Hiiiiii K4!!!!! Just wanted to put in a request for a fic of the assassins (any of them that you feel comfortable writing lol, but maybe Arno and Ezio and Altäir?) seeing reader (whom they have a platonic relationship with, but harboring feelings) crying, asking them what's wrong, finding out that their partner cheated on them then beating up the reader/self-insert's cheating romantic partner for them (maybe secretly, maybe with reader's consent, your choice) while deep down being glad that reader's gonna break up now and they might have a chance? Thanks so much in advance!!!!!!
WHO CARES FOR THE HEARTS OF CHEATERS?
𝔄/𝔑: Anon I'm gonna kiss your forehead for this one, I loved writing this
𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤'𝔰: Arno, Ezio, Altäir, Alexios and Shay x GN! reader (Seperate)
𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: none other then people getting their shit rocked
Arno
✮ He sees you crying and God he just can’t stand to see that, I mean the one person he really cares about is, crying! He wont stand for this!
✮ First he comforts you; he needs to make sure your ok first, then he asks what’s wrong
✮ And when you tell him it’s your partner, well ex, which cheated on you he’s more then livid
✮ I mean honestly! Who you cheat on you? You’ve been nothing but honest and loyal to them and they have the guts to cheat on you?
✮ After a while of letting the words sit in the air he asks you a question
✮ “Would you mind if they were gone?”
✮ “oh god Arno, NO!”
✮ well maybe that’s off the table then
✮ “At least let me put some sense into their head.”
✮ Well it’s better than whatever he was going to do before, so you agree
✮ He finds the person wherever they are, finds them and does God knows what to them
✮ After it all he comes back to you, covered in blood that you can only assume is not his
✮ And being the oh so kind person you are, you take care of his wounds while all he can think about is how you’re finally free from your previous partner and able to be his
✮ Maybe your partner wasn’t too bad for cheating on you if he gave Arno this opportunity
Ezio
✮ He hears you crying, trying to keep your sobs quiet but its ineffective considering he rushes into the room
✮ And through choked sobs you tell him, the person you’ve been seeing had cheated on you
✮ on you
✮ they had the fortune of being with you and they threw it away for what? Someone who probably isn’t even as perfect as you?
✮ After comforting you for a little longer he leaves through the window in the room before you can even say anything
✮ it didn’t take a detective to figure out what he was going to do
✮ After finding the poor soul that cheated on you he has a little fun
✮ after leaving the scene before people could figure out what happened he returns to you
✮ “Oh Ezio! What did you do!”
✮ “Nothing that he didn’t do to you, Cara Mia.”
✮ After that he just can’t stop smiling, I mean now you finally have room in your heart for him, and no one else
✮ expect a whole lot more forwardness and affection from him
Altäir
✮ You’re curled up on your bed, trying to keep quiet
✮ And your door creaks open, and you see Altäir just looking at you, he doesn’t move closer he just looks at you, looks at the tears streaming down your face and immediately starts asking questions
✮ “What happened? Who did this? When did it happen?”
✮ You eventually let it out that it was the person that you were seeing
✮ And he just stops mid question and realization dawns on him
✮ But why? Why you? From what he’s seen you’ve been nothing but sweet to them
✮ Then he just leaves, turns around and shuts the door behind him (how kind)
✮ Obviously he’s seen that asshole before, so it wasn’t too hard to find them
✮ and uhhhh bing bam boom ahhhh he’s all bloody and bruised!!!
✮ He comes back to you all proud, with blood on his knuckles and a smug expression
✮ “Altäir I swear to-“
✮ “He deserved it, didn’t he?”
✮ “I mean I guess I can’t complain.”
✮ And now he can do whatever attempts at flirting he wants because, who’s going to stop him?
✮ anyway be ready for some bad flirting and courting attempts
Alexios
✮ You swear you were being quiet but God, this man can just hear anything
✮ He walks in to see you wiping away your tears as fast as you can, but it doesn’t really have influence because he’s already seen them
✮ He sits down next to you, and looks at you with those eyes that are just pleading for you to explain what happened
✮ So you tell him, it comes out in pieces, interrupted by your tears and he just looks so disappointed, I mean your partner had one job and couldn’t even do that
✮ “They don’t deserve you, at all, it’s a miracle from the gods that you too got together”
✮ “You’re too kind Alexios, honestly”
✮ “Now about them, do you think the god would favor them or me in a fight?”
✮ “Honestly who could beat you… wait why are you asking? WAIT COME BACK!”
✮ He’s already gone and all you can do is hope he doesn’t kill them
✮ And a few hours later he comes back, eerily calm and composed
✮ “Alexios what did you do.”
✮ “What? Me? Nothing I’m innocent”
✮ “You’re such a bad liar.”
✮ “They’re… Alive.”
✮ “Oh! Well that’s a relief-“
✮ “Just won’t be able to eat solid food for around a month.”
✮ “WHAT”
✮ Oh what are you going to do with him? (MAYBE YOU SHOULD KISS HIM)
Shay
✮ It’s an enjoyable day, honestly, the waters are calm, and sailing is smooth
✮ But your heart aches, the one you ‘loved’ didn’t love you
✮ you’re leaning on the railing of the Morrigan and contemplating everything that you’ve ever known
✮ And then shay comes down from wherever he was and just stops in his tracks
✮ His eyes stuck on your tears
✮ “quit lookin…”
✮ “Sorry it’s just that you’re crying on a perfectly beautiful day.”
✮ “Well love aint shit”
✮ After you explain to him through a blur of tears that your ‘one and only’ cheated on you he looks so done
✮ “your tellin me that good for nothing partner of yours cheated on you, woooow who saw that coming?”
✮ “You’re so good at making me feel better, Shay.”
✮ “my pleasure”
✮ But after that he starts to seriously comfort you, it’s a little scary how good he is at this.
✮ And then he just turns around like nothing happened, starts walking to the other side of the ship
✮ But that doesn’t change the fact your stuck on a ship with that cheating ex of yours
✮ After a while you hear from the crew that the captain has taken things into his own hands and personally beaten the ever living shit out of your ex, how kind!
✮ You run down to see what’s happening and just see Shay looking down at your ex, who doesn’t look to good
✮ He turns around to see you and just gives you an awkward smile
Title: Unwritten Prophecies
Pairing: Deimos!Alexios x fem!Reader
Rating: M
Word Count: ~6.3k
Summary: You are meant for the gods, but beneath the wrath of the storm, he asks the one question no oracle is ever granted—what do you want?
...but your sweet sinless sensation is not my style...
THE MASKED CULTISTS trickle from the cave. Eupheme—your sister in training—leaves too and urges you to do the same and be free of the darkness hidden below the sacred Temple of Apollo. But you won’t go. Not yet. All evening, the Pyramid under the great, bronze serpent has called to you, a moth to a flame. You move toward the artifact in a trance, the voices you’ve heard since entering the cave growing louder with every step...until there’s silence. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
You know the rough voice and to whom it belongs. “Deimos,” you breathe, heart racing at the sight of the Cult’s champion as he emerges from the shadows—his golden armor nigh glowing in the dim firelight.
He steps closer, warm-tawny eyes darting from the artifact to you. Most of the cultists are frightened by the power of the Pyramid—a force they cannot truly comprehend or control—and none of the would-be Oracles have ever shown any inclination for being able to harness its potential for prophecy. Deimos looks down at the artifact and can feel its call and energy thrumming in his veins. He has never doubted that he has the blood of gods. But to find another like him? A blessing and a curse.
