Jealousyâs for the Weak
Request: Anonymous-Â EXTREMELY jealous Connor X Reader? If thatâs possible?
A/N: Ah, I think I messed it up with the âEXTREMELY jealousâ part. Iâm sorry, sweet anon! I tried!
Now this wasnât too bad, you thought, your hand wrapped elegantly around a glass of pale wine. The hard push of the corset wrapped tightly around your middle wasnât nearly as distracting now that youâd had a few glasses. Your cheeks were flushed with color, the warm glow of candles causing it to look natural in the ambience of the ball room.
âMon Amie.â A silky voice sounded from behind you, his voice lilting like the soft music of a harp. âI have gotten what we need, fille chĂ©rie.â
You nodded, a small bob of your head, attempting to turn towards him. The unfamiliar materials of the dress made it quite difficult, your lips pursing at the effort.
âPerhaps a dance before we go?â He offered, a sweet smile on his pink lips.
Two golden orbs bore into you, a soft brush of hand as he guided you out towards the dance floor. Even on a good day you werenât the greatest of dancers, but the firm press of his hand had you following his moves with near perfection. Despite the attractive man in front of you, holding you close and speaking sweetly into your ear, you didnât feel satisfied. You wanted someone else. But, alas, you should at least enjoy this moment. It wasnât often you found yourself in the arms of someone so easy on the eyes and nice as Olivier.
âSomething troubles you, cher.â He noted, one foot moving forward as yours moved back, the dance flowing naturally from his limbs to yours.
âNothing important.â You muttered, your thoughts on a certain Native Assassin.
No matter how many men you met, none of them intrigued you quite like Connor. To be quite truthful, he was the one you were wishing to be in the arms of at this very moment. Instead, you were with Olivier, the French Assassin sent to survey the improvements made upon the Colonial Brotherhood. Olivier had been friendly with you since the moment you met, and youâd never been anything but professional back, at least until now. You just needed a moment to escape the suffocating reality that you might never get the chance to be with Connor.
âIf it was not important,â Olivier began, his arm bent up to press his palm against your own, your bodies dancing around one another, âYou would not look so upset by it.â
âWe should go,â you murmured, eyes downcast so they wouldnât look into the gentle probing of Olivierâs flaxen orbs.
âOf course,â he said, ever the gentleman as he bowed low before you, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.
It was unsettling to be so emotionally bare, your years of training kicking in to bring back a semblance of professional stoicism. Werenât you supposed to be detached, callous, cold even, if you were to efficiently fulfill your duties? Youâd certainly been taught so. But you were still human, you still had feelings, emotions, desires. Not even copious amounts of training and a lifetime of hardships could take that from you.
The first gust of cold, autumn air kissed along the heated skin of your cheek, pulling you back down to the present. Olivier had an arm laced through your own, clearly respecting your boundaries. It brought a smile to your face, one that you hid behind your hand, your fingers pressing against your chin in thought. Youâd be back with Connor soon. No sooner had you finished your thought when the man in question appeared before you, light cloth shadowing the majority of his face, muscles tensed beneath robes, and lips pressed together tightly. The smell of fresh pine and home came with his mysterious figure, his head moving down slightly in acknowledgment of the two of you.
âThe letter?â His voice was low, almost forced. Despite the neutral expression on Connorâs features, you knew him well enough to know that something wasnât right.
âIs here, frĂšre.â Olivier replied, discreetly lifting a folded piece of parchment with elegant writing scrawled across the top.
âYou took a while.â Connor noted, snatching the letter from Olivierâs hands rather roughly and turning his back on the two of you. He was walking away from you both swiftly, his legs working in long strides.
âMy apologies,â Olivier smiled sheepishly, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. âI may have persuaded the lady for a dance.â
Connorâs footing momentarily stopped, the disturbance nearly causing him to trip over his own feet. The muscles in his back were pulled tight against the white fabric of his robes, his deep brown eyes sneaking a glance back at the two of you.
âOn a mission?â His tone was almost hostile, something you rarely heard from the man outside of combat. He was usually softer spoken and kind. Something was wrong.
âOlivier,â you said sweetly, looking to him under your lashes. His attention snapped to you, cordially nodding. âWould you be so kind to allow me to speak with Connor alone?â
The golden eyes of Olivier flickered to Connor then back to you, his hand over his heart as he bowed lowly before you.
âWhatever the lady wishes.â
He was the very definition of charm, a small smile and a courteous wave being sent in your direction before he walked off, his spine straight and his arms crossed behind his back. You released a breath, turning on your other companion. His eyes had already been on you, an indiscernible look in his eyes that screamed hostility.
âOkay, RatonhnhakĂ©:ton,â you put extra emphasis on his name, drawing out each syllable, âWhatâs wrong with you?â
He feigned innocence, furrowing his brows and turning his back on you. Oh no, he wasnât about to get away with that.
