaq

Basim had been injured, and you had been watching over him for the days he had been healing.

He was finally moving around, although slowly, and you were pretty sure he was still in pain.

But that didn't stop him from placing the ghost of a kiss on your lips as you helped to tuck him in one night, his lips barely tracing over yours as he thanked you, in his own, sweet way.

You hoped he'd thank you again.

[konnisart]

Listening to Depeche Mode on this one gives an extra inspo boost

Also know as : "My hand slipped " 🫠

WIP, has me on a choke hold 🫡✨

[weirdest-lights]

[neon-junkie]

OMFG ITS A WIN FOR THE FUCKING GAYS!! ONCE AGAIN!! If you want to do any requests for fem eivor I’d love your takes on her kinks/ general sex headcanons you may have ❤️❤️

Hell yes!!! I started being down bad for fem!Eivor the second I began playing as her. She's just so... *clenches fist*

I don't see Eivor as being the type to go wild when it comes to kinks. She's definitely not vanilla, but not extremely taboo either.

Outdoor sex is an obvious one, given that she spends 90% of her time out in the wilderness, and fucking in the longhouse isn't as private as she wants it to be. 

Nothing beats lounging around in a meadow, cuddling in a bed of flowers, watching the clouds drift overhead as Eivor holds you in her arms.

She's a switch. Always happy to take the ropes, or submit to you. It's your call, really.

There are times when she needs you to care for her, such as after a devastating loss in battle.

And other times when she needs to be in charge, fuelled by the adrenaline from a bloody victory.

Eivor is a giver. She's going to go down on you, drawing orgasm after orgasm until you're literally having to peel her off you.

"You want me to stop? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't continue picking you apart, using my tongue alone."

Over-stimulation? Yeah, you better get used to it. Eivor isn't going to stop when your thighs are shaking around her head. She wants to see you utterly debauched.

And if you try to give her the same treatment? Good luck. She's a strong woman who will literally pick you up and throw you around like a rag doll. That is, if you want it.

"You're so adorable when you try to boss me about. You seem to forget which one of us is taking charge tonight. Here, let me remind you..."

Skin contact is appreciated, but not essential. There's something feral about having Eivor pin you down whilst she's still in her full gear, blood stained and all.

However, when Eivor wants to be tender and romantic, then the clothes are coming off!

A little bit of bondage may enter your sex life. Nothing too wild, just your wrists tied together, or a makeshift gag whenever you're being too loud.

Eivor isn't going to go out of her way to introduce toys. Why bother? Her fingers and mouth work perfectly fine. But if you suggest it, then Eivor will listen, although she knows they will never compete with her skills.

After care is very essential to Eivor. Nothing beats a kiss and a cuddle, no matter if you're out in the wilderness, or cooped up in a bed of furs.

Expect a few courting braids to be in your hair once Eivor is done with you. It's a key part of her after care routine.

[wyyvernn]

Shiny

[whaleofatjme1920]

Kinktober Day 26: Glory Hole

Glory Hole - Jacob Frye X GN!Reader, I don't describe what's between your legs only that you get penetrated

Warnings: 'cum dump', slight praise, smut stuff, slight voice kink

AN: I know it's delayed AND SHORT but guys I'm so tired you don't get it. I changed the tenses in here several times. Don't look at me

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

Reblogs are appreciated!

You love how he groans across the wall as thrusts into you. Your ass is pressed against it, hole greedily taking his cock as pounds into you as best as he can. Your eyes are rolled up as you moan within the confines of your small box.

"Please," you groan as you lightly thrust backwards, almost displeased that he can't touch you the way you want to be touched. The cons of being here, truly. "More," you beg.

"I'll give you more love," his deep voice purrs as his thick cock drags deliciously inside of you. It's the fifth time he's been inside of you. Twice down your throat, twice in your hole, and hopefully a third in your needy hole as well too. You squeeze around him like a death grip in an attempt to milk him.

Out of all the men you've been fucking, this one's your favorite. His cum, and some of your other clients, drip down your thighs as you hungrily take him again and again. Your hands brace on the opposite wall to hold you tight against the opening in your box.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," you mewl breathlessly, wanting to come for him.

"That's it," he coos in his rich, velvety voice. Fuck you'd never get tired of hearing him speak. "Come on, take me deeper. Deeper-fuck you feel so good-" he rasps as his nails dig into the box's walls. Sweat beads on Jacob's brow as his balls slap against you just barely. Gods how he wants to dig his nails and his teeth into your flesh, maybe paint your face with his release.

You moan loudly as his thrusts get harsher and his thick cock buries even deeper, and your grin only widens when you finally felt him spill inside of you for the third time. Both of you are panting.

"Think you can handle another round?" He asks you while he pants.

[bloodhaven99]

Tehehe-

[recreationalfanfics]

Imagine running through an army of enemy soldiers to get your target and your target just reacts like this-

Based off these headcanons.

[mageofgoobygrove]

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐢’𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐚! (𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐛, 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.) 𝐢 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲! 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞: 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐭𝐛𝐚)

𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞. 𝐢’𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐭!

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐢’𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐢’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞! 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞���𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝.

𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧!

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭:

𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑’𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄

(𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐰𝐧) 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬

𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐡

𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍’𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃

𝐄𝐳𝐢𝐨 𝐀𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐲

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐛 𝐅𝐫𝐲𝐞

[hereforreadandwrite]

Chapter five

Masterlist

You followed Ivarr to the stables without knowing what he planned to do. What was he going to do? He had talked about Rhodri's grave. Had he killed him? Ivarr made you mount his horse. The drengr set off on his mount towards your destination that was still unknown to you.