“Does it speak to you as well?” He asks. The edge in his prior words faded.
“Yes,” you answer. The voices grow more numerous, louder. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on a single thread of the tapestry of history and fate. “Of the past.” There are glimpses of Leonidas at Thermopylae, Themistokles at Salamis, and battles even more ancient for which there are no tales to be told or heroes to be celebrated. “The present.” Perikles gathers with his generals in the shadow of the Parthenon, and Spartans train for the upcoming war. But then the landscape becomes unfamiliar—seven hills—and wood and mud villages spring up on the banks of a mighty river, growing larger, grander, until the city of bricks turns into one of marble. An Eagle rises. “And of events that have not yet come to pass.”
Deimos extends his hand, fingertips barely touching the smooth bronze plates covering the artifact, a gesture for you to do the same—and a test. You know not what you’ll see—the future or the past, but the Cult’s champion hopes it will be the latter. Stepping closer, you reach out to the Pyramid, pressing a hand against one of the sides as Deimos does the same.
The oracle has spoken! To prevent Sparta's fall, the child must fall first. Your breath catches as a woman lunges forward. Her face twisted in anguish. She fights against the hands restraining her but her cries are swallowed by the wind and rain. “Please! You can't! No! No, no.” Lightning streaks across the dark sky. “Nikolaos!” At the cliff’s edge is an ephor of Sparta, holding a swaddled babe aloft in the air, inching closer to the chasm below Taygetos.
And then the fall. The scream. A sister’s outstretched hand.
The vision twists, shifting like smoke, and you see something else—the boy again, older this time. His body hardened and face set in an expression too cruel for a child. A woman stands before him, cloaked in shadow, her voice smooth, coaxing. "Your family abandoned you,” Chrysis tells Deimos. Lies repeated so often they become the only truth the boy has ever known. “Your mother left you to die.” The priestess steps forward, cradling an object swathed in dark linen. She lays the gift before Deimos and reveals a sword—the Sword of Damokles. “But I will give you new purpose, my child."
You stumble back from the Pyramid and glimpse Deimos, breath coming in sharp, shallow pulls. He stares down at you, his expression a storm of barely contained rage, but there’s a rawness, vulnerability even, that you’ve never seen before in him. "You saw it," he murmurs, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. Not the voice of Deimos—the Cult’s blade—but the voice of a broken man who has spent his life trying to reconcile with the prophecy spoken by Praxithea when he was only a babe. A prophecy that tore his family apart and doomed him to this life of pain and suffering.
You swallow, hard, and nod. "Yes."
Deimos reaches for you—rooted in place beneath the great bronze serpent. You’re unsure what the Cult’s champion will do. You imagine few in Hellas know the full truth of what happened that night on Taygetos and the years following as they molded him into nothing short of a monster. His callous fingertips brush against your cheek, and trail to stop at your neck, his hand hovering there. He leans closer, breath ghosting over your cheek. “If they know you can use the artifact...” Deimos doesn’t have to finish the statement for you to understand—it is a rare show of mercy.
PRAXITHEA TELLS YOU to take leave of the lesson. Between her two students, you have always excelled in learning and perfecting new teachings compared to Eupheme. A clear sign of the gods’ favor. At this point, it seems obvious you will be chosen to wear the title of the Oracle of Delphi—the highest servant of Apollo—after Praxithea.
Returning to the home Elpenor gifted you in Kirrha, you find Deimos sitting on your floor, his back and arm contorted to stitch a wound on his shoulder blade with one hand. You cross your arms, frowning—at both the sight of the Cult’s champion injured and the dark stain on prized Tyrian red and blue fabric. “You’re bleeding on my favorite rug,” you chide, stopping in the doorway with arms crossed.
He looks back and meets your gaze, a flicker of relief brightening his scowl. Sighing, you go to Deimos and kneel, taking the threaded needle from his blood-slick hands before sitting behind him. He doesn’t flinch or tense when the hot point passes through flesh. “Did you foresee this?” He asks. You think there’s a hint of humor in how he says it.
“Your stubbornness leading you to my home instead of Lykaon when you’re hurt?” You query in turn, equally amused. “The gift of foresight would not be needed for that,” you tell him. It’s a terrible habit of his, turning up unannounced and uninvited, more often than not covered in the blood of others and not his own—this time is an oddity, but you’ve found yourself in this moment before, too.
There’s a dry chuckle in Deimos’s throat, though it’s cut short by a sharp pull of the catgut thread through his torn skin. He exhales heavily, tilting his head slightly, but he still does not flinch—of course, he doesn’t. Pain is an old companion. One he has long since ceased to acknowledge. You work in silence, one stitch after another. “You should be more careful,” you murmur. A pointless request, but one you speak often in hopes he will listen one day.
Deimos snorts, shaking his head. “Careful?” He sounds appalled by the thought—being careful hasn’t won him battles or infamy. He is dread incarnate, ruthless, and indomitable. “Is that what you want me to be?”
Your fingers still for half a breath before you resume your work with a sigh. “I would prefer it over reckless,” you tell him. There are times you worry his wounds will be beyond your and Lykaon’s skills to mend. He may have Ares and Athena’s favor in battle, but he is only a man, in the end.
“You wound me,” he deadpans.
“You’re already wounded,” you retort, knotting the stitch and cutting away what’s left of the thread and needle. “But that’s hardly new.” He hums, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, but he does not argue. His hand lifts absently, fingers brushing over the back of yours where they rest against his shoulder. You’re always here for me, Deimos thinks. The voice in his head is quieter than usual. Even when you shouldn’t be.
Dark clouds gather on the horizon as you mix a sweet-smelling poultice to soothe the puckered skin around Deimos’s fresh stitches. And though he should return to Delphi and report on his mission in Achaia, he lingers, sipping watered wine and eating grapes with fresh cheese—content with this fleeting moment to be in your company.
He lingers until the summer storm takes hold of the evening—wind howling, rain lashing, and thunder rolling between flashes of lightning. It does not seem as if Zeus’s wrath will end before the morn breaks. “Stay,” you tell Deimos, seeing he means to leave. The Cult does not like him to roam Phokis at his own bidding—Praxithea will be none too happy to learn of this night either, but consequences be damned. A part of you has grown tired of the sacrifices required to please the gods. “I would not force you out in this storm.” As if commanded by your words, a clap of thunder rattles the small villa. You step closer to Deimos, reaching for his hands. “Stay,” you say again, softer this time. Not a demand. Not a command. A choice.
Deimos stays.
The first kiss is chaste. It’s careful—tentative. Just like the very first. His fingers brush along your jaw, moving back into your hair. Deimos’s breath catches—just barely—but you feel it warm against your lips. His eyes flick to yours, searching for something unspoken. You could pull away. You should pull away. But you don’t.
And the second kiss…the second kiss is not chaste. His hand knots in your hair, pulling you closer as if the gods themselves might rip you from him if he loosens his grip. You melt into him, tasting salt and copper where a fresh split on his lip lingers as he urges you to lay back on the pallet of linen and silks.