âConnor,â you bit out, gripping onto his shoulder and tugging him back roughly. It didnât cause the man to actually move much, but it did get your anger across. And you were angry.
âI am busy.â He stated, waving the letter in the air like a flag.
Of course heâd try to brush off whatever heâs feeling with work. But he couldnât hide the clench of his jaw or the tenseness of his muscles. He was bothered by something and whatever it was, he didnât want you to know.
âLike hell you are,â you growled, ripping the letter from his hand.
He didnât even bother trying to get it back, instead settling a glare on you. The cool air breezed past the two of you, doing nothing to dull the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.
âGive it back.â His voice was low, barely audible above the rustling of leave and the scraping of branches.
âNo.â You challenged, the paper wrinkling under your tight grip. âYouâre telling me whatâs wrong one way or another.â
The predatory look in his eye would make any man cower, but you simply glared back. His intimidating stature was spurring on your annoyance, your chin tipping up and your back straightening. The crisp wind was biting against your cheeks, your nails pressing into your palm.
It was a warning, nothing more and nothing less. Danger and power crackled around his ominous figure, the moon and stars working in tandem to outline his features. His eyes, an abyss of darkness, stared into your soul, baring everything you were to him.
You tried to keep your voice steady, to keep your eyes level, but you couldnât. You couldnât because beneath his anger, beneath his unwavering rage, there was sadness, there was a feeling of loss. It didnât make sense why, but whatever it was, it hurt you. Heâd never looked this broken before, and the thought alone made your heart squeeze painfully and your eyes burn with unshed tears.
âYou wish to know why I am angry?â He nearly sneered, his eyes narrowed and his muscles tight.
All you could manage was a simple nod, your eyes on his leather boots as he stepped closer, each press of boot to the ground filled with confidence. He didnât stop until he was directly in front of you, the smell of pine and fresh rain washing over you, his chest bobbing up and down with each heavy breath he took. The tension in his mind was palpable, looming over the two of you like a storm cloud.
Your words were caught in your throat at the feel of Connorâs calloused hands roughly grabbing your cheeks, his lips pressed bruisingly against your own. You startled, something between a moan and a squeak bubbling from your lungs. It didnât deter him in the least, his smooth lips caressing your own, bringing a taste of mint and tea and home and desperation and love and you were lost. Youâd wanted this for so long, needed it for so long, and here he was, kissing you.
The realization was enough to make you wrap your arms around his neck, your lips tentatively moving against his. You tried to lead, but he denied you, clearly needing this as much as you did. It was awkward, his actions unsure and exploratory, clear signs of his inexperience. Despite his earlier roughness, he was being gentle, holding you to his chest with near reverence. It was enough to startle you out of whatever haze had fallen over your mind, your hands moving to his shoulders so you could ease him back.
He didnât give so easily, his hands desperately wrapping around your hips, his lips chasing yours as you pulled away.
A grunt was all you got in reply, his tanned cheeks burning cherry red. Stiffly, he pulled his hands away, your body feeling as cold as ice without his warm touch.
His head dropped, one large hand rubbing the back of his neck. He was grasping for words, unsure of what to say. You were shocked yourself, not entirely positive on what had happened. Heâd been angry, mixed with a hint of sadness, and then he kissed you. Now he just looks awkward. Unless⊠You looked to him, chewing on your lip in thought. He was almost appalled by his actions, the taste of him still on your tongue.
âYouâre jealous.â You breathed in realization, jaw dropped in surprise.
Connor was jealous. Connor, the same man that had brought you meats and breads every Tuesday, that was always sure to keep your wood supply stocked, that purposely lost fights with you because he was afraid of hurting you, was jealous.
âI-I, no, I was only,â he stuttered, backing away like a caged animal, wild eyes darting anywhere that wasnât you.
âItâs okay, RatonhnhakĂ©:ton,â you said softly, reaching an open palm out to him. âThereâs nothing to be jealous of.â
âI was not-â An undignified groan left his full lips, his hands fiddling with each other. âHe is⊠him,â he finished lamely, eyes stubbornly trained on the ground. You could practically hear his thoughts over the gossip of the distant crowds, their words lost in the wind. âAnd I am⊠me.â
A small part of your heart cracked at his unsurity, your mind quick to reassure him.
âAnd I love that.â You said, taking two steps at a time to catch up to him. He offered no resistance as you pulled him into your arms, having to stand on the ends of your feet just to reach around his neck. âI love you.â
His heart was beating wildly beneath your head, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes lit up like the sun on a warm summer day, his face brightening at your words.
âKonnorĂłnhkwa.â His voice was breathy, nearing awed, like he couldnât quite believe you returned his affections.
âBesides,â you drawled, smiling mischievously up to him. He met your smile with curious eyes, his hair brushing against his cheek at the movement. âIâm pretty sure youâd win him in a fight if it came down to it.â
Your combined laughter echoed into the night.
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