It was difficult for you to see the surroundings properly. The sky was covered with black clouds, hiding the moon and stars. You sighed, clinging to your husband's waist, pressing your cheek against his back, closing your eyes, enjoying this contact. Ivarr looked at you out of the corner of his eye. He would never have thought he would enjoy this contact after several months without you touching him. The Boneless placed his hand on yours, bringing his concentration back to the road.

"What are you planning to do?"

"Something to remind Rhodri that he shouldn't have done what he did," Ivarr replied darkly.

You looked at Ivarr puzzled. Was he planning to beat Rhodri to death or was he planning to do something else? But you never thought Ivarr would decide to kill the king without the others around him.

"Why don't you kill him in the colony? With everyone else around?"

"What I plan to do to him will not be in good taste for those Christian morons. As soon as they see a bit of blood and guts, they pray to their stupid God for mercy," Ivarr commented. "And I plan to make him pay for it, dýrr. And you will be witness to it. I will make him suffer to the point where this stupid king will beg his God to grant him deliverance from death."

You looked at Ivarr puzzled. What was he planning to do? You both arrived at the top of a plain where Rhodri was waiting, tied and gagged to a post. He was tied so that his back was to you and Ivarr. The Boneless got off the horse first before helping you down. You felt your head spin when you saw your executioner. Ivarr noticed your state, but he knew he had to do it. The Drengr approached the king, drawing his axe. He circled his victim, like a wolf hunting its prey.

"I know I'm the biggest asshole the nine Realm can bear," Ivarr said as he approached you. "I like war, blood, cutting off the heads of kings. Children… you know my opinion of them. They're annoying and I don't have the same stupid dream as Ubba."

You swallowed hard, looking down at the ground. But Ivarr put his axe under your chin, forcing you to raise your head to look at him.

"But… you also know, I get out of control when someone takes what's mine," he said before slowly turning to Rhodri. "You took my wife… you took MY child!! That, that was mine!!"

Screaming that, Ivarr planted his axe in Rhodri's back. The screams of pain were muffled by the gag as Ivarr worked on his masterpiece.

The Blood Eagle.

A Viking custom that involved cutting into the victim's back, separating the sides of the spine to spread them like wings, making the lungs protrude from the chest.

You watched this spectacle without being able to look away. You had seen horrors, but seeing your husband do this was on a whole other level. It was Ivarr the Boneless in all his glory and in all that blood. You were brought out of your contemplation when you noticed that the screams had stopped. Ivarr stepped back, admiring his work before using a rope to expose him for all to see.

"Magnificent," Ivarr commented with a sneer. "A new king to inflate my number of kings killed. Don't you think?"

You looked at Rhodri's lifeless body. You couldn't help but wonder if Ivarr had done it just to show that you belonged to him or just as an excuse to act like a blood eagle. You were brought out of your thoughts when Ivarr stepped in front of you, running his bloodied fingers over your cheek.

"You're mine, dýrr. No one has the right to take you away from me. Not even Odin and the Valkyries."

"You've always been terrible at making declarations," you said, sighing and shaking your head. "You stink of all that blood. It makes me nauseous."

"I was happy to show you that too," he said, sneering and stepping back.

"Admit that you were just looking for an excuse to kill another king," you said, kicking a rock.

"Partly. But I'm serious. Even if I didn't want that child. It was mine. Although, I would have liked to see the faces Ubba and Halfdan would have pulled when they found out I'd become the father of a brat."

Your expression darkened, your hand mechanically resting on your stomach. Ivarr noticed your attitude. He sighed. Comforting others was not in his habits. He tried with you, but he made things worse than reassuring you. Ivarr decided to go get the horse, making you understand that it was time to go home. You turned away from Rhodri, climbing on the horse with him.

Abandoning the corpse of the former king.

(o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o)

The moon was high in the sky.

The clouds had cleared, revealing the stars. You let out a sigh as the sound of splashing pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked over at Ivarr. He had stripped completely naked before entering the water. He hadn't taken you back to Repton. The smell of blood was unbearable to you, so he had stopped at a waterfall to clean himself, although he didn't see the point. You sat down in the grass, avoiding looking at him. You placed your hand on the bandages that covered your bruised eye. It was the first time in months that you hadn't had any intimate relations with Ivarr. And you were nervous. Even if Rhodri was dead, he had left indelible marks all over your body.

Anyone would find that disgusting.

But you had chosen a strange man as a husband.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when water splashed on your face, soaking your bandages as well as your clothes. You ran your hand over your face, giving a murderous look to Ivarr who was snickering.

"Very mature," you said with a sigh. Your bandages were ruined now.

"How about you take off your clothes and join me?" he said, giving you his cocky smile.

You tensed up at his request. You knew what he wanted and what was going to happen. And yet, Ivarr was strangely polite. Usually, you got the: "Let's fuck now!", "I need to release the pressure", "If anyone hears (Y/N) scream, I'm fucking her in the forest."

The number of times you wanted to kill him was overwhelming. Ivarr knew how to get on your nerves and he took a sick pleasure in driving you crazy at times. You also remembered the time Ubba and Halfdan had to stop you from throwing an axe at their brother, and that was on your wedding day.

"You're still thinking, woman," Ivarr said, crossing your arms over your legs. "What are you thinking about?"

"I just thought back to the time you pissed me off so much on our wedding day that I tried to throw an axe at you."

"Haha!! I've never seen Halfdan and Ubba so freaked out! That was quite a day," Ivarr laughed.

"Do you regret it now?"

"What? The axe I almost got in my face? It would have been an even more epic day if you had pulled it off, dýrr."

"I'm not talking about the axe… I'm talking about the wedding. Are you now regretting that I look like this…?"

Ivarr stopped laughing at your question. Without warning, he pushed you to the ground, forcing you to lie down. Ivarr got on top of you. The Boneless had his famous shit-eating grin. He pressed his wet chest against yours, holding your wrists firmly on either side of your head.