“Deimos!” You gasp, pressing against his shoulders, but it’s like trying to move a stone wall. Truthfully, though, you only want to pull him closer—you have since the first time he decided to kiss you by the falls of Lalaia. But the years of training and lessons under Praxithea and the Cult’s desire for you to succeed as the Oracle of Delphi scream at the forefront of your mind. “You know the Pythia must be untouched,” you remind him.
“I know,” he breathes, his voice low and rough. Deimos doesn’t move, still caging you between his musculature and the floor pallet. There’s something different in his eyes as he looks down at you, keeping your gaze —something dangerous. And it’s not just the raw strength and fury he carries into battle or the untamed rage that makes him the Cult’s Champion. It’s something treacherous, something he’s supposed to never feel. Longing.
“You’ll belong to the gods,” he says, the words taste bitter on his tongue. You and he are kindred. You should not belong to the gods; you should be with him. “That’s what they say, isn’t it?” Deimos’s eyes are burning with darkness and madness. He shifts, one hand cradling the back of your head, his thumb running over your jaw. The Pythia must remain pure. Sacred. Untouched by mortal desire and hands. You swallow the growing lump in your throat. “But what do you want?” Deimos asks.
It’s the first time anyone’s asked of your desires since Praxithea took you and Eupheme in. Your fingers tremble where they press against his chest. He is warmth, strength, and everything you have ever been told to resist. You want this. You want him—more than you’ve ever wanted to be the Oracle of Apollo, lying to the masses at the Cult’s bidding when you see truths in the Pyramid. Perhaps, in his own selfish way, this is another show of mercy, to save you from a life that now terrifies you.
Deimos tilts his head, waiting—daring—you to give a truthful answer. His breath is warm against your skin. You can feel the weight of his question pressing against your ribs, stealing the air from your lungs. What do you want? The words coil around your mind and heart like a snake, sinking its fangs into every doubt, every moment you’ve silenced your desires in hopes of appeasing the gods and the Cult. Everything to carry out your duties but still keep Deimos for yourself.
“You already know what I want,” you whisper, fingers curling around the back of his neck, under his matted and adorned locks. He almost smiles as his thumb traces the curve of your cheek, then lower, featherlight against the column of your throat. Possessive. Claiming. And yet, he hesitates. The Cult has stolen much—his childhood, his family, his identity. They have taken from you, too, twisting your visions, binding you to a fate you never chose. But this moment? It will only ever belong to you and him.
So, you do the only thing you’ve never been allowed to do. You pull him down—taking his face in your palms and angle his head in the way that you like best—and kiss him. Deimos groans into your mouth, surprised by your eagerness. Your lips part with his only for breath, and even then, he chases you—mouth brushing yours again in a kiss deeper, slower, more desperate than the first and the second. You’re not sure which of you is trembling more.
His lips leave your mouth, trailing along your jaw until settling just below your ear. “The gods cannot have you,” he breathes. The remnants of whatever resistance in you are lost to the wave of him, and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never felt before. You don’t know what to say, so, in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name. Said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell ever since he first kissed you. Deimos. He inhales sharply, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours.
You press against his uninjured shoulder, not to push him away, but to give yourself room to sit up, to breathe. He sits back on his haunches and sluggishly reaches for the linen ties holding your dress together, and you give him a small nod, encouraging him to unravel you. As he gently tugs upon the tie, the fabric sags upon your shoulders, allowing you to push it aside, and then rise to step out of it altogether. His breath catches at the sight of you standing above him—flesh never touched, never kissed, never marked by a mortal.
Deimos’s jaw tightens, restraining himself from touching you as he pleases. But the longer he sits there staring—gawking like some clueless boy and reverential as a devotee at prayer—the more emboldened you become. You kneel in front of him and reach for the bronze pins at his shoulders, the ones keeping his dark chiton in place, and unfasten them. Deimos shrugs the linen away and lets you guide one of his rough hands to your chest as you lay back again amongst the linen and silks, pulling him with you.
“Touch me,” you whisper, noticing the way his tawny-gold eyes darken when his calloused palm fully embraces one of your breasts. It’s all the urging he needs. He surges forward, mouth moving toward the spot where your jaw and neck meet, the stubble on his cheek scratching ragged against your flesh. He palms your breasts, reveling in your softness against his rough-hewn hands. The backs of his knuckles trail along your ribs, tracing along your hip until he squeezes the meat of your thigh. His mouth. His hands. It’s already almost too much.
And then his fingers find the weeping want between your thighs—all for him—and slide through your folds, gathering the slick there. You gasp, mouth falling open, eyes slipping shut, and legs parting just a fraction more. Deimos watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, and your fingers twist into one of the blankets beneath you as he draws out the slow torture. But then, just as you want to speak protest, a finger slips into your cunt, curling pleasantly.
Nipping kisses bite and trail down your neck, leaving mark after mark as his finger slips in and out of you before easing in another. Your hips begin to roll of their own accord into the heel of his hand, craving the unfamiliar friction. Deimos feels his cock twitch beneath his loincloth with your little moans, incessantly throbbing and straining against the material, longing to be inside of you—to claim you as his own.
“They would have denied you this,” Deimos breathes at your ear. “You would have never known a man’s touch” —he moves quicker, and your breath hitches when his fingers move a certain way, catching a spot deep within that makes stars explode behind your half-lidded eyes— “never would have known my touch.” Your back arches from the pallet. It’s as if you’d been struck by the lightning and storm raging outside, body bristling with long-repressed pleasure, something only Deimos can cure. You reach for him, fingers twisting into his matted locks, beckoning him to kiss you again, and he does.
Your release is fast approaching, like a tidal wave of heat flooding across your body with its intensity. Deimos’s name emerges from your lips as if it is the only word you know. He takes pride in being the first to see you like this. The first to make you feel like this. The pinnacle of your release makes you feel like you're floating, legs weak in the blissful aftermath. You exhale, chest heaving from exertion as you loosen your hold upon his dark hair.
Deimos withdraws his fingers from your warmth—glistening in the low light—and brings them to his mouth. He groans. It's as if he’s sampling the fruit of the gods. You shiver under the heat of his gaze, but then, he’s kissing you again. Open-mouthed, desperate, and rough. You cling to him, hands running over his chest, finding the scars on his arms and back.
He feels your fingers move towards the ties of his perizoma, and he doesn’t stop you, observing you in rapturous hunger instead. His breath hitches, mouth moving inward to press a string of hot kisses against the column of your throat. Freeing his cock from its confines, you move yourself up upon your knees, aided by his strong, firm hands, coming to rest just below your bottom. The flushed tip of his length nudges against your cunt, prompting you to sigh. “Please.”
In a sluggish descent, he lowers you onto his cock—gently as he can manage—the both of you shivering in tandem. The low, throaty groan that escapes him makes your stomach churn with molten heat, letting you find your own pace. He’s big, but he fills you perfectly. Mouths dance together and then clash again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, and you brazenly give his lower lip a tug with your teeth. It’s messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing both of you to heel as you happily drown in desire and pleasure withheld for so long.
Your cunt is tight around him, slick with arousal as you continue to lower yourself, inch by blissful inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. Deimos’s heavy pants flutter across your throat, mouth pressing near the curve of your jaw. His hands are resolute in guiding you, rocking you up and down along his cock, chest to chest with you.
Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths weave together, forming a heated cacophony that fills your chambers. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your flesh is mesmerizing, leaving a wave of goosebumps to crawl across your skin. The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost makes you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders. This must be better than even the Golden Fields of Elysium.
