The Many, Many Times Ezio Auditore Was Denied the Pleasure of Fucking You.
A/n: well he got it in the end 🤣 Let me know if ya'll want the actual full smut
I. The Library, After Sunset
The Villa Auditore had finally fallen quiet. The servants had retired. Maria had kissed her childrend goodnight and retreated to her chambers with a book. Giovanni was still in his study, but the door was shut, and the candlelight beneath it had dimmed to a sleepy flicker. Federico had gone to the tavern. Claudia was visiting a friend in the city and sweet little Petruccio was asleep in his bed. For once...for once, there was no one to interrupt you both.
You were pressed against the heavy oak of the library table, your back arched over a stack of old maps that had long since ceased to matter. Ezio stood between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips with a desperation that bordered on painful. His belt was already unbuckled, his breeches hanging low on his hips.
"Finalmente," he growled against your throat, his breath hot and ragged. "I thought this night would never come."
You didn't answer. You couldn't. His mouth had found that spot behind your ear, the one that turned your knees to water and his fingers were working at the laces of your bodice with practiced, impatient tugs. The cool air of the library kissed the swell of your breasts as he pulled the fabric down, and his groan was low and animal when he saw you.
"Dio santo," he breathed, palming the heavy curve of your chest. "Every time I see you, I want you more. It is a curse."
You laughed breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his dark hair. "Then break the curse tonight, Ezio. No more waiting."
He didn't need to be told twice.
His mouth descended on your nipple, hot and wet, and your head fell back against the parchment. His hand slid down your belly, past the waistband of your skirt, slipping between your legs with a roughness that made you gasp. He found you slick and ready as he pressed two fingers inside you with a growl of satisfaction.
"Look at you," he muttered against your skin. "Wet for me. Wanting me. Finally."
You whimpered, rocking your hips against his hand. "Then fuck me already, Ezio."
He laughed, low, dark, absolutely filthy and pulled his fingers out to suck them clean. His eyes never left yours. Then he was reaching for his cock, stroking himself once, twice, before guiding the head to your entrance.
"Finalmente," he sighed again, and began to push....
The door flew open.
"EZIO! COME QUICKLY! THE VENEZIAN— OH."
Claudia Auditore stood frozen in the doorway, her hand still raised from where she had thrown open the door. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth dropped open. She saw everything, your bare breasts, Ezio's cock half-sheathed between your thighs, the frantic scramble of limbs as the two of you tried to separate.
"CLAUDIA!" Ezio roared, yanking up his breeches with such haste that he nearly tripped over his own feet. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"I—" Claudia's face burned crimson. "There's a messenger from Venezia. He says it's urgent. Father sent me to fetch you."
You were already pulling your bodice back into place, your face hot with embarrassment and frustration though you couldn't help but snort at her statement. The wetness between your thighs was starting to cool, and the ache of being so close..so close was almost unbearable.
Ezio was swearing under his breath in rapid-fire Italian, a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. He was buckling his belt with violent jerks, his cock still painfully hard beneath the fabric.
"This is not over," he hissed at you, his eyes blazing with promise. Then he stormed out after Claudia, leaving you alone in the library with a throbbing clit and a ruined orgasm.
II. The Garden, The Next Evening
You had resolved to be patient. Ezio was a busy man, a Master Assassin, a leader, a brother, a son. His life was not his own.
But when he found you in the garden at twilight, among the roses that Maria had planted with such care, the resolve crumbled like old plaster.
He came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his cock pressing insistently against the curve of your ass. He was already half-hard, and the way he ground against you made your knees weak.
"The messenger," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "Was it important?"
"Cazzo, no." He bit your earlobe gently. "Some merchant who thought he saw a Templar in the market. A waste of my time. But now I have time. We have time. Everyone is occupied."
He turned you around, walking you backward until your spine hit the stone wall of the garden alcove. The ivy was cool against your skin. His mouth was hot against yours. He tasted of wine and desperation.
His hands found your skirts, bunching the fabric up around your hips. He didn't bother with your bodice this time, he simply pushed your undergarments aside and slipped his hand between your thighs. You were already wet. So wet.
"Mia cara," he groaned, feeling the evidence of your desire. "You have been thinking about this all day, yes? Thinking about me? About my cock inside you?"
