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author-morgan · 2 years

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Title: Persuasion Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader x Alexios Rating: M Summary: It takes both Eivor and Alexios to convince you to join them on their summer raid to England. Blame @mrsragnarlodbrok for this filth. ❤️

THE WATER IS warm and relaxing after a long day’s hunt, but the reprieve is interrupted by a messenger from the south named Ragn. He brings word from Eivor Wolfsmal —a summons to meet and discuss plans for the summer raiding season. The arrival of the raids means good plunder for those who partake, but for your people, it means the time to start planting rocky fields and making stores for the next winter is nigh approaching too.

There is a reason your people have not gone a viking in so long —the winters are growing longer and colder, and you cannot risk losing the menfolk, else everyone starve. But Ragn tells you Eivor has set his sights to the west, to the foretold riches of East Anglia and beyond. You thank him for the message and sink further into the cooling water before calling for one of the members of your vanguard, asking her to call upon your bannermen to prepare for departure. At dawn, you will travel south and meet Eivor of the Raven Clan’s call —for old time’s sake, if nothing else.

It is not an overly long journey south, nor is it a short one traveling across rocky crags and rushing streams. It takes nigh two moons before you can see the walls of Eivor’s settlement rising on the horizon —guarding the dark and frigid waters of the fjord beyond. Horns sound to announce the arrival, and Eivor rides out to meet you and your traveling party. People have trickled in for the last fortnight, and you are among the last to arrive —the one he’s wanted to see the most.

He dismounts his white mare as you slide from the back of your mount too and approaches you with welcome arms and warmth in his smile. The years have not changed him. He is still handsome and kindly as ever. He embraces you, a quick greeting between old friends. “Welcome,” Eivor says, then he spares a moment to look you over from head to toe. He feels as though time has not been as gentle to him as it has to you. “You look well,” he remarks.

You reach out, resting a hand on his scarred cheek, and smile up at him. “As do you.” Eivor covers your hand with his own, fingers curling around yours. He pulls your hand from his cheek and places a quick kiss on your knuckle. You ride at Eivor’s side, your traveling party trailing along, single file with the wagons at the head through the streets, stopping at the heart of the settlement before the great hall. Dismounting, you look around at the wood and stone buildings, noting how much the once small harbor has grown in recent years.

“Come with me,” Eivor says, motioning for you to follow him through the muddy streets to the harbor. You wave to your bannermen, and they disperse among the barracks and market —offloading crates and barrels of goods from wagons and carts for trade. Horns sound again, marking the arrival of three longships bearing white sails with a dark eagle clutching a serpent in its talons. The last of those who Eivor summoned for the meeting.

A man wearing pale brown leathers, a mantle of grey fur, and blue wool disembarks from the arriving longship, drawing back his hood. Most of the gathered Jarls you are familiar with, but this is a new and strange face. One who does not belong so far north. His dark hair is matted into locks shorn at his shoulders and adorned with golden beads —his skin is sun-kissed, and his eyes dark. Eivor approaches the man on the wharf, and they both size each other up in a moment of tense silence. The façade quickly breaks with Eivor’s laugh. “Alexios!” He greets.

Alexios clasps Eivor on the shoulder, smiling. “It has been too long, my friend,” he remarks —dark gaze straying to where you wait beneath an arch of wood and stone. But curiosities can be slaked later; for now, it is time to prepare for the feast.

NINE OF THE eleven Jarls who have answered the call retire for the evening. Their absence leaves you sitting between Eivor and Alexios at the table strewn with overturned cups and empty plates —still unconvinced it’s in your people’s best interests to join the summer raids of an all but unknown land. Too much is at stake for you to carelessly venture west.

“You’ve yet to persuade me, Wolf-kissed,” you note, setting aside your cup. The promise of riches alone is not enough to send men to an early grave. “I have my people I must care for and women and children who will lose their husbands and fathers.” Where others could make do with the absence of menfolk during the warm months, your clan could not —only a handful of men joined the raids each year. Every person contributed to the survival of the whole so far north. “Our winters are longer than yours here in the south,” you remind him.

Alexios regards you carefully, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s not said much this evening, but his dark eyes have been busy —watching. He sees a strong will, a sharp wit, and a gentle heart. The makings of a leader loved by the masses. That’s without considering the respect you commanded from the others who have seen more summers than you. He has to admire that after encountering so many weak-willed leaders in his years.

“Perhaps another drink will help ease your worries,” Eivor says, pouring a fresh cup of mead and sliding it across the table for you to take. Even drunk, you do not think you’d willingly throw away so many lives for the spoils of the summer raids. He’s adamant, though. “I know there are riches and fertile land to the west,” Eivor tells you. “You need not endure the harsh winters if your people can call Anglia home.”

“It’s true,” Alexios supplements, “I’ve been there before.” He has wandered around the world for centuries and knows Eivor and others speak the truth about the land once named Britannia. “Thick forests and rolling green hills as far as the eye can see.” It sounds too good to be true —like a dream. “You see,” Alexios continues, “the true riches lie not in gold or silver, but the fertile earth. There’s more than enough land for your people to make a new home,” he tells you.

“Still,” you say, looking between the two men flanking your sides, “I shall have to think on it.” It is no small thing to ask that you uproot your people on a whim for an uncertain future in a strange land, but perhaps you could join them to see this land and its riches for yourself. Though, it is still something that must be considered without the strong mead fogging your senses.

Alexios leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. He looks past you to Eivor —who seems to be in the same mindset as him. He’s certainly not immune to the charms of a woman such as you, and neither is Eivor, considering the looks he’s shared with you over the course of the evening. “Perhaps we can convince you to join us,” he says, voice gruffer than just moments before.

Eyes flitting between both men, you catch onto the game they’re playing. You’re not one to shy away from such games, and it’s an easy choice to decide to play along with whatever they might be scheming. “And how will you do that?” You challenge, lifting a brow.

“Do you know how to wield a spear?” Alexios asks —you catch the double meaning of his question easily enough. Had any other Jarl asked such a thing, you’d have emptied your cup over their head, but there’s a certain allure and charm to Alexios with his sharp features and tawny-gold eyes.

“I do,” you answer, letting another sip of mead wash away what little inhibitions are left for the evening. “I can skewer a boar and bring a man to his knees,” you note. Eivor knows you can do both with ease —he’s seen you hunt before, knows what it’s like to have you writhing as he fucks you.

“How about you, Alexios? Can you wield a spear?” You query, lifting your cup to hide a bold and enticing smile. He moves as soon as you set your cup on the table, drawing you into his lap, hands instantly finding the ties of your soft gambeson and the pale tunic below —as though he’s been waiting for this moment since first setting eyes on you hours prior. The gambeson slips to the floor, and you rid yourself of the thin tunic without care. His lips are warm and soft against yours when he kisses you, palms pressing flat against your breasts.

He leans down, mouth latching onto your neck with a gentle bite that makes you gasp. Alexios moves down your chest until his lips wrap around one taut nipple, his tongue swirling around the bud and drawing a moan from your traitorous lips. You feel him smile against you —the press of his teeth against your chest in a broad grin. You catch Eivor’s gaze, and the color on his cheeks as your hands trail down Alexios’s chest —you can feel the firm muscles in his abdomen beneath your hands and his half-hard cock pressing into your thigh. He offers no resistance when you start unlacing the ties of his pants.

His cock is thick, heavy, and hot in your hand as you wrap your fingers around him —feeling each rigid vein. You can’t help but imagine the feel of them dragging along your walls as he fucks you. Your cunt tightens at the thought —a shiver crawls down your spine, and warmth pools in your belly. What you’d give to mount him like a stallion —you can already feel the aching burn of him stretching you open. But for now, you’ll settle for this. Alexios’s head tips back. The muscles in his neck tense. You lean into him, lips dragging along his jawline, and when he groans, it reverberates through you both. His breath stutters as you start slow. A teasing, languid pace —letting your entire hand explore him.