A burning sting begins to dance along your thighs, the exertion of muscle as you ride him, moving up and down in somewhat rhythmic motions. His cock spearing you over and over again, filling you completely before you nearly draw yourself out and back down again.
“Gods,” You sigh, nails sinking into the muscle of his shoulders, your countenance one of complete and utter pleasure. Leaving behind angry red crescents against his sun-kissed skin, you don’t want the feeling to end. “Deimos, please!” With a simpering moan, your head begins to roll back slightly. Spurred by your softly-spoken praise and breathy sighs, Deimos does not relent, hands sinking into your thighs as he guides you against his cock—the angle causes friction to blossom, chests bumping together, bodies wholly tangled up within one another.
He nips his way along your collarbone, bringing you up enough to trap one of your nipples within his mouth. The head of his cock remains buried within your cunt, the warming of it making you writhe. He holds you steadily, greedily. It’s his turn to take what he desires. One of your hands twists into his matted dark locks, tugging on them as if you were attempting to wrangle him into submission. His mouth peppers warm, needy kisses around the valley between your breasts before he lets you sink yourself back down, cunt clenching around his cock.
Shameless strings of sinful noises leave you in droves, eyes closed in a state of ecstasy. Deimos groans with you, vocalizing his own pleasure as he coaxes you down towards the silk and linen pallet. With a brief bob of the head, you find yourself beneath Deimos, content between your thighs as he hitches one leg around his hips. The calloused plane of his palm slides down to your ankle before coming back up to wrap around your calf—you shiver at his touch, even with the warm, humid air and the building heat between the two of you.
Like this, Deimos can look upon your face and see the way your visage contorts into pure pleasure when he rocks forward, his cock burying itself deep into your cunt. His skin is flushed, and his expression is a mix of reverence and awe, even if you’re too lost to notice.
Your hands move, one finding purchase against his bicep, the other on his shoulder as his pace quickens. It’s a chase, galloping after his release as he bends to kiss you, releasing a grunt into your mouth when you roll your hips into his. You don’t care if he’s a touch rough with you—gods, you needed him, just like this. Just as he is. Rough and brutal. Heat swirls within your stomach, gnawing at your bones and making your toes curl in delight.
“Deimos,” you cry, and that nearly sends him soaring over the edge, cock throbbing inside of you. The friction of your pelvis grinding against him almost makes his resolve shatter into two. He’s lost count of how many times his cock has sank into you—it’s all blurring together. The inevitable rush of euphoria reaches him as his release comes, hot and blistering, making his vision blur. Teeth bared. He groans your name. Your nails dig into his bicep, a gasp torn from your throat when he thrusts into you again before stilling—his weight braced above you on trembling arms.
You coax him down, letting him rest atop you. He pillows his head upon your breast, breathing erratic but calming. You run your fingers through his damp hair, down his back. It’s a moment you’ll savor—a moment you may never have again. Another flash of lightning cuts through the warmth of the firelight, a clap of thunder following, but the silence between is longer. The storm is passing.
After a while, Deimos moves to lie beside you, half-propped on one arm, his tawny-gold eyes fixed on your face—the glow of the sheen of perspiration, the flush of your cheeks, and the soft smile upon your lips. He’ll commit it all to memory, just in case…he shakes away the dark thoughts of what the Cult would do if they knew. His other hand rests on your stomach, fingers spread out almost possessively.
For a long time, neither of you speak. Words feel clumsy, and there’s little to be said when actions speak so much louder. Eventually, you turn on your side and move closer to him, brushing a knuckle along the stubble on his jaw. Deimos. His name lingers in the air between you. He exhales, hearing you breathe his name like that is a balm and a fresh wound all at once. You curl farther into him, and his hand moves up, splaying across your ribs, feeling the rise and fall of your breath. Deimos rolls onto his back, drawing you with him, and you rest your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “Get some rest, my love,” you tell him. He presses a kiss to your temple—soft, a vow. You are his, and no man—not even the Cult or Praxithea—or god can have you now.
PRAXITHEA IS FURIOUS. Her protégé ruined. Years of meticulous training carelessly thrown away without a second thought—the marks on your neck speak unto themselves, as did your request to a servant for a cup of silphium tea. A moment of weakness, lust, and worldly desires. All things Apollo’s servant must be free of, immune to.
“You have been defiled!” She shouts, pacing before stylobate rostrum. “The Pythia must be chaste.” It was among the first lessons she taught you and Eupheme—to always shun the attention of men and love only Apollo. “A virgin!” Praxithea turns to face you, eyes burning with her fury and grips your face with bony fingers, nails digging into your cheek and jaw. If she cannot have you to do the gods’ bidding, then she must smite the man who had the gall to ruin you. “Who has sullied you?” The old oracle asks, voice like a serpent’s hiss.
You squeeze your eyes shut, flinching away but unable to escape the crone’s grasp. Heavy footfalls echo off the temple floor, and you meet Deimos’s tawny-gold eyes as he walks into the firelight of one of the braziers and smile, slowly, deliberately. There is no shame nor regret in your eyes or expression. Praxithea follows your gaze, and realization dawns upon her. “You.” She spits, turning to see the Cult’s champion—she should have known.
Deimos comes closer, his presence a tempest. His black-and-gold tunic hangs loose around his broad shoulders, and in the dim light, you can still see the faint crescents of your nails raking down his chest. Shadows flicker across his sharp features, his golden eyes gleaming with pride and defiance. You were meant for the gods, but now you are his.
Praxithea lifts her hand to strike you. Punishing Deimos is beyond her, but you are still her student and ward. “Hurting her would be unwise,” he grits out.
Deimos does not bow before gods or mortals. He does not shrink beneath the weight of an old oracle’s rage. He steps onto the dais as if to defile it further. Praxithea stiffens as he nears both of you. Her grip tightens on your jaw before she wrenches her hand away as though your flesh has burned her. Her fury is still palpable, though—eyes blazing with righteous wrath. “Of course, champion,” she placates.
You step away from Praxithea and to Deimos’s side, your choice made, and path changed. You will not serve as a false oracle. You will not be bound by Apollo and his temple. You are his. And the gods nor Praxithea can have you now…but the Cult, they will still get what they desire, one way or another.
THE ORACLE OF Delphi packs a small bag with shaking hands. She must leave, quickly, before more of the Cult soldiers arrive, or worse, their champion. Because of her, Elpenor is dead. And one of the only people in all of Hellas who has the power to stop the Cult now knows the workings of the shadow organization. You try to calm her when you arrive at the chora, but she is hysterical. “Eupheme, what is it?” You ask, pleading, taking her hands into your own.
“The sister came to me,” Eupheme admits. Kassandra. You have heard the name whispered in the shadows—have seen her in visions and memories not your own. “I must leave Delphi,” she cries. After facing the Monger, she needs to get far away from Phokis before it is too late. She stiffens in your embrace. “Deimos,” she utters, looking over your shoulder, her voice trembling. You step away from Eupheme—still grasping onto her hand—and turn, seeing him stride forth into the villa’s courtyard.
Eupheme’s grip on your hands tightens for a moment before she lets go, stepping back as though distance can protect her. But there is no outrunning Deimos—not here, not now. He tilts his head, seeing the Pythia’s plan clearly laid out—she means to run. You feel Eupheme’s breath hitch beside you—so soft no one else would notice. But you do. “I could take your head,” Deimos says, voice low and dangerous. “Just as Elpenor’s was taken.”