"Yes." your breath catching as he rubbed your clit with his thumb.
"Good," he said, and there was something dark and possessive in his voice. "Because I have been thinking of nothing else."
He lifted you. Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your back scraped against the rough stone, but you didn't care. You could feel him, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, the promise of what was to come.
He lined himself up. You held your breath.
And then.. ( of course )
"EZIO! MARIA SAYS DINNER IS....DIO MIO. "
Federico.
Of course it was Federico.
His older brother stood at the entrance to the alcove, a grin spreading across his face that was entirely too amused. He had the audacity to cross his arms and lean against the archway, as if he had all the time in the world.
"Mio fratello," Federico said, his voice dripping with mock concern. "I did not realize you were... ..gardening."
"Fottiti, Federico." Ezio's voice was strangled. He hadn't let you down yet, but his grip on your thighs was trembling. "Go away. Now."
"Mother will be displeased if you miss dinner again. She made your favorite, the ossobuco." Federico's grin widened. "But I see you have already found something to eat."
"I will kill you."
"Later." Federico gave a lazy wave. "Dinner first. Come, fratellino. The food grows cold."
Ezio let out a roar of frustration that echoed off the garden walls. He set you down with a gentleness that contradicted his rage, his hands lingering on your hips for just a moment.
"Wait for me," he said, his voice rough. "I will return. I swear it."
He didn't return.
Dinner stretched into evening, and evening into night. By the time Giovanni cornered him for a debriefing, and Maria insisted on an hour of music, and Federico kept finding excuses to follow him, the night was gone.
You fell asleep alone, your hand between your thighs, imagining his touch.
III. The Rooftops, Two Days Later
Ezio was losing his mind.
You could see it in the way he moved, jittery, restless, his eyes constantly scanning for threats that were not Templars but rather his own family. He had taken to dragging you onto the rooftops at odd hours, seeking privacy among the chimneys and tiled roofs of Monteriggioni.
"I cannot take this anymore," he said, his voice strained. He had you pressed against a chimney stack, the sun setting behind him, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. "Every time I try to be with you, someone appears. It is like a curse. A curse."
A snort escaped your lips as you tilted your head towards him. "Maybe we should just give up," you suggested, though the words tasted bitter. "Wait until everyone leaves for Firenze next week."
"No." The word was fierce. "I will not wait another week. I will not wait another day." He dropped to his knees.
You gasped as his hands pushed up your skirt, his mouth finding the inside of your thigh. He kissed a trail up your skin, his beard scratching deliciously, until his breath was hot against the damp fabric of your undergarments.
"If I cannot fuck you," he said, his voice muffled, "then I will taste you. And no one will interrupt this."
He pulled your underclothes aside with his teeth.
The first stroke of his tongue against your clit made you moan, your knees buckling. He caught you, holding you steady against the chimney, his mouth working with a desperate, hungry rhythm. He was not gentle, he was ravenous. He licked and sucked and bit, his fingers digging into your hips, his groans vibrating against your flesh.
You were close. So close. The pleasure was building, coiling in your belly, and you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him closer.
"Ezio..." you whimpered. "I'm going to—"
"EZIO! WHERE ARE YOU? THE TEMPLARS—"
Your release shattered into a gasp of frustration as Ezio tore his mouth away from you with a sound that was almost a sob. He stood up so fast he nearly stumbled, his lips glistening with your wetness, his eyes wild with fury.
"CHE COSA?" he screamed into the evening air.
It was Giovanni. His father, standing on the next rooftop over, looking mildly apologetic but also completely unbothered by what he had just interrupted.
"Templar scouts have been spotted in the valley," Giovanni said calmly. "We need every blade. You included."
"I—" Ezio's jaw worked. "I was busy, Father."
"I can see that. But it will have to wait." Giovanni's eyes flicked to you, and there was a hint of amusement in them. "The signorina will still be here when you return. I assume."
Ezio made a sound that was not quite a word. He punched the chimney. He kicked a loose tile. He swore in three different languages.
Then he looked at you with such raw, aching frustration that you felt it in your own chest.
"I am going to kill every Templar in the valley," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And then I am going to find a room with a lock. And I am going to fuck you until neither of us can walk."