Eivor shifts in his chair —you can feel the heat of his stare without sparing him a glance. “You’re awfully quiet, Eivor,” you muse, still peppering kisses along Alexios’s neck and letting his calloused hands explore what skin they can. “Still not over that night?” You tease, breath catching when Alexios nips at your collarbone —the scruff of his beard leaving a burning trail that his tongue soothes. “Must’ve been, what? Four years ago, now?” Eivor does not answer. He won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing how many times the thought of you has kept him warm at night.

Your gaze drops to Alexios’s cock as you give him another long stroke from base to tip. Flushed, thick, and throbbing against your skin. You stop holding back —hand moving faster and wrist twisting on each upstroke— and Alexios cannot restrain himself any longer. He feels a fool for coming undone so quickly, but there’s magic in your touch, especially after a long voyage at sea.

“Is this any way to treat your host?” Eivor japes, and you can hear the bitter jealously in his voice as he watches. “Casting him aside to watch?”

“Come now, Eivor,” you chide. “You’ll have your fun later.” The way you say it, taunting and teasing with your hand wrapped around another man’s cock makes this all seem like a competition. If it is, at least it is a game where you will all be victorious.

“Is this not part of the sacred guest-rights?” Alexios asks, his voice half-strangled from how your hand works his cock but amused too. His body arches into you, pulling you against him, and his lips part as he moans unabashedly. It isn’t loud, but it is guttural and desperate, and it makes your core ache with want. Your hand doesn’t stop working him even as he spills himself over your fingers, drawing out his orgasm for as long as you can until you slow to a stop, and he begins to relax —catching his breath.

But he’s quick to begin taking what he wants. Alexios kisses your neck, moving down your body —the rough pads of fingers trailing along your sides, but it’s not enough. He needs more, wants more, and it’s impulse and desire when he sweeps his arms out, knocking the plates and cups in front of him to the floor. Alexios lifts you from his lap onto the edge of the table —hurriedly pulling at the ties of your britches as you toe off your boots.

Eivor inhales sharply, seeing you bare and splayed out on the table. His tongue darts out to dampen his lips. Memory reminds him of how sweet you tasted and how prettily you’d moaned for him, and he can barely stand the thought of not being the one between your thighs.

Alexios slinks down to look upon his second meal —eager to devour. You feel the stubble of his jaw tickle the crest of one hip and then the other before feeling his breath against your aching center. He kisses the inside of each thigh, then suckles and bites a mark in the same place on each side, laving over the little marks with his tongue. Alexios does not know what will come of this night, though he will leave a lasting impression on you to remember him by for the coming days —and maybe have you coming back to warm his bed on these cold northern nights.

He nuzzles his face against your cunt, inhaling the heady scent —drunk off the smell— and Alexios wrenches an incredulous noise from your throat when his tongue darts out, licking a flat stripe over you, stopping to circle your clit. He repeats the action thrice over, each time adding more pressure —devouring your cunt with attention like a man supping on his last meal, and he will be sure to have his fill. Reaching down, you twine your hands into his dark hair, and he peers up, dark eyes almost black with desire but still shining gold in the firelight. It’s easy to forget you and Alexios are not alone.

His tongue and mouth are insistent but soft, warm, and wet —a practiced lover— and he groans in delight against you when he feels your hips rise from the table and start to roll against his tongue. Alexios thinks himself a simple devotee worshipping at the altar of a goddess.

Every time you make a new noise, it just makes him more voracious —makes his cock stir again, but right now is about you and he’s determined not to stop until you’re shaking. He loops his arms under your thighs and moves his fingers to spread you open farther —letting his thumbs rub up and down your folds, gathering the slick. Then he eases one finger into your cunt, curling, and stroking, then adds a second. It’s devastating —the gentle pressure with each flick of his tongue on your clit— your breath comes in short gasps, chest heaving until it all erupts in slow sparks and smoldering flames.

It's the plummet of a longship’s prowl after cresting a wave when gravity takes its full force. The slow build of heat low in your belly takes to flames fanned by bellows. Alexios curls his fingers just right and feels your body tighten and seize. Your back arches off the tabletop and your ragged cry of ecstasy fill the room as you quiver.

Alexios raises his head, lips and chin glistening in the low light of the empty mead hall. He eases you down, hands stroking the insides of your thighs, and his lips find the skin below your navel before he draws you off the table and back into his lap. You tremble still when he drags the scruff of his jaw over your breasts and clavicles —promptly burying his face into your neck and listening as your heartbeat slows.

Fingers threading into Alexios’s matted locks, you glance at Eivor —his eyes are dark and filled with lust. His breathing is quicker and more labored than it had been during the feast too. Eivor splays his legs open, and you can see the outline of his hard cock through the wool of his britches. You smile for him —knowing it drives him to insanity and jealousy to see you like this because of another man. Alexios’s rough hands slide over your sides and around to your backside, pulling you down and forward against him —so you can feel his cock twitch back to life. A promise the night is not over yet.

But Eivor’s patience has run dry, and he will resign to being a bystander no longer. Rising from his seat, Eivor steps to you and Alexios, tugging your hair and forcing you to look up at him. He cranes down close to your ear and smirks. “My turn,” he rasps, pulling you off Alexios’s lap before scooping you up and over his shoulder and parading through the Great Hall toward his chambers. “Come, my friend,” Eivor calls back to Alexios, “guest-rights would have you take her cunt first.”

Anticipation burns low in your belly as Eivor pushes open the door to his room. Alexios trails a few steps behind —cock half-hanging out of the untied laces of his britches— his hands already fumbling with the ties of his tunic. Then Eivor lets you down from his shoulder and seizes your face in his hands, lips finding yours with burning lust and consuming passion.

You break away, breathless, and start to slide your hands beneath the hem of his tunic, pushing up the coarse crimson wool until he finally rids himself of it. Then your lips trail effortlessly along his heated flesh as you kiss your way from his scarred neck down his chest, then to his stomach, ghosting over the familiar blue-black ink of the runic tattoos accenting his middle. They’re a shade or two lighter than when you last saw him like this.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d have your fun later?” You muse, stopping just below his navel where a trail of hair a shade darker than that on his head begins. His response is a breathy groan as you continue down the path you’d started, falling to your knees in front of him, alas. His hands tangle in your hair as he moans quietly for you, feeling the blood rush as your breath trails dangerously close to the swell of his still-clothed cock.

His jaw clenches in frustration when you slow down, working the ties of his britches. You push the soft leather down his thighs, letting his cock fall free —hard, heavy, and weeping with want. Eivor steps out of his britches, and you press a to kiss his inner thigh, feeling the muscle twitch in anticipation. You kiss his inner thigh and feel the muscle twitch in anticipation. His fingers brush over your jaw, and your lips part to run your tongue across the length of his cock.

You look up at him before circling the head of his cock with your tongue, and he growls, running a hand through your hair affectionately. Your thighs squeeze together, knowing how much he wants your attention makes you feel flushed and warm in the best way. You give him a small smile before you open wider to take the head between your lips and are rewarded with his pleased sigh.

He hisses as he watches his cock disappear into your mouth —can feel the wet of your tongue lapping at him when you hollow your cheeks in. Your eyes are fixed on him, firing with lust as you watch him slowly fall into a haze. His brows furrow, his eyes slip shut, and his mouth parts from the sudden peak of pleasure. He doesn’t expect you to stop so suddenly, though. The aching emptiness between your thighs is enough to drive you mad. You look back at Alexios —he’s bare as you are now, his clothes tossed in a heap at the door, and he’s stroking his cock as he watches.

Rising from your knees, you press your hand to the center of Eivor’s chest, pushing him back toward the bed. He goes without complaint, falling backward into the furs, and you join him, perching on hands and knees —placing a long lick up the underside of his cock before a small sucking kiss on the head and presenting yourself to Alexios for the taking.