You step into his path when he moves forward, stopping him before he can reach the sitting Oracle with a hand flattened against the center of his golden breastplate. “Deimos, please” —his tawny-gold eyes flit down to you, his lips pressed into a taut line, the harsh lines between his brows lessen, if only a little— “Eupheme had no choice,” you tell him, a convincing lie.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
You keep your hand against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath the plate. His body is tense, a coiled serpent ready to strike, but he hasn’t pushed past you—and you know he won’t. “I have foreseen this.” Another lie. “The Gods—Khaos and Kosmos—willed this to be.” You stand a far better chance against his wrath than Eupheme ever would, and for that, you will risk the storm to save a friend.
Deimos looks between you and Eupheme, jaw tightening, then he nods in the direction of the door—a noise somewhere between a sigh and grunt leaving his throat. “Go,” he tells the Pythia with reluctant restraint. Eupheme gathers her things and rushes out of the chora, fleeing into the night, and you know you’ll never see her again.
His attention returns to you—there’s a spark of danger in his eyes, burning gold in the firelight. Deimos reaches for you, his hand rising to rest on your cheek, and you close your eyes as his thumb trails across your cheekbone before slipping lower to your neck. “What else have you not spoken of?” He asks, tilting his head as he looks down his nose at you, fingertips pressing into flesh, but not ungently.
“Only that which will forfeit my life,” you tell him. And yours.
“Come with me.” It is not a request this time. You follow him from the villa—a white horse is waiting at the entrance. Deimos places you astride the beast's back, then mounts behind you, spurring the stallion toward the Sanctuary of Delphi high in the mountains. He doesn’t speak—never having been one for needless words—but the look in his eyes when you glimpse him over your shoulder is unfamiliar. Kassandra’s arrival in Phokis has shattered the careful balance of things. The old order crumbles, and in its place, chaos reigns.
The Temple of Apollo looms above. But it is not your destination. He brings you to the Cave of Gaia.
You look around the empty chamber and then down at the Pyramid, pulsating with energy even though the bronze plates are coated with blood and scattered around the floor—a remnant of his rage. “Why are we here, Deimos?” You ask, a whisper swallowed by stone.
"My sister," he starts, face twisting in anger. "She was here among the Cultists. I–" He stops himself, stops pacing too, jaw clenching. His hands curl into fists at his sides. His memory and hers are the same but different. For years, he knew the truth of his past. There was no doubt what happened that night on Taygetos, but now...Deimos shakes his head and looks at you. "I need to know," he tells you.
"Know what?" You challenge.
The truth, but his pride won’t let him say it. He swallows hard, his voice dropping lower than a whisper. "My fate."
You study him—can see his anger give way to something else. It nigh breaks your heart. You know he is not a god, not even a demigod, just a man, but to see him act as such. He’s never looked this vulnerable, broken. "You’ve never believed in fate,” you counter.
He exhales sharply, frustration flickering across his face. "Tell me anyway,” Deimos grits out.
Taking a long breath, you reach out to the Pyramid and let the artifact's power take over. There are flashes of red and blue flames and battles on land and sea, but he stands in gold-and-white, drenched in blood. “You walk the path of fire, but the flames do not consume you. Not yet.” And then there is a flicker of hope shining through the violence and suffering—redemption. Deimos doesn’t move. He barely breathes.
Your voice drops to a hush, yet your words strike him like a blade. "Blood calls to blood, Deimos.” You can see his sister and mother—and him—standing atop Mount Taygetos, an echo of the night when he was only a babe. Both he and Kassandra have their blades drawn, and Myrrine of Sparta weeps for her children, Kassandra and Alexios. “You will have to choose. Between the path of the serpent” —you look up at him— “and the path home.” His face twists, as though he will refute that this is his home, but before he can speak, you continue. “And you already know which will lead to your destruction.”
Sighing, you step around the Pyramid, your hands rising to cradle his face, to force him to focus on you—not the dark thoughts burrowing into his mind or the decades of lies. “Deimos.” The feather-soft whisper of his name brings his gaze to yours. Alexios. Your smile is faint, fleeting. He will not believe what his sister or mother says, but you—he hangs off your every word as though they are a lifeline. “When those who would name you Alexios, speak, you must listen.”
His fingers curl around one of your wrists, keeping your hand against his cheek. Everything will be different now—there will be no return to the old ways. And should the Cult learn of what you’ve told him this night…he dreads to think of what they will do. “You should leave too,” Deimos mutters. “I can no longer promise to keep you safe.”
THE SHIP WHICH will bore you away from Phokis and the Cult of Kosmos is The Nauplios, a merchant vessel bound for Thrace. They are meant to sail with the rising sun, but a full purse of drachma and jewels assures the cover of darkness will be an ally. Kirrha’s harbor is silent in the early morning, save for the wind rustling the rigging and cloth sails of the docked boats and triremes and the breaking of small waves against the pale stones and wooden piles. Deimos has come to watch you leave—his bidding is the only reason for your departure.
The captain nods for you to join them aboard, but you’re not ready. Lowering the hood of your chlamys, you turn to face Deimos—for the last, but not final time—you rise, settling your lips upon his. Deimos doesn’t move at first, but then his hand finds your waist, fingers tightening into linen and wool, pulling you closer. His lips are warm, windburned from the sea, and rough from battle, but they part beneath yours, answering in kind. The wind tugs at your cloak, urging you away, but you linger, pressing yourself into the heat of him as though pleading with him not to send you away. A shout from the ship reminds you that time is slipping through your fingers. The captain waits. The sails are ready.
“Remember,” you breathe against his mouth, fingers curling into the open neck of his black-and-gold chiton. “You are Alexios of Sparta before Deimos.”
His fingers curl around your wrist, holding you back from stepping aboard the ship. He knows he is not supposed to feel like this, but he has—for years. Deimos hesitates, keeping you with him for a moment longer before he finally ousts the reticent question haunting his every waking thought since the path forward became clear. “Do we meet again in this life?” He asks.
Deimos is relieved to see you smile—an answer on its own. Yes. You lift a hand to rest on his scarred cheek, thumb tracing the raised scar before slipping down, combing through the growing stubble on his jaw. “As strangers, my love,” you tell him softly, a glimmer shining in your eyes. “And as old friends.”
[Deimos taglist: @alexandra-alle / @athy-lex / @certifiedlittleshit / @chaotic-spooky / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gallimaufrea / @hereforreadandwrite / @Idkjj04 / @jadynchronicle / @joossieisdabomb / @kitkitvm / @ksziggy / @missmannequin / @morganamayne / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @novastale / @qhbr2013 / @rigshak / @stormyblue90 / @thatrandomfeministgamer / @thepreciouspurrsian / @vymyn / @wallsarecrumbling ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Deimos taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!
character : Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Ezio Auditore, Connor (Ratohnhake:ton) Kenway, Edward Kenway & Desmond Miles,
cw : Mention of blood and wounds, violence, sillyness, you know, a little bit of everything.
+ summary : you're an apprentice under the supervision of your mentor, but they have a platonic love for you. Do they have to deal with you or do you have to deal with them? This is the first of two parts I will be doing on this type of headcanon.
- notes : English is not my native language, so please be patient with me. Also this is my first post about AC, I hope you enjoy these headcanons.
Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
✒ You're fucked up hahaha
✒ Being his apprentice it's a title everyone would die for, that's means he saw something special in you. Let's pretend he isn't in love with you.
✒ Now, you're under a lot of pressure, every step you take, every move you make, every look, every breath, everything has to be perfect. Being his student does not mean you're safe from your duties and his expectations. Sorry for that.
✒ He doesn't hold back in training; he loves to see how every time you fail, you get back up with even more determination.
✒ He doesn't admit it but he love hear you call him "master". This man only responds to your call even if there are any other asking for his help.
✒ He call you: Dove or novice, depending on how you did the job.
✒ On every mission assigned to him, you with him or vice versa. Literally takes you everywhere, by his side.
✒ The only time he "lets you go" is when he needs information, so gathering it is your fieldwork during missions. But he always find a way to get to you once he's finished his part of the job.
✒ Even if he doesn't want to or can't, you have individual missions to accomplish, but that doesn't stop him. As your mentor, it's his duty to make sure you'll be okay, right?
✒ When he sees you applying everything you've learned on missions, whether it's combat techniques, assassination, or even helping him decipher information, even if he says he didn't ask for your help, he can't help but smile proudly.
✒ "I wasn't wrong about you, little dove".
✒ When you get injured on missions, he simply sees red. He'll take you to the shelter and tend to your wounds, no matter how minor they may be. He can't deal with the idea that he failed to protect you. Once he makes sure you're safe, he'll take care of the rest.
✒ You're going to see him come back with blood in his ropes, obviously is not his blood.
✒ "You should have waited for me, you're still a novice... they could have killed you".
Ezio Auditore
✒ A blessing or a curse?
✒ You're his favorite apprentice, his eyes are always on you, yeah... Better you forget about privacy and personal space.
✒ The good new is that you don't have to deal with him alone, you've Leonardo!! If you want to escape from your mentor, just visit his house, he'll be happy to help you.
✒ But you can hide from him all the time, he'll find you any time soon, he always does.
✒ He loves to call you: "Cuore mio" (my heart), if you did a great job, but if you fucked up all the work, you will be called "cucciolo" (puppy).
✒ As much as he wants to, he knows perfectly well that he cannot accompany you on all your missions and vice versa, which is why you two always promise each other to return safe and sound.
✒ When you go on missions, he's by your side like a magnet.
✒ Watching you use everything you learned, make him smile satisfied, cause that mean you will be fine, he cannot afford to lose anyone else.
✒ "Excellent job, Cuore mio, you always exceed my expectations".
✒ "This time you screwed up, like the cucciolo you're".
✒ Lord have mercy on anyone who hurts you, cause that person don't will see the light again. As I said before, he doesn't want to lose anyone else, if he sees you injured, he would go mad. It doesn't care if the wound is minor or not, he wants you safe and sound like right fucking now.
✒ Be for sure that the blood will be spilled wouldn't come from him.
✒ "You've to be more careful, I can't protect you all the time, cuore mio"
Connor (Ratonhnake:ton) Kenway
✒ Bro... How did you manage to gain his trust?
✒ A lot of training in the forest, he'll teach you about hunting, camouflage, how to survive with limited resources, and most importantly, how to respect nature and connect with it.
✒ He'll also teach you everything he knows about boats.
✒ If you ask him to teach you his native language, at first he'll hesitate to do so, but if you use it as a code between yourselves, it is the perfect excuse to teach you something about his people and the place he come from.
✒ When he talks to Achilles about you, he calls you "the fawn". Never calls you like that when you're with him.
✒ "So you're the baby deer Connor adopted as his student".
✒ "I'm what?"
✒ "Don't listen to him..."
✒ Stay. Away. From. His. Father. This was the first rule he gave to you. Charles Lee already killed his mother. You're very important to him; the last thing he wants is to lose you to a templar like his father.
✒ When you go on missions, he doesn't interfere in your tasks, just like birds, he wants you to learn to fly by your own. Only interferes when he sees that you're in serious danger.
✒ You were gathering information when you were ambushed by templars and ended up hurt. Thanks to the lessons of your mentor, you were able to escape alive.
✒ While your wounds are being treated, all he needs to know is what those templars looked like. He'll finish the mission for you, and with a couple of lives too.
✒ "You're not ready to go on missions alone yet; the world is still too dangerous for you...".
Edward Kenway
✒ I'm so sorry for you.
✒ I'm not going to say he'll teach you about drinks, fights clubs and how to charm someone.
✒ He's knows more than you can imagine. Your training varies between the islands and the Jackdaw.
✒ You've to learn everything about the damn ship, cause you'll live in there all the time. Of course he helps you if you need it, but he prefers that you learn to communicate with the ship on your own.
✒ You must learn each island like the back of your hand. And he'll make sure you know how to get back to the port.
✒ So... Yeah, you'll have to memorize all the maps.
✒ But the most important thing he will teach you is to be loyal to your convictions and hold on to your dreams.
✒ The rest of the crew nicknamed you “the compass.” Because ever since Captain Edward took you under his wing, they noticed that his mood improved, and also because, no matter how or when, he always manages to find you.
✒ He calls you: "Gold coin". Why? Because you are worth as much as or more than a Spanish doubloon. Too much sugar captain.
✒ But when you don't finish your duties, or you fucked up, he calls you "Landlubber", sorry not sorry.
✒ No one would dare harm the Jackdaw captain's student, but at the same time, you are a high-value target for capturing the assassin pirate.
✒ And those who try to kidnap you, may the Lord have mercy on their souls, because the captain will have no problem reducing every island and ship to ashes in order to find you.
✒ "You understand now why I call you my golden coin?"
Desmond Miles
✒ More than a mentor, he would be an apprentice like you. You learn from each other, even though he knows a little more thanks to the memories of his ancestors.
✒ You train together.
✒ In missions, you compete to see who reaches the target first.
✒ He just call you by your name.
✒ Please, bother Shaun with him.
✒ Compliments here and there.
✒ "Of course you can't, you're a novice"
✒ "You're a novice too. Just because you've unlocked skills through your ancestors' memories doesn't make you a master!"
✒ Speaking of memories, if you are his “apprentice,” it's because you didn't see him as crazy for the bleeding effect.
✒ He teases you because you worry every time he has to enter the animus, but deep down he really appreciates that you pay attention to him during the immersion and help him deal with the bleeding hallucinations.
✒ The first time you came back injured from a mission, it was a reality check for him. So from that moment on, it's normal that on missions, he's the one who volunteers to face any danger first.
✒ This man is capable of sacrifice himself for your safety (just remember the games). He'll not hesitate to rush to your rescue, help you if you are injured, or kill the person responsible for such misfortune.
✒ "You'll drive crazy (Y/N)... I fucking swear to you, If you go alone again, I'll kill you with my own hands"
I'm just going back to my hyperfixations and it feels so good.
Remember that you can send me requests, questions, etc. I will be happy to respond.