"Didn't you listen when I spoke to that damn king? You're mine, (Y/N). Not even Valhalla can keep me away from you. If you think a few scars will disgust me, then you don't know me very well."

You didn't have time to answer before Ivarr pressed his lips against yours without delicacy. His tongue took your mouth by storm, dragging yours into a wild dance. You could only give up and let him take over. Ivarr broke the kiss, allowing you to breathe. The drengr chuckled, running his hands under your top.

"I hope you're ready. Because I'm not going to let you run away anymore."

[ridingtorohan]

𓇻 ft. shay cormac x assassin recruit gn reader 𓇻 warnings! minor spoilers for AC Rogue. alcohol consumption + minor injury. 𓇻 au. reader is Hope and Liam's newest addition to the Brotherhood. Unfortunately, you've just learned about Shay's involvement... long after you've already met him. 𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks! ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎read on ao3! - masterlist - join the taglist!

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ───※ ·❆· ※───

"Looks like you've got a right shiner this time."

It's a voice you recognize, even through the thick of the fog. With bottle of brandy in hand, opening to your bottom lip, you've managed to cool the swell of your ego better than you have your bruise. Tongue darts out, pushing at your upper lip.

His glove rests to your cheekbone, index finger trailing softly over tender skin. Never tender enough because you flinch instinctively, expression pulling tighter. Guarded was never a flattering expression on Shay and it certainly wasn't now. Nose wrinkling, you incline your head away, the cold now freshly stinging.

Even though it's been a few hours, the tenderness hasn't gone down, still bitter and sitting coloured beneath the flush of your skin. At least you've managed the swelling some. The ghost of Shay's fingers on your skin lingers. You turn away, nursing the bottle with another sip. With a low, wanting creak of wood, the saloon's deck groans beneath Shay's weight as he shifts, back turned towards the banister, eyes always on you. Elbows resting over the rails, fresh snow lines the roots of his dark hair, skin still unbothered by the cold. So he's the one you heard step out after you.

"Did Hope give it to ye?" He asked, voice low and careful, eyes still impossibly dark, even when the warm tavern light dances over his features. Your mouth twists, sour line worrying into the skin.

"Liam."

"Ah." Then, "Well, he's always been a right git anyhow."

Looking at him like this, an air of familiarity drifting between you two, it almost tempers the sorrow and grief that still echoes in your bones. The insisting song of rage and injustice. Your fingers curl tighter around the bottle- and you see it too. How Shay's eyes don't even dart away but a barely perceptible twitch. Always watching each movement. A biting scoff rises in your throat before you can stop it.

For everything that Hope and Liam had trained you for, for all the burdens you bore, memories and lessons drilled into your head- this was not how you thought it would go.

Because every scary story told to you, every drill and hasty explanation- it was all because of him. Every bruise and aching joint- every nasty remark and lessons forced well past their dues. Even Achilles, as senile as he seemed, remarked upon the force the Brotherhood trained you.

All to avenge ghosts of Assassins you didn't know, never had a chance to know. All for a Brotherhood that had been tarnished before you joined.

You were meant to replace Shay, you realize that now. A bitter truth that had come to a head earlier that night, when Liam saw how you held your blades. Accosted you for it, demanding where you learned it from. 'From Shay', you had wanted to say, because it had been the truth. Then the rest of it followed, with Hope pleading with you to leave for the night while everyone cooled down. While they cooled down.

Looking back, you should have known better than to accept some strange man's friendly banters in taverns. Known better than to walk his boat, learning its knots better than you learned your knives.

It makes sense. Shay befriended you to sniff out the Assassin's plans. It made sense. Just as it made sense that Liam tried building you into a better tool, trying to outpace the losses that the Brotherhood had suffered.

'It's not fair.'

You think how his hands felt on your sides, careful in his guidance. Teaching you with a far greater patience than Liam had, with far kinder methods than Hope's. You had learned better under Shay- and somehow, that made it all worse, stinging more than the betrayal did.

"I hate you," you tell him. Shay tilts his head, little more than an acknowledgement. Eyes studying you, judging your reaction. Fog puffs in front of his face with his slow exhale. The wind blows it back, dusting across dark eyes before disappearing into the night.

"I know."

Still, even though you know, even though he knows, neither of you move. It's just the slow tilt of the bottle against your lips, burning motion of liquor down your throat. Cold seeping through your clothes, always too thin, never durable enough for the winter. Something that Shay had tried to correct you on but Kesegowaase didn't care for. Always too busy for your innate questions.

You want to hate Shay for everything. Pin it all on him. It'd be the easiest way. Give in to what your mentors had been trying to drill into your head: enemy, enemy, enemy.

Glass presses to your lips again. Shay's fingers ghost over yours, leather pressing light to exposed fingers. A grip that remains solid - but not insistent... and with the patience of a man that wouldn't exist in the Shay that the Brotherhood knew.

But he lets you take another drink anyway. You weren't a lightweight. Shay had made sure of that.

"Are you going to kill me?" You decide on saying when the fire has tempered in your throat. All that's left is the chill in your eyes, the nip of frost and frozen winds on your cheeks.

His fingers remain on the bottle and with a light tug, you concede, letting him bring it to his own lips. Cleanshaven, unlike the scruffy remnants that you had been sworn to. In all the ways that matter, he's unlike the man you've been told about. But you can see where the threat lies, the careful way he tilts his shoulders, languid but prepared. That part of the stories are true.

"Only if our blades cross," Shay responds, swallow audible, eyes dark as he peers at you over the neck of the bottle. He passes it to you, fingers brushing over yours.

Fingers connect. You try not to memorize how they feel.