Alexios steps up behind you, his hands running over your hips and backside. His fingers dip into your soaked cunt before curling around his cock, stroking himself before pressing into you —slowly, so you can feel each ridge and vein dragging along your walls, filling you. It draws a low moan from you as he bottoms out, then starts thrusting shallowly as you lick a stripe up Eivor’s cock again. You give no warning as you open wide, mouth closing around the head of his cock and slipping halfway down his length. His fingers instinctively yank at your hair, moan cracking in his throat like he’s choking on the sound.

From behind, relentlessly to his snapping hips, Alexios fucks into you. Hard, rigid, merciless through a string of guttural groans and stumbling profanities spoken in a tongue you do not understand. Needy and pitifully pathetic, your aching cunt burns with each thrust, rough pads of his callous fingers digging into the skin of your bare hips. You lay there for him, hands twisted into the fur pelts next to Eivor’s thighs, body jolting and humming with pleasure. You can’t see him, yet you know how he must be —satisfied— and how he must look —chest flushed as incoherent grunts of pleasure bolt his lips.

His thickness splits you inch by inch while he slams in relentlessly, ceaselessly, persistently. Each vein, each ridge, each curve of his cock skidding along the walls of your cunt, driving your body further into oblivion. Alexios’s teeth scrape over your shoulder when he lowers his mouth to your back. One of his hands stays on your waist, anchoring you against him, the other palms your breast, fingers tweaking one nipple then the other. You’re vaguely aware that Alexios and Eivor are saying something to each other, but you’re too distracted by your work to pay attention. You shiver a bit when you feel warm hands come down to grope your breasts, and you let your throat squeeze around him, mind shrouded in a fog of sex.

Alexios looks down at the display of his cock moving in and out of your wet cunt. It’d be a shame not to enjoy what you’re offering in the moment. He leans over you, chest pressed against your back, and kisses your neck —the feel of his hot lips sends a shiver down your spine and makes you clench around his cock. “Fuck,” he hisses, grabbing a handful of your ass to spur you along. You feel the familiar tension blooming in your stomach as he thrusts inside you again and again. The needy little sounds you’re making for him are muffled around Eivor’s cock. Alexios’s bottoming out with every rock of his hips against yours, and this won’t last much longer for either of you —his cock is already throbbing with the prospect of release.

Eivor’s fingers thread into your hair, keeping you against his groin and looking at you like you’re some kind of benevolent goddess. It only makes that heat inside you flare up more. This all feels so good, but you can only offer muffled whines as both of them enjoy your body. You whimper, and the low reverberation and hum of your mouth around his cock is enough to finish Eivor —and you swallow the bitter salt of his seed.

Rough fingertips find your clit, rubbing and stroking until your cunt clamps down tight around his cock, and you lose all sense of focus as the wave of pleasure washes over you —breath reduced to tiny gasps and your thighs shaking. You slump forward, head pillowed on Eivor’s stomach, content to let Alexios work himself to his own finish with your body, and it doesn’t take much time. He comes inside you after a few more sloppy thrusts, cock spasming deep in your cunt, pressed so close against your back you can feel his heart beating fast behind you. The two of you stay together for a minute to get your bearings before he pulls out and steps away.

Eivor’s waited long enough to have your cunt, and he’ll not give you long to recover from how Alexios fucked you. He crawls between your thighs. His eyes hold a certain darkness you’ve never seen before —rooted in jealousy— and his mouth is slightly a gape with his chest rising and falling in heavy heaves. He takes hold of his cock, stroking himself as his spare hand plants to your hip, spreading your legs open wide for his taking. Eivor’s lips quirk into a faint smirk as he guides his cock into you as if to say you’re mine now.

Low and throaty, he hisses to the sensation, eyes momentarily clenching shut to the feel of you as he sinks to the hilt. His thrusts start slow but quicken —he’s thought about having you like this again on many a cold night— cock throbbing and twitching inside you, slipping from your cunt messily each time before plummeting back in. He grunts and curses above you as you plead with sobs of frustration and nigh overstimulation. You’ve never been so well-fucked before.

Your nails dig into his biceps, each thrust presses your breasts tighter to his chest. Eivor dips his head down, teeth scraping over your neck —just above a thrumming pulse. Your body involuntarily reacts, arching into him, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer every time he rolls his hips into yours. His fingertips press hard into your thighs, holding you tight against him, and your back arches with jolting shocks. Eivor’s eyes blacken when his eyes glaze over your body —wanton and bare, completely exposed for him, with your breasts bouncing as he rams in, cock burying deep, deep inside you with each thrust.

He grunts, jaw tightened, his pace never faltering. Your cunt pulses and throbs —Alexios’s seed leaking onto the furs below. Eivor breathes your name, face lowering to yours —mead-tinged breath hot against your lips as he quietly growls, teeth barely grazing your jaw. Persistently, he nips at the soft skin of your neck, leaving marks to match those left by Alexios, as if marking his claim too. “Fuck,” he grits, his eyes frenzied and primal, wild as he asserts his dominance —taking what should have been his all along. It’s the way his throbbing cock works your cunt, the way he perfectly fucks you into pure and utter bliss.

Throaty and gruff, he lets out rough moans, breathy and raggedy, and hot as he shudders, sending shivers of wanting down your spine when you know he’s close. Your head tilts back, and you can see Alexios reclined behind you —watching contentedly. With a few particularly harsh thrusts, you yelp in pleasure, ascending another peak, searing your nerves as he continues to fuck into you, chasing his own end. Eivor’s cock hits your end with a halt, a satisfied grumble of his chest rumbling against your breasts as he finds release, filling you with tingling warmth. Then his head falls forward, forehead pillowed on your breasts, and he lets out a breathy exhale, chest hot and puffing from the exertion. Drawing in a long sigh, Eivor slides his cock from you, rolling off to the side.

Shifting, you rest your head on Alexios’s stomach and drape your legs across Eivor’s. He smooths his hand over your calf and turns his head, watching the seed drip from your ruined cunt. Sleep weighs heavily on your chest after the length of days of travel, and now this. It calls sweetly. “Have we persuaded you to go to England with us?” Alexios asks, half-laughing as he runs his fingertips over your stomach and stops to fondle one of your breasts.

“Will the two of you be having me like this every day if I do?” You ask in turn, voice airy —dreamy— eyes slipping shut. Both men exchange a look, and neither will object to such a proposition. You can feel the low rumble of laughter in Alexios and Eivor’s chests. You certainly wouldn’t object to the proposal. Eivor kisses the bend of your knee, and Alexios takes your hand, lips pressing to the center of your palm —each kiss like a promise of what’s to come.

[taglist: @alessyaraven @alexandra-alle @ananriel @callmemythicalminx @certifiedlittleshit @chaotic-spooky @darkravenqueen98 @edelaen @elluvians @erzsebetrosztoczy @finick94 @hc-geralt-23 @idkjj04 @itseivwhore @kitkitvm @ksziggy @letsloveimagines @maximalblaze @missmannequin @mrsragnarlodbrok @novastale @overratedsun @qhbr2013 @queenyalo @rhienn-lavellan-rutherford @thedragonqueenfan @theelvenvalkyrie @thepreciouspurrsian @vanillabeanlattes @wallsarecrumbling @withered-poppies @xxdearlybeloved ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor, Alexios, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

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freshstartfromscratch · 2 years

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Headcanon: The reason why Ezio underlines "da Firenze" part is because his family is originally from Monteriggioni and that's in the province of Siena.

And ANY Florentine whether modern or from the 15th century would rather be caught with a fork in their eyeball than be confused with anyone from Siena.

Like. Trash talking other cities is the norm in Italy.

Mostly because historically speaking there was no one Italy for the majority of history (just like there was no one unified Italian language, it was actually a huge problem in the Kingdom of Italy) but rather a nightmarish cluster of various cities and regions fighting one another for influence. As you might guess they didn't like eachother. In some cases it ended with a year long war with 2000 casualties over a bucket but that's not my point.

Like maybe I'm exaggerating but I have never encountered other Italians shit talking another city as much as Florentines trash talk Siena.