He kissed you hard, bruising, a promise and a threat and then he was gone, leaping across the rooftops after his father.
You slid down the chimney, your thighs trembling, your cunt aching, and wondered how much longer you could survive this.
IV. The Bedroom, Three Days Later
Ezio had devised a plan.
It was a simple plan, an simple but elegant. He had sent Federico to Roma on a fabricated errand. He had convinced Claudia to visit a friend in Firenze. He had told Maria that he and you were going to inspect a nearby ruin for Assassin activity, a plausible lie that would keep them away for hours.
Giovanni was the wildcard, but Giovanni had been called to a council meeting in the city. They had the house to themselves.
Almost.
Petruccio was still there, but Petruccio was ten years old and easily bribed with sweets and a new book about astronomy. Ezio had given him a pouch of coins and strict instructions to stay in his room.
"My little brother is the only one who will not interrupt us," Ezio said, locking the bedroom door behind him. "Because he is too busy counting his gold."
You laughed, but the sound was breathless. You were already undressed, lying on his bed, the sheets cool beneath your bare skin. He had promised you, finally, that nothing would stop him this time.
He crossed the room in three strides, his eyes devouring you. He was already hard, his cock straining against his breeches, and he shed his clothes with frantic efficiency.
"Finalmente," he breathed, climbing onto the bed, covering your body with his. The weight of him was perfect. The heat of him was intoxicating.
He kissed you deep and slow, savoring the moment. His hand roamed down your side, over the curve of your hip, between your thighs. He groaned when he found you ready.
"I have been dreaming of this," he murmured against your lips. "Every night. Every moment. I need to be inside you."
"Then be inside me," you whispered, arching your hips, guiding him.
He lined himself up. The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, slick and hot. You both gasped.
He began to push....and as if on cue.
A knock at the door.
Ezio froze. "No," he said. "No. No. Not this time."
"EZIO!" It was Petruccio's voice, high and excited. "EZIO, COME QUICKLY! THERE'S A BIRD IN THE KITCHEN! A REALLY BIG ONE!"
Ezio's head fell forward, his forehead pressing against yours. His cock was still half-sheathed inside you, twitching, aching.
"Petruccio," he called out, his voice strained. "Go away."
"But Ezio! It's huge! Mama says it might be a hawk! You have to see it!"
"Petruccio."
"If you don't come, I'm going to tell Mama you're being mean!"
Ezio closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He pulled out of you with a shuddering groan that was equal parts agony and fury.
"This is not over," he said, pointing a finger at you. "I swear on the Creed, I will make you come tonight if it is the last thing I do."
He yanked on his breeches, stormed to the door, and threw it open. Petruccio stood there, beaming, completely oblivious to the murder in his brother's eyes.
"Show me this bird," Ezio growled, and he followed his little brother down the hall, leaving you naked and empty and furious.
You lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, your thighs pressed together to ease the ache.
Then you laughed. Because if you didn't laugh, you would cry.
V. The Wine Cellar, Late That Night
Ezio found you in the wine cellar at midnight.
You had given up on sleep. You were sitting on a barrel of Chianti, a glass in your hand, wearing only a thin chemise. The frustration had settled into a dull, throbbing need that refused to be ignored.
He appeared in the doorway like a ghost, barefoot, his shirt unlaced, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
"Everyone is asleep," he said. His voice was hoarse. "I checked. Twice. I locked every door. I barricaded the hallway with furniture."
You set down your glass. "If anyone interrupts us now, I will help you hide the bodies."
He crossed the cellar in two strides, pulling you off the barrel and into his arms. His mouth found yours, hungry and desperate. His hands tore at your chemise, ripping the thin fabric.
"I cannot wait," he said against your throat. "I cannot be gentle. I need to fuck you now."
"Then do it."
He didn't need permission twice.He bent you over the wine barrel, your hands gripping the wooden rim, your ass pressed against his hips. He kicked his breeches down just far enough to free his cock,thick, hard, glistening with need.
He pushed inside you in one smooth stroke.
The sound you made was animal. The sensation of being filled, finally, was so overwhelming that your vision blurred. He was deep, deeper than he had ever been, and he was moving immediately, fucking into you with a pace that was punishing and perfect.