"They'll order me to kill you," you decide to say.

Shay blinks, then blinks again when the snow lingers on his lashes. "Aye. And I won't let you." You scoff bitterly against the bottle. You both have roles to play. You just wish yours wasn't this.

You turn your eyes away, skimming over the balcony, out into the rolling hills of snow. More powder falls from the sky, dusting across your shoulders, frozen kisses upon cold-flushed skin. It'd be easy, you know, for Shay to just reach over and slide his blade into your neck. Nobody would hear you. Even with gold light dusting over the white expanse ahead, there's still dark shadows. You're both still isolated.

The music in the other room sounds so far away.

He doesn't move and you get to take another drink.

You think, then, that this isn't all there is. That there's more to the man that you were told about. That words uttered with hate or hellfire don't amount to the hours you've spent by his side, listening to some bawdy tale that Gist told him.

Then, in the same breath, you think: he doesn't have to kill me and I don't have to kill him.

Then, in another: what if there was another way?

Because for all the assassins are, good teachers aren't one of them. That you still swore to protect the innocent and your blade hasn't known flesh. In all these moments, caught between the Homestead and someone you had thought you had known, there exists things that you don't know. Impossibly, that there might be kindness beyond this rage and suffering that everyone has been dealt.

Again, in your mind's eye, you feel the shadow of Shay's gloves on your arms and waist, correcting your stance. Think of Achilles' words, heated and grave. Of Hope's flattering gait as she leads you through her warehouse.

"Shay, what-" You turn, throat tight, shadows and aches lingering in your mind still. There's nothing there, the impressions of his boots filling with the drifting of snow. Only gloves left on the railing, cuffs rimmed with fur. Still warm, even as you press chapped and shaking fingers inside, leather cushioning your palms. Because this is who Shay is, always watching out for you.

The next sip of the bottle goes down tasteless, no longer satisfying. The despair doesn't run as hot in your blood anymore, though the sense of betrayal lingers. Except now you wonder, just who exactly you feel betrayed by.

[fandom-smutty-shots]

The assassins meeting their s/o for the first time

Request

Masterlist

| ~ * ~ * ~ |

Characters: Altaïr, Ezio, Arno, Jacob, Evie, and Basim

Warnings: ...A little violence? Wow, that's tame for me.

A/N: This is my first attempt at a headcanon kind of vibe so please let me know how I did!!

| ~ * ~ * ~ |

Altaïr Ibn-LaʼAhad

You gulped as you faced your catcaller, your shoulders squared and chest puffed out in an attempt to seem like you weren't bluffing.

"A little girl like you is going to take me out?" The man laughed at you, making you fume a little inside.

Little did you know, a man who actually did know how to throw a punch was watching from the sidelines, curious as to what your plan was. Clearly you were no match for the asshole, Altair could tell just from the way you stood. It was a natural defensive stance, not the stance of a confident attacker. And the other man could tell as well, though this didn't make you back off.

When the man advanced on you, Altair took a few short steps forward, placing himself between the two of you with a cocky grin. "You like to beat on women?"

Altair didn't even hear what the man said as he the idiot tried to swing at his jaw. Altair tilted his head to the side, avoiding the hit and returning one of his own. The man crumpled to the ground with a pathetic noise, and Altair turned to you.

"You should not start fights you cannot finish," he murmured to you, gently placing a hand on your back as he guided you away from the growing crowd of onlookers. "Come. I will teach you to bluff better, perhaps somewhere less... public."

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

You had been arguing with your father all afternoon. The guards had shown up earlier, asking you and your little siblings all sorts of strange questions about where your father's money came from.

"Why would they have questions if there was nothing awful going on, father?" You had demanded, but he had brushed you off and tried telling you to go back to your quarters. Had it been just you it may have been one thing, but to have your baby siblings involved just drove you over a line you had never crossed before, challenging your father.

It seemed you had taken it too far, however, when you felt the sting of his rings across your cheek, the shock making you fall to the floor and clutch your face. You were speechless. Your father had never raised a hand to anyone in the house, let alone his eldest daughter.

It was at that moment that Ezio revealed himself. He was quick enough that you didn't even see him as he sailed through the air and dug his blade deep into your father's neck, the choking sound he made entirely missed by your ears as they rang with embarrassment and humiliation.

You felt tears slip down your cheek as you stared at the spot on the floor, and when you went to wipe them, a mix of water and blood was left on your fingers, and the thought of your face being cut open made your tears turn to sobs.

When you finally did look up, your father was no longer standing there. Instead, he was on the floor, blood pooling around a wound in his neck area. You screamed as you stood, frantically looking around for the attacker, but there was nobody to be found.

Ezio took in the look of terror on your face from the shadows and swore he'd make it up to you. There was something in your eyes, something... deeper, and he needed to know what it was. Needed to learn how you managed to block out your own father being murdered.

Yes, Ezio would be back for you.

Arno Dorian

You gulped in panic as you felt your pockets. Your purse seemed to be missing. You felt the other side, and then both sides a second and third time just to be sure. You could see the annoyance of the owner as he held your grocery bag, awaiting payment for the things he had selected for you.

Before you knew what was happening, you felt someone brush up next to you and hand over the total for your items. The man thanked the owner and grabbed the bag in one hand, his other gently hovering on your back to guide you out.

"Th-thanks," you murmured, not entirely sure what had just happened.

"Come, let me walk you home..." he trailed off and looked at you expectantly.

"(Y/n). It's (Y/n)."

Jacob Frye

The first time you actually saw him, you were whining in the mirror over how your unwashed hair didn't match the wedding dress you wore. Evie, your maid of honor, only rolled her eyes at your complaints, insisting that you looked beautiful no matter what.