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asscrackcreed · 2 years

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Taking a Break (Smut)

Haytham x gn!Reader | Commission by @enby-coffin

Prompt: I'm interested in a Haytham x gn!reader. Most fanfics I see of him, he's always suave and flirtatious, but I'd like to see one where the reader initiates the romance. Cause he's a workaholic and doesn't want to take the time to meet people.

Note: MAN I'M SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS - Commissions are open!

“I just have a little more work to finish.”

“And what about your other responsibilities?” You huffed, “Like me?”

Haytham slunk back in his chair, one arm resting on the chair and the other propped on its elbow with his fingers alongside his face. The way he draped himself on the chair shot a sense of arousal through you. The sigh he let out was followed by your name. You were leaning on his desk, looking over him. The light of the candle danced on his face. He seemed to have his own glow. The light of the moon accompanied the candlelight illuminating the room. Window open, the soft breeze brushed his hairs, tied loosely in his red hair tie. Haytham himself was keen on concentrating. He noticed your eyes gazing around at him, a smirk tugged at his lips and so he held his hand out for you. Pushing yourself off the desk, you finally turned to stand before him. Taking his hand, his eyes traced over your figure before darting back at your own eyes. With a tug you made him stand up, one hand cupping your face whilst the other wrapped around your waist. He watched as you inched your face closer, a soft peck. He whispered your name before pecks became kisses. His lips were ever so gentle on your own, but for you it wasn’t enough. So you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him further into you. The kisses were strong and wet. Slight groans melted into your lips as your hands travelled down his body.

You didn’t break the kiss as your hands started exploring his legs. One hand traced over the already slight bulge on his thigh and the other grabbing Haytham’s face. Haytham hands were on your waist in anticipation. His body was far more excited than he might have shown. The twitch on your hand didn’t go unnoticed as you started rubbing the wet clothed tip faster. Haytham’s grunt moulded into the kiss when he finally mustered the courage. His hand snaked to the back of your neck, deepening the hot kisses. With him quietly moaning into your mouth, you undid the button of his trousers.

Quick shuffling around led to Haytham’s hardened cock in the grips of your hand. Leaning onto the desk, his head fell back whilst your hand slowed as it slid to the base. Back up to the tip, Haytham’s pre-cum leaking down his shaft and your hand. The movement was agonising, and he was not a very patient man. Haytham opened his mouth to complain only to be cut off by the friction and the added grip, he bit back a moan. The control within your hand made you feel powerful. The teasing worsened as your tongue lapped up all the pre-cum. Haytham’s hand moved to the back of your head, his heavy breaths followed by a groan. As you took the tip into your mouth, your tongue swirled around whatever was in your mouth. Your eyes looking up at the heated man’s face, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open, hands gripping the arms of the chair while his chest rose and fell quickly. The sight of such a self-composed man becoming weak with the little touching that you’ve done spurred you on to take him further into your mouth. Haytham watched your head bob up and down, his hand slightly pushing you down as he heard the slick noises come out of you. He felt like he was on fire, your tongue working just as hard as your mouth. Your hollowed cheeks, struggling slightly at the length and girth of his burning cock, made Haytham louder. Slight hissing led to biting his lip which led to a strong grip stopping you.

Looking up, he tugged at your hair a little to pull you off. Neither of you could remember to move his important papers out of the way as he bent you over. Your clothing was quickly removed and the warmth was replaced by his hands. Massaging, memorising the shape and beauty of your skin. Kissing along and down your spine, his fingers grazed your hole. Keen to tease you, he only pushed slightly in and out, enough to cause a whine from your lips.

“Please…” The plead caused a slight smirk to play on his lips

“Yes, dear?”

“Fuck me.”

And so his fingers pushed in. Stretching slightly in anticipation for his cock that he knew would fill every inch of your hole. His fingers were only giving you a taste of what his cock could do inside you. The curling of his fingers only made your grip tighter on the desk, his lips continuing to attack on your back. The marks left behind and your further pleas spurred him on. The arousal made Haytham leak further as his cock brushed against your thighs.

Once the frustration grew, Haytham was merciful enough to remove his fingers. The desperation to fill you up grew evident as his hungry eyes watched as your readied hole ached for his equally hungry cock. Pressing the tip in, Haytham hissed, leaning his body onto yours. Both the sweat and heat mixed as his hips swung slowly. His cock buried deep at first, taking a second for the both of you to adjust to each other. His hands gripped on your hips, the movements of his own hips first slow. The heat and tightness of your hole squeezed onto Haytham who could only moan in response. He listened to your quickened breath, the creak of the desk and the rustling of his papers. The room began to fill with stifled moans. You had to beg more and more just for Haytham to listen to you. And he was merciful enough to finally give it to you. As though he had enough torture, Haytham rocked his hips faster. Head against the desk, hands gripped against the edge, Haytham pushed your legs further apart. He fucked you. He fucked you like he would never hve the courtesy of doing so again. He fucked you like it was a privilege that he was so lucky to have. The desk creaked and the legs scraped against the floor. Your head had become almost dizzy with pleasure. His cock continued to hit the right spot forcing every moan out of you. Skin on fire, you couldn’t help but groan his name continuously. Despite not being able to see his face, the hunger in his eyes was enough to keep him almost rabid-like. He left your neck in kisses and saliva, devouring whatever skin his mouth could reach. His moans melted into your skin, fingers moulding into the skin of your hips. You felt like you could cum any minute, the tension below continued to tug.

“I… I can’t…”

“Finish with me.”

Your back pressed against his front, both covered in sweat and tired. Thrusts lazily turning into grinding. Your head fell back and your eyes squeezed shut. Moans turning into needy whines. Haytham’s strong thrusts became slow, giving a few more pumps before you crashed onto the desk. The room fell almost silent with you both catching your breath.

Your legs shook slightly as Haytham pressed soft kisses along your back. His hands rubbing your sex as you eased down from your orgasm. Haytham pulled you onto his lap after sitting down on the chair. You turned your head to place soft and lazy kisses on his lips. Both quiet in each other's embrace as you cooled down. His skin felt soft against yours, arms wrapped around your waist.

“I do have to finish this work.”

“You’re so stubborn… After all this, you won’t even let me enjoy your company?”

Haytham rolled his eyes, “Alright, I won’t hear anymore complaints. Let’s go to bed.”

#haytham kenway #haytham kenway x reader #smut #fanfiction #assassin's creed #ac #assassin's creed 3 #assassins creed 3 #ac3 #haytham kenway imagine #commission #assassins #assassins creed #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed imagines #ac imagines #ac imagine

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pstvchld · 5 months

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You can believe me or not, but I never really realized that

Like yeah I know it okay, but I didn't really think of it till today.. That's interesting

#assassin's creed imagine #napoleon #ac #joaquin phoenix #ikevamp

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cantstoptheimagines · 9 days

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Smutty Alphabet (Kassandra | Assassin’s Creed Odyssey)

Summary — Smutty Alphabet Prompts for Kassandra from Assassin’s Creed Odyssey!

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Nothing but smut, so tags aplenty!

Notes ➳ Word Count is 1,046. ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her). ➳ Based on these prompts by fairy-tail-babes.

aftercare — what are they like after sex?

she’d never admit it, but she becomes quite soft and sentimental after being with you. conversations in hushed voices while she runs her warm hands over your bare skin, tucking you deep into her ribs in a fruitless effort to melt your bodies into one.

body part — what’s their favorite body part of theirs? of their partner’s?

she likes her arms the most — and why wouldn’t she? a lot of blood, sweat, and tears have gone into building those muscles. she loves how easily they allow her to pin you beneath her, how they frame your body as she sinks her teeth into your neck. she adores your eyes, especially after she’s made you cum more times that you can count. she loves the tired glaze that overtakes them as they droop with a sudden need for sleep. she can’t help but be satisfied with herself upon seeing how they sparkle with fresh tears, begging for her more, more, more.

cum — anything to do with cum.

she loves making you cum on her fingers. it gives her the chance to make you watch as she pulls her glistening digits out of your pussy before she presses them against her tongue and sucks them clean. then, as soon as she’s done, they’re shoved right back inside your tight entrance until you’re left shaking and crying in her arms.

dirty secret — pretty self explanatory. what’s a dirty secret of theirs?

she wants nothing more than to find an artist who would paint her a portrait of you. (with nothing on, of course.) however, she has yet to find a painter with enough talent to do your beauty justice.

experience — how experienced are they?

she has explored nearly every corner of the greek world, meeting people and helping those in need of a misthios. it’s basically a given that she’s had a few relationships prior to finding you. i’d say she’s pretty experienced in more ways than one.

favorite position — this goes without saying.