"Yes," he hissed, gripping your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises. "Yes, yes, yes..."
The barrel creaked beneath you. The candles flickered. His balls slapped against your clit with every thrust, and you were so close, so close, the orgasm building like a storm and of course, because someone, somewhere hated him.
The cellar door flew open.
"EZIO! MOTHER SAYS!!!!BISCOTTI— "
It was Federico's voice.
But Federico was supposed to be in Roma.Apparently, he had returned early.
Ezio did not stop fucking you.
He did turn his head to scream at his brother, his hips never faltering, his cock driving into you with relentless rhythm.
"FEDERICO, SE NON TE NE VAI SUBITO, TI SPACCO LA FACCIA E LA INFILO NEL CULO DI UN CAVALLO! "
Federico stood there, mouth hanging open, as Ezio continued to rail you against the wine barrel. He was actually watching. The bastard.
"Now," you gasped, the sight of Federico's shock and the feeling of Ezio's fury sending you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure that made your legs give out.
Ezio caught you. He pulled out with a growl of frustration, he hadn't come. Again.
But this time, he did not let go.
He lifted you, still trembling, and carried you past a stunned Federico, up the cellar stairs, through the kitchen, and into his bedroom. He kicked the door shut with his foot, and this time, he wedged a chair under the handle.
"No one," he said, laying you down on the bed, "is going to interrupt us ever again. "
He climbed on top of you, his cock still hard, his eyes burning with determination.
"And if they do," he added, "I am joining the Templars."
It was a bluff. You both knew it.
But the rest of the night was blissfully uninterrupted
Headcanon: How the reader helps them cope with their grief.
Characters: Ezio, Haytham, Shay, Bayek, Connor, Basim, M.Eivor, Arno, Jacob
Ezio:
- This man will never keep anything from you, not even his grief.
- Ezio is an emotionally available man, he is able to communicate his emotions (e.i grief) comfortably with you.
- He’d consider his partner a trusted confidant, his safe place.
- He’d be very emotionally transparent with you.
- I think one way Ezio would deal with his grief would be by spending time with you and the family you two have created together (biologically or nonbiological) in the peaceful countryside, living a peaceful and quiet life. He needs normality and peace as he grows older.
- This man would be eternally grateful that he has you to help ease the burden of his grief, he 100% believes you’re love love has saved him from a path of death and destruction in the name of revenge.
- Ezio would repay back your patience and guidance with a lifetime of gratitude (and kisses).
- He knows without you, his grief would most likely have consumed him whole, and he’d be a very different man without you.
- Even Claudia is happy that Ezio has you to comfort him during his darkest moments.
Haytham:
- This man does not know how to process grief like a normal person. He bottles up his emotions until he explodes, he allows his emotions to take over.
- So please look out for his warning signs, before he’s explodes with emotional trauma and ‘accidentally’ kills someone.
- So calm your emotionally, traumatized man down. And make his ass sit back down.
- His partner is probably the only human that can help him regulate his emotions.
- If you notice him becoming silent and broody, show him some loving. He needs to be shown physical and emotional love during those times. He’s touch starved in my opinion. 🤷🏼♀️
- He’d open up to you, and you only. Maybe not willingly, but he’d feel better once he did open up to you about his grief.
- Sometimes he appreciates just being held by you, as he wrangles with his own thoughts and emotions. You are his calm/peace.
- If you see him steering absently out the window? Go give your man a hug from behind, and just hold him. Sometimes he needs to be the one to be held. He is great at distancing himself from the world, and even you at times.
- The guilt often consumes his mind, but his s/o’s reassurance is the best remedy. But he will never go looking for your reassurance, you will have to be the one to give it to him.
- He is stubborn as a young man, and will be very closed over his feelings/grief, but older he becomes, he learns that it’s safe to open up to his s/o.
- And sometimes he’ll just come and hold you if he’s feeling overwhelmed by his grief. He won’t say much, but you both know he needs you to anchor him down in turbulent times.
- So safe to say, physical touch helps him immensely, more than words.
- But every now and then he’ll need to vent his emotions to you, and just having you listen to him, I mean truly listen, makes him feel not so alone. He won’t often vocalize his grief, but when he does he’s a mess of emotions.