Your entire face heated as you heard a whistle from behind you. "Yoo-hoo! Evie! (Y/n)!"

You turned, the fluff in the wedding dress you had on making it difficult to do so.

"Evie's right, you look great." The man, who you instantly pieced together must be Jacob, took his time raking his eyes up and down your figure. "But alas, we must go, dear sister. Duty calls." He took a step towards you, leaning in and lowering his voice so only you could hear.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

Evie Frye

You had been working up the courage to talk to her all night. She hadn't taken a single hit in the arena, and she had knocked out waves upon waves of massive, highly-trained men. You were pretty sure you were in love.

You had seen her before, in other arenas around the city, and each time you were fascinated with the way she moved, the confidence she had in each and every step.

The crowd 'boo'd her as she left the ring, her white under-shirt only slightly tainted in blood this time around. She passed right in front of you, and finally, you saw your chance.

"Um, Hi!" You managed to blurt out, louder than you had originally intended.

You must have caught her attention though, because she turned around with a smirk on her lips as she looked you up and down. "I've seen you around here before, haven't I?"

Basim Ibn Ishaq

You tapped your foot as you waited, annoyed that your new 'partner' was late meeting you for the first time.

When he finally did arrive, he was all smirks and charm, with your mentor Dervis in tow, looking just as grumpy as you did.

"(Y/n), Basim. Basim, (Y/n)." Dervis glanced at you, "feel free to kick his ass for making you wait for almost an hour. Now, do I have some good intel for you kids."

[mavrisfanfics]

[Request] - Ezio x F!ChildhoodFriend!Reader - Waiting

Request: 

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Pairing: Ezio Auditore x F!ChildhoodFriend!Reader

Words:1246

Warnings: None, I think

Notes: I wrote this super quick because I didn’t have much time, I don’t even remember what I was trying to do here, it’s been months since I wrote and I only edit it now because I forgot to do so until now. Past few months have been draining, sorry!

She shuddered in the cold breeze. The wind whispered in the dark, coaching her to retreat back into the palace for the night, but she stood her ground.

Waiting.

The wind would, sometimes, carry to her the sound of clinking armor, and occasionally she'd see the glint of said armor peeking through the foliage of the garden, reflecting the torches the guards carried in their rounds.

She dreamt of running, of stealthily weaving through the guards in the gardens bellow and disappear into the night, forever. But she knew she couldn't do it alone.

She had to wait.

Her shoulders sagged. She clicked her nails against the balcony's rail. She sighed.

She waited.

She was running out of time. Her wedding was tomorrow. To Cesare Borgia, of all people. 

If she were anyone else, she'd be happy with this arrangement. Cesare was powerful, and so far the interactions between them had been nice. It was one of the best marriages her family could have arranged. 

But she knew about the rumors. Worst yet, she knew they were true. She knew getting into the Borgia family would be a death sentence. But she couldn't just leave on her own. 

So she waited. 

The very soft and light clink of armor right behind her pulled her from her thoughts.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, bella" Ezio's voice cut through the silence. She turned to him. He stuck to the shadows, making sure the light that bled through the window didn't give him away. She couldn't see many of his features, but she knew he was as handsome as usual. She smiled. 

"Took you long enough! I almost thought you wouldn't come." She whispered.

"You know I'd never leave you to rot here." Usually his voice carried a light, teasing, tone that put her at ease, even in the most dire of situations, but not this time. 

It brought her terrible memories of that day in Florence. It was the first time she'd hear him use that tone, when he's told her of his family's execution, that he was running away, and that he promised he'd come back for her someday. 

It was terrifying seeing him leave like that, distressed, and knowing there was nothing she could do to help her friend, lest she put her own family in danger. 

So she waited. 

And when he finally returned, he told her everything, like he always did. But unlike all those times as children, where Ezio would sneak her out of her house and out into the city to cause trouble, she couldn't join him in his mission that time. 

So, she waited some more. She waited for a more appropriate time to tell him her feelings. She waited for a time where she could have Ezio back in her life safely. 

And then she got offered to the Borgia. Because her family didn't have enough power, apparently. 

She thought nothing of it. She knew she couldn't stay single forever and it was only a matter of time until her family sent her off to marry in an arrangement that would benefit them. Sure, she heard the rumors, but she thought they were just that, rumors. 

It wasn't until Ezio found out that she realized how bad it was. The way he almost flew into a fit of rage when she nonchalantly told him who she was going to marry was terrifying, but nowhere close to the way she felt when she realized just who she was about to marry. 

Her interactions with Ceasare had been pleasant, but once she knew what hid behind the mask she couldn't help but notice the little tells in his behavior. It was hard to keep her composure, but she could smile, nod and pray. Ezio promised he'd take her far away from that madness, but they had to wait for the right time. 

So she waited. 

And now, just before her wedding day, here he was. 

As promised. "Let's get out of here, then!" She said with a smile. Ezio, however, signaled her to stop. 

"Not yet, I have a plan, but we'll need to wait for tomorrow." She glared at him, mouth wide open. "Don't worry, bella, it's a solid plan, you just need to wait a few-" 

"No!" Ezio jumped at her tone. She noticed his reaction and realized how loud she'd just been. After checking to see that no one had heard her, she continued with a lower volume, but voice just as sharp. "Ezio, I am done with waiting! I've waited for years! I waited for my best friend to return to me for years after you ran from Florence, I waited years for you to solve your stuff so I could have you back in my life again. I've waited months for you to take me out of this God forsaken marriage and away for these lunatics, and now you tell me I need to wait even more!? No! Take me out of here right now! I'm tired of waiting to be with you, damn it!" 

"... For a moment I thought that was a confession, bella." Ezio chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. She wasn’t having any of it. 

"...It was." 

Silence hung around them. Nature itself held its breath, waiting. 