69. she loves having your dripping pussy right in her face while your tongue explores her folds. her fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, allowing her to hold you down while you eat each other out.

goofy — are they serious or humorous?

this one is a little difficult because while she’s a rather serious person, she also has an awkward streak. despite being a misthios who meets people from all walks of life, this woman has little to no social skills. therefore, things might get silly, but it’s not necessarily intentional.

hair — how well groomed are they?

like most women in ancient greece, her appearance is kept as neat as possible. everything is cleaned and trimmed regularly.

intimacy — how are they during sex?

she may be rough and tough on the outside, but kassandra is far from cruel. she lays kisses on your exposed collarbones, whispering your name with a smile on her face. she wants nothing more than to be close to you. deep down, it’s love she craves, and you’re always willing to provide.

jack off — masturbation headcanon.

she loves making you get off in front of her. she bites her lip and chuckles whenever you beg for help because you can’t cum without her anymore. she’s got you wrapped around her finger, literally and figuratively.

kink — one or more of their kinks.

she loves overpowering you. as i said before, she’s worked hard to build up her physique, so she’s constantly using it to her advantage. she enjoys grabbing and manhandling you into whatever position she wants, no matter the time or place.

location — favorite places to have sex.

as a traveler, she can’t afford to be picky, though she does have a particular interest in tossing you onto the ground next to campfires. what does it matter if someone sees?

motivation — what turns them on?

when you beg her for more, no matter how sweaty and exhausted you are. she could listen to those pleas forever.

no — something they wouldn’t do.

despite all her strength, i don’t think she’d hit or slap you. maybe an occasional spank, but nothing more than that.

oral — do they prefer giving or receiving?

it can go either way with her, but she often leans towards giving. she’s never been one to waste a good meal.

pace — are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?

whatever you prefer. if it’s her decision, though, expect to see stars as fucks you into oblivion.

quickie — their opinions on quickies.

she’s a fan, mostly because she’s always on the move. any chance she gets, she’s bringing her horse to a stop on a mountain path, yanking you off the saddle, and then having her way with you on a nearby patch of grass before the journey continues.

risk — are they down to experiment? do they take risks?

she’s always ready to try out new, pleasurable ideas. whether they come from your mind or hers, she doesn’t hesitate to implement them. as for taking risks? this is kassandra we’re talking about.

stamina — how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

as a misthios, she has a lot of stamina and endurance, so expect to be wrapped up in her for at least four or five rounds. the real question is, can you keep up?

toy — how do they feel about toys?

she prefers to be the only source of your pleasure. however, if you ask to bring an olisboi into the mix, she won’t deny your request.

unfair — do they like teasing their partner?

one hundred percent, no doubt about it. teasing is just another part of the whole ‘overpowering you’ kink she’s got going on. she mostly does this by edging you over and over until you’re sobbing uncontrollably into your pillow.

volume — how loud are they? what sounds do they make?

why would she be quiet when she could let everyone know she’s yours? she isn’t afraid to let other people know what’s going on behind closed doors. with your mouth delving into the space between her legs, she has no shame, tossing her head back with every moan that escapes her.

wild card — a random headcanon.

i feel like she’s into pussy inspections for some reason. like, she needs to see exactly how much you came, how messy you are, and if she needs to keep going.

x-ray — what’s going on under those clothes?

her pussy is literally gorgeous. it’s a nice shade of tan that glistens in the light whenever she’s wet. you can’t help but pull apart her folds to play with her clit whenever she spreads her legs for you.

yearning — how high is their sex drive?

most of the time, she enjoys having sex as a way to relieve stress and take a break from her life, in which danger seems to be never-ending. therefore, considering how busy she usually is, i’d say she has a pretty average sex drive (but only because she’s too distracted by nearly everyone in the greek world trying to murder her every day).

zzz — how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?

it takes her a while. she’s your protector and primary source of comfort, so she usually waits for you to fall asleep first. she wants to make sure you don’t need anything — like another round — before her dreams take over.

#2024 #smutty alphabet #assassin's creed #assassin's creed odyssey #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed imagines #assassin's creed odyssey x reader #assassin's creed odyssey imagine #assassin's creed odyssey imagines #kassandra x reader #kassandra imagine #kassandra imagines

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marvel-wlw · 1 year

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I'm playing through Assassin's Creed: Valhalla again! If you would like to send in any requests for the following characters (or if you have a different character in mind) feel free to send them in! 😄

Female Eivor

Randvi

Soma

#assassin's creed imagine #eivor x reader #randvi x reader #soma x reader #female eivor x reader

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write-your-reality · 11 months

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Write Your Reality

Hi y'all! Just wanted to plug my new Etsy shop for writing commissions. Right now I've got listings up for personalized emails from your favorite characters, but I'll be adding other types of writing commissions too in the same vein!

I'm comfortable writing for:

Assassin's Creed:

Altaïr

Ezio

Desmond

Arno

Star Wars:

The Mandalorian

Cara Dune

Kylo Ren

Rey

Marvel Cinematic Universe:

Bucky Barnes

Thor

If you don't see your favorite/comfort character her or on the listings, just reach out to me on here, on my Etsy, or through my email: [email protected] . I'm willing to try my hand at certain characters if I'm at least familiar with the fandom! :)

Check out my listings for pricing + more info!!!

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years

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CREDO: Chapter 4 - 'Of prisons and pirates'

Summary: Matt thought that the war between The Hand and The Chaste was the little big secret shaping his reality. Turns out, there is a much greater and older conflict hiding in plain sight - one in which he is thrown against his will. Against every fiber of his morality, Matt has to befriend the exact type of person he hates the most: an assassin. [Marvel's Daredevil x Assassin's Creed]

Author's note: This hasn't been updated in literal ages. Sorry for that

[ 'CREDO' MASTERLIST ]

[Introduction]

[Chapter 1 - 'Rest without peace, Leonard Dyson']

[Chapter 2 - 'A thing or two about Kenways and Fryes']

[Chapter 3 - 'Close encounters of the rooftop kind']

Karen and Foggy were going mad trying to dissuade Matt from visiting the prisoner.

"You don't know what he's capable of!" Foggy said. Although his statement was quite vague, it carried more meaning than one might have thought: Cole Fitzgerald-Frye was arrested only recently for a murder that had happened over a decade ago. What no one seemed to question, quite curiously, were the unclear and largely unknown circumstances under which the said arrest and imprisonment had happened. After all, who was to say that he didn't let himself get arrested?

The way Matt became so engaged in a case that had, seemingly, nothing to do with him, was infuriating to Karen and Franklin. Not only did the law firm not do well in terms of business but Matt decided to conduct a murder investigation, on his own, without any prospect of payment but wasting away the valuable time he could use for actual clients. In the best-case scenario, he will uncover the truth and live out his retirement on government riches. The thing was that Matt wasn't the luckiest man on Earth, quite far from that truthfully and the possibility of somebody trying to kill him was, currently, double the regular amount, which was already high.

From the moment Matt opened the door, Cole stared at him with a watchful gaze worthy of a hawk. Those old, grey eyes followed the young lawyer and each of his movements, taking in the smallest of details. Even though he was well into his fifties, Cole Fitzgerald-Frye never lost the sharpness of his senses or mind. Matt could only assume the man he was about to talk to was anything but stupid, considering how he managed to avoid a prison sentence for over a decade. Murdock couldn't know that, as it was a purely visual piece of information but Cole's skin was completely clean aside from scars that were clearly fairly old: whatever menaces of violence and hierarchy resided inside prison walls, they couldn't get their grasp on that middle-aged man.