- If Haytham didn’t have you to help him regulate his grief and emotions, he’d be much more emotionally unstable. You are essential to him as most trusted confidant, he knows his secrets are safe with you, vice versa.
- Buttttt sometimes his grief can make him snappy, and he can become quite annoying.
- All you gotta do is call him out and he’ll smarten up rather quickly, you’re temper is worse than his. Put that man back in his place every now and then for everyone’s sake or he’ll become a diva and stress y’all out, all because he’s stressed out.
- but also reassuring kisses help too. But you’re man won’t admit that openly.
- I honestly feel like if Haytham was going to open up about his grief, it would have to be when he feels most comfortable around someone (you) and on his own accord. There’s no point in trying to force Haytham to open up, it would only cause an argument, and distance between the two of you. Let this man open up willingly to you, and maybe gently inquire about his feelings and emotions and he’ll become more open and trusting.
- If he doesn’t end up wanting to talk though, just let him know you are there for him. And sometimes that’s enough for him.
- A cup of tea, and a warm fire usually helps cheer his spirits up.
- And of course his s/o’s company. Haytham just wants to be loved deep down. So show that man some lovin when he needs it!!!
- Also I think as his partner, you’d recognize the signs of his own grief before he would.
- But he can read your emotions better than he can read his own tbh.
- So show this man the happier things in life, because we all know he’s not one for enjoyment.
Assassin Shay:
- I think younger Shay would be much more open about his grief/emotions.
- I think he’s an extremely passionate man so when he feels any kind of emotion (such as grief), he’ll wear that shit on his sleeve.
- This boy is like an open book when it comes to being open with his spouse. He has 0 issues coming to you with any problems he may encounter. He doesn’t think twice, he just immediately goes to you with his emotions and feelings (he’d except the same from you).
- There’s no hiding anything between you two, so he’s gonna give you all the details and rundown.
- I think any advice you’d give him, he’d take to heart. He’d appreciate your lil pep talks.
- I alsoooo think he would become a passionate lover during times of grief, to help distract himself, physical love helps more than anything if you catch my drift 🤷🏼♀️
- I do think he could move on from his grief quicker when he was younger vs when he’s older.
- Offering him an excursion away from his work every now and then, would help immensely with his grief. Even if it was just a day exploring the surrounding shorelines or new places in the frontier.
Templar Shay:
- I think he’d be a lot more broodier and quiet in his moments of grief as he ages.
- I also think it’d become way harder for him to open up. So it be more work for you trying to get this broody man to open up.
- I think as his grief grows overtime, so does his callousness towards society.
- But he’d eventually open up with his own s/o. Especially if he wants you to do the same when it comes to your own emotions and thoughts. He knows it works both ways, so he tries hard for you, even though he doesn’t wish to burden you with his “problems” aka grief.
- Honestly he’d probably need a hug and a smooch more than any cheerful advice.
- I think as long as you were okay at the end of the day, he’d be okay too. He’d remind himself that the most important thing in his life is safe. You’d be his happiness.
- I think even drawing him up a warm bath and simply doting on your man would cheer him up. He’s never been shown true, genuine affection.
Connor:
- Do not let this man be by himself when you notice he’s grieving. :(
- I think Connor probably appreciative peace and quiet during these moments, just your company would be more than enough.
- Still the broody silent type :(
- I think he’d keep his grief in until he combusted from it, much like his father.
- So if you notice him becoming overwhelmed, take a moment and let this man feel your arms around him. And don’t let him go. He needs to feel loved sometimes, especially by the most important person in his life, which is you.
- Maybe a day of fishing/hunting, or forging for berries, away from the changing ways of the colonies. Remind him of simpler times.
- I think he’d open up to his spouse, and he’d be very honest about his grief and everything he has experienced.
- You are Connor’s safe spot in his world of trauma and grief.
- I also think he may be like Haytham in the sense that he may turn to anger/violence when he’s upset. So don’t let this man suffer in silence, unless you want him to fight half the colonies with his two fist.
- I think spending time with you and his homestead family would make life a little more bearable for him.
- As he grows older and matures, he becomes more open with you, because he has grown to realize that you can read him like a book and that there is nothing he can keep from you, his loving lil partner.
- I think cooking him a hearty meal would warm his soul. ❤️ Just show him the love he craves and remind him all is well in the world.