♡ Just imagine, you're a girl living in Athens, coming from a simple family. One day, you were out in town, going to the markets to help your family with chores, not knowing someone was staring at you thinking he had just seen a goddess walking among the living;
♡ You had always heard about your beauty, how yours curves were perfect, how gentle and sweet you are.. but you never had a man like him staring at you like that;
♡ You didn't notice him staring at you, finishing your shopping and going back home, and obviously.. he followed you;
♡ It took him months, MONTHS, to have the courage to even speak to you. But during that time, you became his everything;
♡ He had spent months watching you, he'd tell himself it was to keep you safe, but he knew it was to satisfy that hungry beast inside him that craved you;
♡ Be it for fighting, winning battles or just the motivation to go home, you were his very muse, the one thing he craved more than anything, yet he had no way to get close to you.. or so he thought;
♡ Little by little, your family became involved with the cult, be it by coincidence or someone was pulling the strings after seeing how much he wanted you, you were now always close to Deimos, much to his preference;
♡ It took some time to get used to him and his, humm.. personality. We see in game how explosive he is, how mean and cruel he can be, so for a girl who had hardly ever seen blood before, it was a hard sight to swallow;
♡ From that moment on, you were always close to him, often deemed too innocent to be close to the other cultists, even kept from being close to your family, so Deimos was all you had now;
♡ It were some hard weeks until he began to soften around you. He began being calmer, kinder to you, treating you like the goddess he had always seen you as, specially after you patched him up after he came home beaten up from battle;
♡ Your kindness and gentleness with him, your patience and forgiveness, the care you gave him, it made him feel conflicted. He was the cults weapon, a hardened warrior, yet with you, he was Alexios, a man in love, a normal person;
♡ The moment you started having feelings for him, heavens, he was over the moon with happiness, knowing he may have won his darlings heart to himself, finally! Yet he was still Deimos, and he'd much rather take you as his than to try and court you, but he tried. Again, and again, and again, until he finally felt your lips on his, receiving the affection he so badly craved;
♡ You were his darling, his love, his muse, his reason to breathe, his motivation to keep going, his entire world, so to have your love? He felt like he had won the world;
♡ As a lover, he was possessive and overly protective, not accepting that there could be someone else ever wanting you, he'd kill any man who dared get too close to you, he didn't like to be ignored by you, he craved your attention and love all the time, more than in a normal relationship.. It wasn't a healthy love, it was obsession;
♡ The man craved you like a starved man craves food, most days you'd be sleepy and too sore to leave bed from how much time he'd spend loving you, making you see heaven beneath him as he made you his;
♡ It wasn't like he cared about his obsession, he knew was too deep now to let go. You were to became his wife and his only one, and nothing would stop him, not even the high members of the cult (let's say some of them tried and faced his sword, it wasn't a pretty sight);
♡ To the cult, you had no name. You were Deimos muse, the only woman who could calm his heart. And let's be fair? That was the only reason Aspasia even let him have you, since she had known from the beginning he was after you. She has eyes everywhere;
♡ She was the one behind your family joining the cult, since she planned on using you to keep Deimos alive for longer. Yet her plan bit her in the ass later on, when Kassandra had eliminated the cultists and killed her, finally freeing you and her brother from the woman's slimy grasp;
♡ Years had passed, and surprisingly.. He had changed. Still just as in love with you, but as Kassandra eliminated the cult and helped him find a sense of normalcy again, Alexios became a kind, gentle lover, now your husband, and treated you like you deserved, gave you everything and never stopped begging for your forgiveness for how he acted before;
♡ He brought you to his family, you two starting anew in Sparta as a married couple.. you had given him a second chance;
♡ But don't be fooled by it, that possessive beast was dormant, but it didn't take much to wake it up.. But his love was too strong, and thankfully even that monster inside him couldn't resist your sweet affection.. No one can refuse the love of a goddess anyway.
𝐀/𝐍: I don't know if I like how this post turned out, the writing isn't to my standards, but I tried making Deimos sound a tad bit crazy for his darling (which in my eyes fits him perfectly), hope you guys like it anyway! - 𝐿𝓊𝓁𝓊🌷
Throat fucking the Mighty Mithios whilst you wear your spartan fit? Total win.
When I talk about the "spartan" fit. I mean, like the helmets they used to wear with the thingy on top and whatnot. (Does that even make sense, reader is supposed to be a Gladiator)
The Amour Stays On
Pairing: Alexios x Gladiator Male Reader
Warning(s): NSFW/18+ Content under the cut
Warning(s): Throat fucking, deep throating, blowjob, armor (armour???) kink? fetish? one of the two, not beta read (i never beta read)
Word Count: 1156
Account Navigation
AO3 Link
extra: i am running out of titles sos hwo do people do this. also really sorry its so short :(
Another victory under your belt and some more free time with your lover, Alexios. The arena is empty. Well, almost empty.
The silence is interrupted with the wet sounds of lips locking together, teeth and tongue clashing. Which honestly surprises you. Normally Alexios likes to take his time when getting any kind of intimate with you.
When you finally separate, you stop him from closing in for another. “What’s wrong, Alexios?” You ask, voice just a little raspy from your earlier exertion. Hells, you were still in your armor, helmet included.
“Nothing,” he lies, refusing to admit the actual truth.
“You’re lying,” you challenge, grabbing his hips and pinning him against the wall you’re both next to. You lean a little closer to him, the cold metal of your helmet scraping over his cheek and causing him to shiver. You think nothing of it at first. “What is wrong?”
His hands grab at your forearms and you can feel the heat coming from his body. He purposely knocks his cheek against your helmet again and that’s when it clicks. “You like the armor.”
“No,” he denies immediately, almost sounding offended that you’d even suggest it.
You click your tongue and his eyes lock onto yours. “Maybe a little,” he finally says, glancing away from you again. You’ll take it.
And you’ll run with it.
“How much,” you push, allowing your fingers to dip into the small gap between Alexios’ belt and his tunic. You swear you can hear him scoff before he speaks.
“Not that much,” he says. Stubborn thing, he was.
“Show me?” You suggest with a smile, tugging him a little closer by the belt. He feels the cold of your armor through his tunic and he cannot stop the way his breath hitches. “Please?”
You hear him curse you under his breath. You knew he was a sucker for you when you pleaded like that. “Fine.”
Alexios’ lips press against the cheek of your helmet and his hands grab your vambraces. His thumbs rub against the soft leather straps that bind the metal together. You can feel your helmet shift as Alexios trails kisses across the metal before he dips to your neck.
You say nothing for now. You’re letting him take what he needs. Perhaps he’ll be willing to talk when he’s done. He tilts your head to the side and you allow him to, closing your eyes with a soft sigh as he kisses down your neck.
Alexios’ hands travel up your arms to rest on your shoulders for a moment before trailing down the front of your breastplate. His lips follow shortly after and you pull your hands from his belt so he can lower to his knees in front of you. He refuses to look at you.
His hands slide down and stop on the bare skin just above your boots. You look down at him and watch as he leans in and nuzzles against your crotch. Hands slide up your thighs a couple times before Alexios cuts the cloth of your skirt open to get to your loincloth.
He tugs it down just enough to pull your cock out and wrap his hand around it. The pumps your cock a few times before leaning forward again to nuzzle against the sensitive flesh. His beard scratches you a bit before he takes your tip into his mouth.
You groan, fighting the urge to push your hips further, force Alexios to take more. You remind yourself this was for him, not you. He was in control.
His tongue wraps around your cock and he slowly takes more and more into his mouth as he bobs his head. “If you would’ve just said something, we could’ve done this sooner,” you say, dragging your hand through Alexios’ hair.
He just groans around you, the vibrations rumbling around your cock and drawing a moan from you. He sucks you off wonderfully. His tongue moves over your cock in the ways he knows you like. The wet sounds of him sucking you off fills the quiet air around the two of you.