"You got ten minutes," the guard warned Matt before closing the door.

"Good morning Mr.Frye, my name is Matt Murdock, I'm a lawyer. I'm here to speak to you about your daughter, Taliya?" Matt was sitting across from Cole, with hands on the table, fingers intertwined. For some reason, the prison wasn't handcuffed despite no divider of any kind keeping him away from the visitor.

"Is she in trouble, Mr.Murdock?" Cole spoke fast and in a higher tone. When it came to his only daughter, Mr.Frye was gravely serious, not to mention horribly worried. Or could it, possibly, be just a facade? A performance worthy of an Oscar? Matt wondered for a moment how a man speaking with a Northern English accent ended up tried and imprisoned in the USA but those were thoughts he could entertain later in the day and so he let them drift away to the back of his mind.

"I'm afraid she might be, that is why I came to see you. You are her father, after all, Mr.Frye, and your word might hold up in court. Does the name Leonard Dyson mean anything to you?"

"Dyson as in Dyson&Dyson, the motorboat company?" he asked. Cole's eyebrows furrowed and their single grey hairs became more prominent in the white light of the room.

"Yes, Leonard Dyson was the CEO of Dyson&Dyson. He had unfortunately passed away recently and some circumstantial evidence points in the direction of miss Frye." Matt's lie rolled off his tongue swiftly as if he had rehearsed it in front of a mirror. The prisoner knew that.

Cole rested his back against the chair and stared at the ceiling, thinking intensely about something. His breathing was calm, never suggesting that the confrontation was anxiety-inducing or that some form of anger begged him to take advantage of the disabled lawyer left to his mercy. The thought that Cole Fitzgerald-Frye was a completely sane man and a bloodthirsty maniac seemed, somehow, a lot more frightening; it was an occasion, a certain fall of dominos, that made a murderer and not a birth defect that the majority of the world gloated in not having. After all, how could people ever feed their egos if it turned out that everyone is a potential killer? How else would they draw the line between themselves and the worse sort?

"No, I don't believe she has ever said anything about a Leonard Dyson," he answered while gently shooking his head. "She doesn't even like boats," Cole added with a chuckle. Matt returned a polite smile.

"What about the 'Green Dragon of the West'? Has Taliya ever expressed any interest in the occult or East Asian traditions or superstitions?"

"Well, she used to do tai chi with her mother and watched those Chinese cartoons every morning before school, if that counts? Taliya is the kind of girl that questions everything. No charlatan can win her heart."

If anyone who actually knows Taliya listened to their conversation, they would assume right away that the woman Cole was talking about was somebody else entirely. Mr.Frye was the king of spinning a yarn, something Matt was going to learn a little too late.

"Now, Mr.Frye, could you tell me about the murders from May 2005?"

A silence fell between the two men. To Matt's surprise, he couldn't discern any significant changes in the prisoner's breathing or heartbeat - he was as steady as they come. Perhaps that's what had allowed him to remain at large for over ten years.

"I thought this was about Taliya, Mr. Murdock." A slight change in Cole's voice betrayed his growing suspicion.

"It is, Mr.Frye. If a district attorney opens a trial against miss Frye, they could use your case against your daughter, to prove that she was capable of committing murder but we could use it in our favour to get the jury on our side."

Cole furrowed his eyebrows, leaned forward and put his hands on the table, fingers intertwined. He stared at Matt's face for a while, studying. Truth be told, they were committing the very same activity only through different devices: both relied on their exceptional senses to catch the suppressed emotions of the other person.

"My father was a wise man, Mr.Murdock. He used to say 'give life and hope to those who deserve it but forgiveness and death to those who don't'. I didn't do it out of hate but out of love - love for freedom and hope, a better and safer world for generations to come. The only difference between me and a soldier is a green tracksuit and bad coping mechanisms." This was, probably, the only honest thing Cole had said throughout the meeting.

"Would you say, mister Frye, that Taliya agreed with you? Do you think that she could be capable of killing someone?"

"I told you, mister Murdock, she's a smart kid. She would never agree with either of us. I'm too brutal and you're too rigid." Cole laughed in a hoarse voice. "You see, Matt- Can I call you Matt? Well, I already did, too late. So, Matt," Cole stressed the fraternization and stared at the lawyer's face for a moment to see his reaction. Matthew remained unmoved. "A great man once said that we're all capable of murder. All it takes are the right conditions. The mentality, the emotions, the motive, the occasion...The question is, how strong does the push have to be? Is there a formula to estimate that? Answering your question - yes, I do believe my little Taliya would be capable of killing someone. We all are. The question you should be asking yourself, Matt, is whether she was pushed strong enough to actually do it."

As Matt was leaving the room, a guardsman entered, ready to escort Cole back to his cell. The prisoner, however, was not entirely done attending to his business.

"Officer, can I make a phone call?" He asked. The guard stared into him emotionlessly for a moment before answering.

"You have three minutes, Frye." The man was reluctant about letting the prisoner use the phone as it meant he had to stay on his toes for a little longer. His coworkers back in the break room were probably playing another round of whatever card game was assigned for Thursdays. The guardsman cared only about the Tuesday games - darts. He had a great aim.

"That's plenty, thank you." Cole Frye always made sure to be polite but assertive towards the prison guards, perfectly balancing respect and brown-nosing.

Dialing that number was easy for Cole as it was the only phone number he actually cared about. It was nine digits he could recite back and forth even if woken up in the middle of the night. He didn't have to look at the buttons while dialing it.

"Father?" Taliya seemed confused or surprised that he was calling her. The word 'dad' was off-limits in the Frye family.

"Hey little bird," he greeted her while smiling unwillingly. The Brotherhood had a strong connection with eagles, so Cole thought it was only natural to call his daughter 'little bird'. "You have a tail. Called himself Matt Murdock, a blind lawyer. Came today to ask about you."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you don't like boats and watched cartoons before going to school."

Taliya chuckled at her father's words, mainly because of how ridiculous they were. Somewhere between her laughs, she did wonder, but only for a second, what it would be like to live a life in which watching morning cartoons is an established part of a daily routine.

"Really, whoever that lawyer is, he's smarter than most in this city and he knows about the Dragon. Watch out for him."

"Thank you, I-... I'll come around on Sunday, okay?"

Dowsy never wore suits and generally refused to do so - climbing buildings was fairly difficult in elegant shirts and dress shoes. He was, however, reasonable enough to put one as he paid a visit to the Nelson and Murdock lawyering firm. If Dowsy was supposed to pose as a potential client, he had to look the part.

Out of the two of them, it was he who did well in social situations. Taliya simply hated small talk and felt her skin crawl listening to the typical lying high-brow crowd trying to make themselves look better than they really were. While he met with people and negotiated beneficial relationships, she would be busy trespassing and free climbing, appearing as nothing more but a memory of a shadow long gone.

With unmistakable confidence in his step, Dowsy entered the small room that served as the waiting room for the lawyers' clients. He made sure to be their first client of the day to not let any unscheduled interruptions make him late for the evening's gig - Taliya and he were to crash one of Butterneck Jim's shipments.

"David Morgan Kenway, a pleasure to meet you." He shook Matt and Foggy's hands. It was quite remarkable how stereotypical his grip was: certain but short. Dowsy really sold his 5-minute persona of a successful businessman.

"Kenway?" Foggy asked. His face lit up significantly. "Like the pirate, Edward Kenway?" Foggy was visibly excited. Karen smiled to herself remembering how she overheard him singing sea shanties. Of course, he would know a drunk sailor from three hundred years ago.

"Same one," he answered. Considering his dark, wavy hair put in a bun, thick beard and a light scar across his lips, Dowsy could definitely pass as a pirate's descendant. Matt noticed that the stranger smelled like a home-improvement store.

"How can we help you, Mr.Kenway?" Matt asked. As far as Dowsy could tell, the man wasn't suspicious of him at all.