"I've waited so long to tell you how much I love you, Ezio." She knew it was risky to confess like this. If he didn't feel the same, he could leave her there to rot. 

But she didn't care anymore. She didn't want to wait any longer for someone else to save her.  She'd leave on her own if she had to.  

Ezio reached out to her. He grabbed her wrist delicately, as if she was made of glass, and slowly pulled her into the shadows, into his arms. 

"Bella, you have no idea how long I waited to hear that." 

With his warmth around her, she finally relaxed, as if the weight of the world had fallen off her shoulders. She reached for him, held his face in her hands. She drowned in his eyes. Even in the dark of the night, his eyes shone like gems. 

"Take me out of here, then. Right now. I don't care if it's dangerous, if I'm leaving everything behind. I only need you, Ezio. I'll follow you to end of the world just… take me out of here." 

Ezio had no words to reply. He nodded, before leaning in and capturing her lips in the softest, yet most desperate kiss any of them ever had. 

Nature finally released its breath, content with the outcome. The cold wind shook her hair and sent a shiver down her spine, as if urging the two to get moving, to get someplace warm and, most of all, safe. 

"Let's go then, bella." 

As they ran away from the Borgia estate, she couldn't help but look back. She questioned if she should have stayed in her bedroom, in her comfortable life, one most people would kill for. But despite how warm the light looked, still bleeding into the empty balcony, it didn't feel as warm as Ezio's hand, guiding her through the darkness, towards her freedom.  

It sure didn't beat the smiles on their faces. Warm, loving, honest. Smiles she never would have seen or had, if she decided to stay. 

She held no regrets as she ran through the dark night, guided by pure happiness, one she'd waited for so long to have. 

[s0larine]

𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

as my mother tongue is french, i may make some grammatical mistakes in english. if you see any, please don't hesitate to correct me! i usually try to correct them on proofreading, but i may forget some. thank you in advance!

ASSASSIN'S CREED

　　　Haytham Kenway -ˋˏ # 1 coming soon...

　　　Shay Patrick Cormac -ˋˏ # 1 a dance at the masquerade; part 1 || part 2 (wip)

© solarine. i do not allow my works to be copied, translated, modified, adapted or published on other platforms without my permission. thank you for your attention.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[jofie-does-things]

If your feeling it maybe something along the lines of:

I am clearly not attracted to you that's why I'm trying to avoid you at all costs/ I don't know how I'm supposed to focus on this meeting with you staring at me like that.

For a possible Machiavelli x reader. 😖

I was today years old when I found out that Ezio is actually older than Machiavelli by 10 whole years!!

Divide

Summary: “Niccolò Machiavelli is not a man to beg, but you bring him near enough.”

Pairing: Niccolò Machiavelli x Mercenary!Reader (AC: Brotherhood)

Word Count: 2.9K

Genre: Angst with a pinch of fluff

Warnings: Depictions of slight gore

A/N: Sorry about the wait on this! I had such a tough time trying to figure out how to write this man into a romantic scenario, but I finally ended up with something I’m happy with! Hope you enjoy! <3

No beta we die like Ezio’s fam

“I am clearly not attracted to you that’s why I’m trying to avoid you at all costs.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to focus on this meeting with you staring at me like that.”

Deep beneath the stained glass rooms of the Vatican, where Gregorian hymns of reverence morph into the screams of those who dare defy the Borgia family, Niccolò Machiavelli follows Micheletto Corella through the dense fog of suffering. The shadows of the thin hallway are suffocating, even with the guiding light of the torch in his hand.

The dark colors of the robes that Cesare’s personal assassin wears bleed into the shapes cast onto the stone walls. If Niccolò didn’t know better, he’d have mistaken his silent demeanor for a phantom, a long dead innocent with no hope of escaping here alive. The hairs on the back of his neck and his instincts kept him from believing it.

A low groan to his left caught his attention, steps momentarily slowing to peek into the cell next to him.

What hit him first was the smell.

Inside the small room, a man– or what was left of him– had clearly been left to rot. Whip marks and knife cuts deep enough to sever tendons littered his body. There were chunks of flesh torn off at the ends of his appendages; where the starving rats took their share and the man had been too weak to bat them off. The scene sends an imperceptible shiver down his back. He’s not normally one to shy away from gore, but the torture is different from the quick killings he’s done.

“This way.” The gravelly voice of the man up ahead echoes down the chamber. Niccolò notices that he’d continued on into the darkness ahead, seemingly indifferent to the lack of light. It’s not for the first time that night that he’s left wondering what deal Micheletto has made with the devil to become the man he is.

The dirt underfoot grinds against the floor as Niccolò follows after.

They come to a stop in front of a cell, equally as unassuming as the previous doors. Its rusted hinges screech loud enough to drown out the groans of the other prisoners.

Inside there’s a man strapped to a chair. The moonlight shining through the grate far above them has the blood shimmering like rubies. He’s more alive and put together than the previous man, but littered with wounds more precise. Incisions meant to hurt. To torture. Meant to incentivize into giving up information.

Niccolò is surprised he’s lasted so long that Micheletto himself has to deal with him.

The assassin steps forward, shrugging off his doublet and unsheathing his dagger. With silent steps, Micheletto swings the pommel towards the man’s jaw. It connects with a sickening crack that has Niccolò wincing minutely. The man groans in pain, leaning as spit and blood drool out of the side of his mouth.

“Honestly, if that had worked, then you would not have been summoned here, Micheletto.”

The voice comes from the shadows at the back of the room. A figure that Niccolò hadn’t registered in its stillness emerges, tutting at the actions of the assassin in front of him. He lets out an aggravated noise, choosing to ignore you.