His mouth is so warm, so soft, around your cock. You can’t help it anymore. Your hips jerk forward and it inherently forces Alexios to take your cock further into his mouth. You feel him gag as you hit the back of his throat.
Alexios stops and finally looks up at you. For a moment, you believe he’s going to pull off of you, leave you hard and aching and not get you off.
Instead, you feel his jaw slacken around you. You take the hint, pushing your hips forward again once. He moans around you even as he gags. You brace one hand on the wall behind the two of you, the other finding purchase in Alexios’ hair as you begin pumping your cock in and out of his mouth.
He lets you fuck his mouth, swallowing around you as best he can. Each time your cock hits the back of his throat, you’re rewarded with him gagging around you, his throat clenching and his tongue curling around the underside of your cock. It’s addicting.
You push deeper into his mouth, further down his throat. He rewards you with a choked moan. It sounds heavenly. “We really should do this more often, don’t you think, misthios?” You ask.
Alexios responds in kind. He lets his teeth scrape against your cock and it makes your hips stutter. “Alright, alright, I won’t call you that again.”
You feel Alexios hum around you, hopefully in appreciation, and you continue to fuck into his mouth, chasing that wonderful high you can feel coming. Over the wet sound of Alexios’ mouth, you hear another sound.
A quick glance down confirms it. Alexios is jerking himself off. To you fucking his mouth in a full suit of armor, tears streaming down his face. Gods, if that wasn’t the hottest thing in the world. The sight sends liquid fire through you.
“Your throat?” You ask, voice beginning to shake as your orgasm approaches. Alexios nods around you.
One, two, three more thrusts and you’re pulling Alexios all the way down your cock, burying his nose in the hair on your pelvis, and painting his throat with your spend. Alexios, in turn, moans around you, his own body tensing as he presumably dirties his hand with his cum.
You hold Alexios on your slowly softening cock until you’re positive Alexios has swallowed everything. He pulls away gasping for breath, saliva and tears painting his beautiful face.
After helping him cleanup and him helping you redress, you share another kiss. “How much do you like the armor?” You ask again, just to see if he’ll finally admit it now.
He grumbles at first but another kiss from you seems to break the little resolve he had. “A lot,” he mutters against your lips before closing the gap for another kiss.
Assassins creed Odyssey characters with a male Misthios
Nikolaos
You were originally hired by Nikolaos just to help slaughter Athenian forces before they could reach the battlefield.
You worked with him for months, watching him train his adopted son Stentor, and learning of his past.
You ended up helping young Stentor, mostly on posture and how to quickly gain the advantage in an unfair situation (something Nikolaos didn’t exactly approve of).
By the time Stentor was in his mid teens, you had a temporary residence with them in their Spartan home, gaining a citizenship as you spent more time with their family.
Originally, you weren’t planning on staying, but, as a misthios, you couldn’t deny that a temporary home to rest sounded like a dream.
Nikolaos is still hesitant around you, being old and weary, yet he treats you like he would treat a member of his family, and if you initiate it, maybe he will treat you like something more.
Once the family is reunited, he happily introduces you to Myrinne, Kassandra, and Deimos/Alexios. Myrinne is a little miffed on how you’ve basically become an old sarcastic man to match Nikolaos, while both being dads to the shithead known as Stentor.
Stentor
He hired you after Kassandra left, he really didn’t want to rehire her. So you were the ‘next best thing’- a cocky misthios who got on his nerves.
You end up doing your best to drive back Athenian forces, making snide remarks back to Stentors borderline violent comments.
He definitely sends you on plenty of missions that were meant to kill you, and a few almost do. He almost ends you himself, the one time you made the mistake of returning to him badly injured.
Nonetheless, whenever he calls you back, he has to pay you just a bit more. He, eventually, and even begrudgingly, gets along with you once the family is back together.
He might even offer you a goblet of wine or a spare bed near the door if you’re unsafe anywhere else. He’s still not going to like you for a while- I like to think that Stentor is the definition of annoyingly slow slowburn.
He’s also just a prick half the time tbh
He does expect you to help him win a sparring match with Deimos, though you might lose some favor from Kassandra… not that Stentor cares.
Kassandra
She’s… hesitant to hire another Misthios.
So she doesn’t- you’re hired to hunt her.
After thoroughly getting your ass beat by the eagle bearer, you learned to stay out of her way. You still payed attention to the message boards- seeing the prices for her head grow and grow.
You don’t go after her again though, but you do drop off the occasional hint so she knows just who’s hunting her. Eventually, she gets sick of that and beats the shit out of you once again, and then confused you even more by inviting you to join her crew.
You do (for a price), and regret it as now you have an eccentric old man yapping in your ear constantly about the gods. Nonetheless, you bond with Kassandra slowly but surely.. and lose dozens of sparring matches.
You get her back by stealing a handful of her bounties once in a while.
Once she finds her family, she invites you to meet her brothers and parents, introducing you as a close friend.
You then get your ass beat by Nikolaos and Myrinne- and then ganged up on by Stentor and Deimos, everyone is under the assumption you’re dating her
They’d be right, but maybe don’t tell them that.
Perikles + Aspasia
Perikles wasn’t the one who hired you- he honestly didn’t even know you were hired until Aspasia brought you in for a friendly chat.
Perikles is definitely nervous around you, but he has you helping his political schemes almost constantly- replacing votes, saving his friends. And sabotaging Kleon, of course.
Aspasia has you on more secretive missions, having you screw with the cult, give Kassandra hidden clues, and try and mess up whatever you possibly can.
You inevitably either get injured or imprisoned, where Aspasia gets you out of that situation and has you hide your weapons and armor- living a ‘normal’ life until the hatred calmed down.
You’re almost a royal pet, being payed like Phoibe, but with much less freedom. It’s dangerous for a misthios in Athens
Deimos (Alexios)
Accepting a bounty from him is basically begging to die, he won’t actually send you on missions, no, he hired you to spar with him and cull the weak members of the cult.
If he does send you on any missions, it’s stalking his family and making sure some of them are dead (they aren’t).
By the time he first meets Kassandra, he has you stalking members of the cult as well, and you’re chronically bruised from his ‘sparring lessons’ that he gave you.
You have some new shiny armor, some sharp weapons, but you’re called Deimos’ pet more often than not. And in truth, you are.
You can’t leave- he will hunt you down and slaughter everyone you care about, and if you accept missions without him he’ll follow you anyway and handle it himself- giving you none of the spoils.
Once he reunited with his family (barely accepting the name ’Alexios’), he drags your ass with him. Your loyalty to him at that point is a little blind, and Kassandra is fighting with both of you to try and regain any sense of normalcy.
You also earn a place on her ship with the rest of the family, albeit you’re usually just with Barnabas and making sure everything in the ship was in fighting shape.
Ooooooh :0 what characters do you write for AC/Assassins Creed?
Hi!
So I've played Syndicate, ACIII, Back Flag, Valhalla, Odyssey, and some of Mirage so I am pretty confident to write for:
Connor, Evie, Jacob, Eivor, Alexios, Kassandra, Edward, and Basim
Though I can always research and read for the others!
Sorry for the long wait for the reply love, been prepping for AP exams and it's killing me. Thankfully I'm almost done with this year and can write all I want over the summer.