"I wanted to get some legal advice, actually. One of our investors is threatening to sue the board of directors for embezzlement and I wanted to know what options we have."

"We're happy to help, Mr.Kenway," Matt answered while silently gesturing towards an empty room with a long table.

Taliya was never going to give him credit for that but Dowsy truly deserved it - he was impressively prepared. The amount of well-forged documents he brought with him could probably fool even a good portion of the FBI or CIA. In the little time he was given, that is barely a day and a night, he created a foolproof con of a company. Some part of him wanted to laugh as Nelson and Murdock went through the various insurance statements, invoices, NDAs and contracts, all the while never even thinking there was something quite dishonest about them. Although only on the inside so as to not spoil his alter ego, Dowsy was simply gloating.

As expected, he was given some legal advice and the suggestion to keep in touch with the lawyers in case something new happens regarding the alleged embezzlement. Dowsy left the office without ever raising any suspicion and his name would have slipped their minds entirely if it wasn't for the nosiness so intrinsic to the persona of Karen Page:

"Hey, Matt," Karen accosted him while gently knocking on the doorframe to announce herself.

"Something happened?" Matt momentarily stopped reading the document he was going through, his hands stuck on a sentence about insurance policies.

"It's about what didn't happen," she said and closed the door to the office behind herself. Karen continued in a quieter voice as if unconsciously afraid of being eavesdropped on. "I had this feeling that something was off with Mr.Kenway, especially the company name he gave us, so I did some digging and it's not looking good."

"What do you mean?" he asked in a worried tone. Feeling anxiety flowering inside him, Matt set the document aside, giving the woman his undivided attention. "What did you find, Karen?" he repeated the question before she even had a chance to answer the first time.

"Pelastra Industries is a company from some 80s sitcom and the only mention of a David Morgan Kenway is a birth certificate issued in Wales... This has something to do with that woman you asked about, right? Taliya Frye?" Although he didn't answer, his expression was enough to serve as proof for her. A heavy sigh left her lungs before she continued. "Shit, what did you get yourself into, Matt?"

In the long pause when he couldn't give Karen a definite answer, heavy rain started hitting the dirty windows of the rented office. Maybe it was just the storm clouds or the world did become a lot grimmer in those few minutes.

"I'm not sure either."

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temeyes · 4 months

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play time before bed

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greenlaut · 2 months

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son of adam

#good morning todays art is brought to you by thoughts of altaïr perceiving himself as inhuman for having isu genes #imagine being raised your entire life to herald death and then you find yourself betrayed #and suddenly you have to stand on your feet and learn how to be human #how do you speak? how would you communicate? youve learned the tongue of blades but at what cost?#(are you even human? can humans survive what youve went through? how much of you is a monster?)#my art #altaïr ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #malik al-sayf #altair ibn la'ahad #assassins creed #assassin's creed #assassins creed 1 #assassin's creed 1 #asscreed #ac 1 #ac1 #altmal

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author-morgan · 2 years

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Hi! I would like to request a one-shot for Alexios. Can it be where he finds another demise god that didnt know until the Cult tries to find her, so he then takes her in and then they fall in love? Some fluff and angst and *cough* other stuff if you want to. Thank you and I love your work!!!

Here you go! Sorry it took so long! Hope you enjoy it! ❤️❤️ Alexios x fem!Reader

ALEXIOS LINGERS IN the shadows —watching, waiting, listening. Those in the agora pointed him to Kresilas's Residence to the south of Kydonia, near the Temple of Artemis Diktynna. Between the clues and the whispers overheard in the cave beneath the Sanctuary of Delphi, his search for Melite has led him here to Messara. Another cultist to fall upon the Spear of Leonidas.

The sea breeze rustles the dry shrubs and carries more whispers. The old fortress one of the guards mentions, looking toward the towers rising along the rocky coast see if he can squeeze out any information. Alexios flexes his fingers, draws in a slow breath, and disappears into the night. He will find Melite at the Kydonian Fort.

The fort is built on the ruins of a lost civilization, and the tunnels beneath wind into the darkness. Alexios follows them until they spit him out into a cavernous room with felled stone columns and wooden scaffolding with a line of iron holding cells. The fort’s prison. At the center is a whipping post, and strung up by shackles is a woman, beaten and bloody with a man circling her —Melite. Alexios moves along with the shadows cast by the burning braziers, steadily moving closer.

Blood fills your mouth. Melite’s torturer had done a fine job. Your struggles earned you a bloody nose and mouth and three fewer fingernails. Four more, and Melite promised they would start taking fingers and toes. He tilts your head back, and through one strained eye, you can make out his twisted smile. It’s the same questions every day. Who is your father? Where is your father? Questions to which you know not the answer and not even lies will suffice to spare you from the pain.

“I told you I don’t know!” You cry, voice cracked and strained. The same answer you’ve given a dozen times over. “I grew up an orphan in the streets of Kyrene.” Tears streak your face, carving paths through the dried blood and filth from the endless days. Melite shakes his head and loses the flaying knife on his belt, but Alexios will watch no longer.

The Eagle Bearer surges forward, nigh silent, and thrusts the broken spear up and into Melite’s back. The point of the Leonidas spear emerges from the Cultist’s chest, bloody but shining in the firelight of the burning braziers. Melite goes limp in seconds with no resistance, no sound. Alexios pushes the corpse aside, but you shuffle back as much as you can —startled and frightened, unsure if this stranger is your savior or destruction.

Alexios reaches behind him, slowly, sheathing his spear back to its place on his quiver, then lifts his empty hands to show he means no harm. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, reaching up to unbind your fetters. Your arms drop down, and you rub the broken skin on your wrists —the rush of blood brings throbbing pain.

“I’m Alexios,” he says, introducing himself as he kneels in front of you, frowning at the dried blood and bruises on your face. He helps you stand on shaking knees, but there is something strange about his touch —something calling to you, as though you’ve found something you hadn’t even known was lost. “Do you have anywhere to go?” He asks, and you shake your head; it’s been years since you had anywhere you would dare call home.

HE CAN NOT leave you like this, so Alexios returns to the Adrestia. There is always room for another aboard the old trireme, but above all, Alexios needs to know if you had felt the same spark when his fingertips first brushed against yours. He has no doubt members of the Cult can be cruel for cruelty's sake, but there must be a reason Melite kept you. When your legs can no longer hold you upright, Alexios lifts you into his arms and makes his way down through the city and to the docks, and by the time he reaches the Adrestia, you are fast asleep —or unconscious, he is not sure which it is.

Barnabas and Herodotus are quick to make room when Alexios steps onto the trireme’s deck, calling Leda and Iola to help. They will have more skill than he and the others and a kinder touch to tend the open and angry wounds —Leda assures the Eagle Bearer that you will be in good hands and tells him not to linger, for there is little he can do now besides wait.

Alexios nods, looking back toward the fortress from whence he came and to the city. The answers he seeks must lie within. “Where are you going?” The old captain calls when Alexios sets back off for the heart of Kydonia.

“I still need answers,” he replies, raising the hood of his dark chlamys before disappearing amongst the dockworkers and merchants preparing for the day.

ALEXIOS RETURNS IN the dark of night after several days with newfound answers, more questions, and his pockets heavy with drachmae. Almost everyone is asleep, above or below deck. Several rowers sit on the edge of the deck, legs dangling over the water as they pass a skin of wine back and forth. He goes to the helm, standing in the center of the painted Hellas map, wondering where the winds will take him next. Running a hand over his face, he sits one on of the stern benches, then removes his sword and quiver, placing them within arm’s reach.

Though, he doesn’t expect to see you looking at him from the opposite side of the Adrestia —eyes shining in the moon and starlight. The cuts have all scabbed over, healing cleanly by the looks of it, and the bruises are fading, but Alexios knows healing physically is only half of the battle to recover. “Thank you,” you tell him, smile still weak and tired. It breaks him from his trance.

“What did they want with you?” Alexios asks, then curses himself for asking such a callous question. He has his suspicions even if he has no answers.