You’re sauntering towards the two men, taking graceful, deliberate steps to avoid the mess of blood pooling beneath the prisoner. Your hand rests delicately on his back as he’s hunched over the ground. The touch brings him back to the present, sitting up to the best of his ability.

Gentle fingers swipe across the blood on his chin, both assessing the impact and guiding his eyes toward you. Niccolò’s skin prickles.

“Can you still speak?” You coo at the man. You’re rubbing gentle circles into his jaw and leaning into his space and Niccolò is amazed at the enthusiasm with which the man nods his head as a broken “Y-yeah” leaves his mouth. If he weren’t so mesmerized by your actions himself he would’ve been shaking his head at how easily his recruit caved.

A small smile curves over your lips and you eye him out of the corner of your eyes. It has his breath hitching and the sly look on your face has him remembering why you’re so dangerous in the first place.

“I do not know how I'm supposed to focus on this meeting with you staring at me like that.”

It catches him off-guard for a split-second– something that hasn’t happened to him in years– but he schools his panic and racing heartbeat into neutrality. He takes a step forward, clearing his throat as he bows and greets you formally. You slide off the side of the chair where you’ve perched yourself and pace toward him. Your unyielding gaze sets his nerves alight and the air around him seems to buzz.

“It has been so long since we have had someone who knew how to have fun around here,” you cast a look at the ever silent Micheletto, who only grunts in response. The curl of your smile and the glinting of your teeth in the torchlight reminds him of a panther. He has the distant thought that Ezio would love you, if you weren’t currently working for the Borgia. “Nice to see you again, Niccolò.”

A curt, “Likewise” is all he feels comfortable mustering in the presence of the two other men in the cell. The word serves as a dismissal to you and a reminder that he has other priorities at the moment. As unshakeable as ever, you take his gruffness in stride; with an amused giggle and the roll of your eyes.

“Let’s get on with this, shall we?” Niccolò sends Micheletto an impatient look. The assassin wastes no time in laying out his personal armory on a rickety table off to the side.

“Aw Niccolò, I thought the reason why you came here with him was because you were too attracted to me to resist.” The playful pout and the weight of you against his chest sends an electric current up his spine. Looking away, he regards you with his best attempt at a scowl.

“I am clearly not attracted to you, that's why I'm trying to avoid you at all costs.”

“Ah, so it is because of me,” Your cooing has his brain going haywire, but your proximity has him fidgeting with a nervousness that hasn’t plagued him since he was a child. Your gaze slides to the man tied to the chair. “Or is it something else?”

His breath hitches imperceptibly. The comforting warmth of your hand is scorching now, branding every groove of your palm into his skin. You turn your scrutinizing gaze back to him, watching with clever eyes, like a fox toying with its prey. The ends of your lips tilt up with the slight narrow of your brow. His skin feels too tight.

As Micheletto steps up to the prisoner, Niccolò lets out a silent plea for forgiveness. 

Then, the butcher begins to carve.

~~

Minutes feel like hours in the short time that Micheletto works, separating skin from muscle and muscle from bone. Starving rodents linger along the edges of the cell, trained to associate the pained screams with their next meal after the torture is over and done with. The resulting iron tang fills Niccolò’s senses as he focuses on the fruitless venture of the assassin in front of him.

Beside him, you stand uncharacteristically silent. Your turn at coaxing any information out of the man having failed minutes prior. If Niccolò himself hadn’t been there to oversee his own recruit, he doubts the man would’ve put up such a strong defense to your charms.

When the time was up, you’d sent the prisoner a pitying glance and stepped back with a lingering touch to his cheek as Micheletto approached to take over.

There’s a tenseness in you that he’s had to train himself to recognize. No doubt you’ve observed the same in him in the time he’s spent down here.

He chances a comforting brush of his pinky against yours; too light to truly grasp onto, but solid enough to know it’s there. The slight twitch of your finger in return is enough to let him know that it’s acknowledged and appreciated. 

He knows you aren’t one to bask in the gore that Micheletto delivers. You’ve always had a penchant for mischief; especially if it serves to reward you with a full purse and an entertaining time. But this crosses far into the territory of brutality that neither of you care to venture.

Minutes pass without a single interrogating question having left the butcher. The agonized wailing echoes through the cell; only interrupted by another round of skin-splitting hacking. The next series of pleas as Micheletto raises his blade to flesh again sends Niccolò marching forward.

“Enough!” The assassin’s blow is interrupted as Niccolò grabs his wrist, wrenching the blade from his hand. “That is enough! This is no longer an interrogation. Leave him alone!”

Niccolò’s grip on the instrument tightens as Micheletto shifts forward to snatch it back, gravel crunching underfoot.

“We are here to get answers from him!” The assassin hisses as he swings for the knife, Niccolò drawing back just enough to keep it out of reach. He maneuvers around the man as he stumbles, marching to the table laid out with his torture utensils and folding the pack up in one swift movement.

“We won’t get answers from him if you kill him before we can ask.” Niccolò snarls as he shoves the leather case into Micheletto, knocking him back just enough to stumble over himself. “And if he dies before we can find Ezio Auditore, I’ll be sure to point Cesare to the man responsible.”

The prisoner’s pained moans echo in the cell as Micheletto storms out, knocking you with his shoulder on the way out. A small smirk of approval curls at the edge of your lips as you watch the man retreat back through the prison. You glance once more at the man, before turning to Niccolò.

“Signora.” He bows and gestures for you to make your leave ahead of him.

Your smirk stays rooted to your face, combined with a look that he’s not sure he should be finding attractive or worrisome.

“Signore.” You bow your head in return and leave him with a knot of concern in his chest.

Alone in the cell, he chances one last look at the prisoner as he schemes an escape plan in his head.

He will have to move faster than expected.