Your gaze flicks away, wondering how big a fool you’ll sound for speaking the truth of why Melite had captured you and strung you up for days. "They think I have the blood of hereos," you start, looking back to Alexios, but there is no ridicule in his gaze. He believes you. “Because of my father, whoever the malákas is.”

Alexios picks up the Leonidas spear and holds it out. Your brows furrow on seeing the broken spear, uncertain why he is offering it to you. “Hold this,” he says, placing the wooden lance into your palm and curling your bandaged fingers around the cloven weapon.

What happens next cannot be described. Eyes slipping shut, you focus on the spear and the energy thrumming through your body —calling to something that has yet to be fully awakened. Alexios knows you must feel something from your sharp inhale. “Do you feel it?” He asks. “Power, warmth, strength?” You nod, releasing the broken spear and focusing on him once more. “Then you do have the blood of heroes,” he tells you, lips quirking upward in a kindly smile. “As do I.”

You swallow the lump rising in your throat, unsure if you can process everything that has happened so quickly. None of it makes sense. You’d grown up without a family —on the streets of Kyrene— stealing food, conning those who came as tourists, and working small jobs to afford the clothes on your back. An odd start in life for someone with the blood of ancient heroes.

“Melite was a member of the Cult of Kosmos,” Alexios explains, and you nod weakly, having heard your captor speak of the Cult before and their penultimate goal of world order. In Egypt, the whispers were of a different group —the Order of Ancients. “I’m hunting them down. They have…” his voice trails off, searching for the right words though you can see the pain and anger flare up in his tawny gold eyes, chasing away the kindness, “…wronged my family.” Part of you is curious, and a budding question forms on the tip of your tongue, but the other part already knows the answer after having endured Melite’s hospitality.

He reaches out unwittingly, the backs of his fingers brushing over the fading bruise on your cheek. Alexios finds strange comfort in being this close —and he can’t help but wonder. You and he are the same, and it feels good to know he’s not alone anymore. You search his expression, unable to decipher what Alexios is thinking, but a fleeting smile kinks his lips. “You can stay, if you like,” he starts, knowing the Cult would never stop hunting you or him, not until they are all ripped from Hellas by the root. “I will protect you.” Alexios means it as a promise.

THE STARS SHINE bright overhead, and the waves softly rock the Adrestia to and fro. Time has slipped from your grasp since joining Alexios and the others —all you know is the wounds inflicted by Melite and his myrmidons no longer ail you, having left faint scars. Now, it all seems like a bad dream from a distant memory. You lie in the center of the painted map, Alexios’s head is next to yours, his legs extended in the opposite direction. He looks at you; all his curiosities have yet to be slaked. “Kyrene,” he starts, having heard you speak of the city before, “where is that?”

“South. In Libya,” you tell him, remembering the many days and nights you spent underneath the stars there, wishing one day to be able to run far away. But it's the surrounding red-rock faces and fields of flowers that you are most fond of when thinking back to childhood. “They grow poppy and silphium there.” You shift, turning to look at him. There remains much you do not know about the man who rescued you from the grasp of the Cult of Kosmos. All you know is he is kind, handsome, charming, and has the blood of ancient heroes flowing through his veins —the same as you. “Where are you from, Alexios?” You ask, wondering if he will tell you about himself.

“I was born in Sparta,” he explains, not ready to tell you of his past yet, especially given what happened when he returned to Mount Taygetos, “but grew up on Kephallonia.” For years he dreamed of the quickest way to leave the island and its miserable inhabitants behind. Now he almost longs to return to the simplicity of life before Elpenor showed up and offered him the contract for the Wolf of Sparta. He would gladly take the Cyclops over the Cult of Kosmos.

The name of the island piques your interest, knowing Ithaka lay just off its shores —and you know the stories of the great people who hailed from there. “Have you seen Odysseus’s palace?” The tales of Odysseus and the Trojan War had been among your favorite to listen to from storytellers and your favorite to watch when sneaking into the Kyrene theatre.

He nods. “The ruins,” Alexios says, “yes.” The great palace is nothing more than felled stones, fading paint, and crumbling columns —overrun by bandits and deserters from the war between Sparta and Athens. Alexios looks back at the stars with a soft sigh. “I found the Shroud of Penelope among the ruins,” he starts. You turn on your side, smiling, hoping he will tell you more of his discoveries and victories.

YOU INSIST UPON learning how to fight properly, and Alexios finds out just how stubborn you can be. He relents after you pulled Barnabas to your side of the argument. Despite his promise, Alexios will not always be around to protect you. He circles you on the deck of the Adrestia, appraising how you hold your short sword and shield —a heavy bronze piece with the fading colors of Lakonia. “Keep your shield up,” he instructs. You heft it up farther so the curved edge hides your chin and nose. Alexios nods his approval.

“You are Spartan,” you refute, following his pace. “Why do you not use a shield?”

“Slows me down,” he answers. Alexios had not endured the agoge, had not learned to fight with spear and shield in the Spartan way. Everything he knows has come by harsh ordeals —fighting to survive. It’s by sheer luck he’s managed to come out of so many scuffles unscathed. He sees the protest forming on your tongue, and before you can say anything, he shakes his head, pushing your shield back up into position. “But first, you must survive the fight,” he says, smiling. “And a shield will help with that.” You know he is right, even if it seems you could be just as quick as him. “Good,” he remarks, stepping back.

Alexios lashes out without warning, his blunt sparring sword swinging low. Enemies would not be so courteous as to give a warning during a fight. You bend at the knees and lower the shield to block the blow and push back. “Better.” Then he is upon you again, blunt blade thrusting forward, but it skids off the bronze shield and to the side. It’s then you catch the opening, an opportune moment, and press forward —throw your weight behind the shield and into him. The force of the sudden impact is enough to send Alexios backward. He doesn’t regain his balance fast enough and finds himself on his back, looking up at you —surprised.

You smile at him, and from the helm of the Adrestia the old captain laughs. “Hubris, my friend,” Barnabas calls.

THE POPPY FIELDS of Samos are in bloom under the summer sun, their petals a bright orange-red against the clear blue water. Since hearing you speak of Kyrene and fields of flowers, Alexios has made it a point to bring you here. But it is only now that the winds have been kind enough to guide the Adrestia back east after a lengthy pursuit of four more members of the Cult of Kosmos —only a few weeds remained to pluck from the earth.

As Alexios looks upon you, it is hard to see the same woman he’d found so long ago. Before him a warrior, though with more to learn in time. And that pesky feeling tugs at his heart again when he sees how the sunlight and shadows dance across your face.

You’ve caught him staring, he knows you have from the blossoming warmth on your cheeks and the almost shy downturn of your gaze, but it’s no matter. You step toward him and reach for one of his hands hesitantly. “Thank you for everything, Alexios,” you start, knowing words are not enough to express your gratitude for his friendship. Had he not found you…you don’t care to imagine what would have happened. “You’ve been so kind to me.”

Something is shining in your eyes Alexios has not seen before or at least has not taken notice of until now. It makes his throat feel tight and his heart heavy. “You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he says. Your brows furrow with how close he is and how his dark gaze flits down to your lips, you can’t help the way it makes your heart start to pound. “I may do something I regret.” He’s not going to let this moment slip away. Alexios’s fingertips brush over your cheek and back into your hair, then he leans in, warm breath ghosting across your lips. “Like this.”

His lips are soft and rough, with the slightest hint of salt from the sea breeze upon them, and his kiss is slow and confident. He cradles the back of your neck, and you meld into him, arms slipping over his shoulders to draw him closer. The spark you both felt upon first meeting flares back to life, turning to flame. “Alexios.” His name is a breathless whisper as you both part, his forehead resting against yours, then his arms settle around your waist —a gentle cage you do not wish to be freed from.

“Stay with me,” Alexios says. He does not wish to be parted from you after the gods brought you into his life —you are the same as he, and Alexios does not want to be alone in this world again. You smile and make your promise with a slow and sweet kiss, and Alexios’s lips tug into a smile against your own.

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