~~

Navigating the same maze is exponentially harder in the dark. A good thing that Niccolò had memorized the route here and back. The squeaking of a rat running off accompanied the squeal of the hinges as he slowly nudges the door ajar.

The cell is in the same state of chaos as they’d left it. His recruit, now untied, lay in a heap next to the chair, almost as if he’d slid right off and stayed there. That’s probably what happened, in all likelihood.

With silent, deliberate steps, Niccolò rushes forward to prop the man up. He checks his pulse. Alive. He breathes a sigh of relief. A pained groan leaves the man as he helps him up, the weight of him tugging while Niccolò struggles to stand.

There’s an exit the long way around, through labyrinthian halls that exit through the back of the vatican. It’s an inconspicuous entrance for captives that weren’t worthy to have their blood spilled on marble floors to meet their fates in the neverending darkness.

He just had to make it out, meet Volpe’s men, and the man would live to see another day of freedom.

“Somehow, I knew I would find you back down here.”

The melody of your voice sends a shiver down his spine, heart momentarily freezing as your figure is revealed behind the door of the cell. He stutters in his step, the weight of the prisoner lolling forward and pulling Niccolò to steady him.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is only slightly strained. Slow, graceful steps bring you to him.

“I would ask the same of you,” you gesture to the man slung across Machiavelli’s shoulder, “but it seems I’ve interrupted a plan of yours.” The warmth of your breath ghosts over the shell of his ear as you lean in.

“To answer your question, mio caro, Cesare hired me to catch you.”

Blood roars in his ears and his heart drops at the revelation. He searches your face for any sign that this might be a joke of yours to throw him off. The serene expression on your face never wavers. Cold in its rigidity as you watch him piece together the fact that this is no prank of yours.

It’s the only time you’ve ever delivered an answer so blatantly.

In the darkness of the cell, he plants his feet, heart racing a mile a minute as he considers the obstacle you’ve become. Silence weighs like a blanket over the two of you. Despite the way you recognize the look of realization on his face, you don’t move to speak; lips quirked in amusement as the words tumble over each other in his mind.

He is not one to plead, especially not in his line of work. A simple “So?” is all he can muster through gritted teeth.

“So, we have fifteen minutes before Cesare’s guards flood this prison in search of you.” You move to position yourself underneath the prisoner's other arm and begin to pull him forward with you.

It takes Niccolò more than a moment to recover from the whiplash of your admission and your apparent help before he’s digging his feet into the ground to spur the three of you faster. He’ll have the time to work through the confusion when he’s back to Tiber Island.

~~

Maneuvering a half-dead assassin recruit through the pitch blackness of the prison tunnels has its challenges. You appear to have memorized the way out entirely. He wishes he had the time to question you. The weight of the man and the oppressive darkness keeps him silent.

Every noise is a skipped heartbeat for Niccolò; either manifesting as a rat or a creak of the prison structure itself. At his side, you coo quietly to the recruit, keeping him quiet so as not to alert anyone to the prison break.

Freedom comes into view with the sight of moonbeams spilling over the gravel floor. It’s surprisingly easy to force the lock open and slip out into the marbled courtyards of the Vatican.

A cart waits in the shadow of the pillars off to the side, the ebony stallion tethered to it tosses its head with impatience. The two of you haul the recruit to the cart. Niccolò lays him in the hay, promising medicinal help soon, before he turns back to you.

If circumstances were different, he probably would call you ethereal in the light of the moon.

If circumstances were different, you might’ve appreciated the compliment.

Instead, the quiet of the night remains as you linger; neither of you willing to say a word.

A small huff of amusement escapes you, stepping forward and brandishing a black lump of cloth. He sends you a confused look as he accepts it.

“You didn’t expect to make it out without some sort of disguise did you?” A mirrored puff of laughter escapes him in return.

“Well, until ten minutes ago I did not know I was being hunted.”

“Right, you would have planned for it otherwise.” You say with an eye roll. He settles the cloak on his shoulders with a flourish.

You’re retreating to the looming marble fortress and before he can think better of it, he’s tugging you into a kiss.

It’s all unspoken longing and a tangle of heat. Your mouth moves against his in a way that makes up for the skill he lacks. If you had more time, you’d probably tease him for it. But you don’t and he sinks further into the feeling of you, savoring the way your body presses against his. Your arms are thrown around his shoulders, an action altogether surprising but not unwelcome to Niccolò.

He almost abandons his mission then and there.

Almost.

It’s a moment too short when you break away from him, your arms brushing their way down his shoulders to meet his forearms. The touch leaves his skin burning in its wake. You move to pull away, but he holds you there, looking insistently into your eyes.

“Come with me.” It’s barely a whisper; to you, it’s deafening. You pull away with a sadness in your face that he wishes he could kiss away.

“I cannot. Cesare will be looking for me and it will only lead straight to your organization.”

To you– but he doesn’t need to hear you say it to know.

Niccolò Machiavelli is not a man to beg, but you bring him near enough. Any protests are silenced as you draw a velvet pouch from your cloak and shift it into his hands. The weight of the coins are as heavy as his heart. You fold his fingers over it and press a lingering kiss to his knuckles; soft as the velvet he holds.

Then you pull away; the skin where you were, cold in the evening air.

“Grazie,” he bows his head to you, “Signora.”

“Signore.” You mirror him; the amused smile curves your lips again. Like the embrace never happened.

He watches you go for a few moments before he’s pulling himself up into the driving seat and setting the stallion off at a brisk pace. The velvet pouch sits attached to his belt; its weight, a comfort as he makes his way home.

You’ll probably be on a ship, embarking for new lands by the time he finishes his journey to the hideout.

He hopes he’ll see you again.

Knowing you, it’ll be sooner than he expects.