Bayek:
- This man is a honest man, so if there’s something bothering him (ex. Grief), and you ask him about it, he’ll be very open and honest about how he’s feeling.
- Very in touch with his emotions.
- Finds comfort in opening up to you about his thoughts and emotions due to grief.
- This poor man has been through hell and back, so it may take time for him to heal from his grief, so do not feel like you can’t help him, he needs to move on from his grief by himself, he can’t burden you with everything in his opinion.
- When he feels overwhelmed by his grief, he may retort to vigilantism, so try and keep him out of too much trouble.
- He also appreciates sitting and reflecting in silence over talking sometimes, your company completes him.
- Distract him with some hunting or stargazing!!!!
- I think if you helped him spread goodness/kindness, it would show him the brighter side in life during these difficult times for him.
- I can see Bayek relying on your touch/comfort during his times of grief.
Mirage Basim:
- This man is completely open about his grief, especially when he’s with you.
- he’ll come to you whenever he feels overcome with his grief.
- Basim depends on you’re comfort and love as a cooping mechanism
- He spends so much time in your arms that it feels like home.
- At nighttime when his nightmares return while dreaming, you best know that man will need your love more than ever before. You’ll feel him holding you more tightly than usual.
- He knows he can be open with you, and I think having you at his side would help with the burdens of his grief.
- I think the times you aren’t around are the times he is comforted/ influenced by Nehal. Which is not ideal.
- “Nehal” might even/ or at lead try to cause a rift between you too
Valhalla Basim:
- The most grumpy, moody man you’ll ever meet when he’s struggling with grief.
- Might become distant and cold when he is grieving.
- Definitely wouldn’t be as open as he may have been in his younger days.
- You’ll need to work hard to get that man to open up to you.
- He might even put up a fight when you try and get him to be honest with you about his grief/emotions.
- But I think he’d be secretly relieved after he opened up to you.
- Won’t admit it but you’re hugs and kisses and a soothing balm for his troubled soul. And sometimes your touch is enough to make him feel like maybe the universe isn’t completely against him.
- I think it be easier for him to open up at night when it was just the two of you in bed together, with you held tightly in his arms. But when he holds you in his arms in complete darkness, is when he becomes vulnerable and may open up to you willingly, but only once in a blue moon. He’s not an open book anymore.
Modern Basim:
- BIGGEST BABY FOR HIS S/O
- You are his partner, and therapist all in one.
- He’s not afraid to be open about his grief, and will gladly come to you when he feels even the slightest sign of grief.
- Would hold you like a teddy bear until he felt better.
- He’d become very romantic and gushy towards you when he’s feeling remorse or guilt. He doesn’t like the feeling and wants to replace it with your love. Your love is all he needs.
- Is glad that he has you by his side, he know you are his greatest asset, and knows you are the reason he’s not completely overcome by grief and regret.
- When he meditates, you are often the peace he thinks of.
M. Eivor:
- I think he’d be the quiet and reserved type, not wanting to bother his partner with his burdens/grief, thinking you’ve already been through enough of your own grief, that you don’t need any more of it.
- But he eventually finds himself smiling secretly when he hears you lecturing him about him keeping his grief locked away from you, his partner, especially when you are there to help lighten the load for him.
- But when you ask, he’ll be completely truthful about his grief. He holds nothing back, and he absolutely pours his soul out to you.
- Tbh just being there emotionally for this man would be enough, but the more support you give, the better.
- Besides what is a good Jarl without a good Jarlskonaz.
Arno:
- Arno can be a difficult man to deal with when he suffers from grief.
- His partner would have to understand that Arno struggles with his greif.
- His s/o would have to deal with his moodiness and even detachment from him.
- You would have to be just as stubborn as he is. Don’t give up on him, he needs you most during these trying times.
- Keep him away from alcohol at all costs. You may even have to pour the bottle out on him (he’ll definitely be pissssed). Eventually I think he’d give up alcohol altogether, especially for you, and the relationship you share.
- It’d also be a full time job keeping him out of trouble at times, especially when Arno’s grief transforms into a desperate need for justice/revenge. And if you arrive too late, and he’s already found trouble, have your man’s back and keep him safe. But hey, you can lecture him the whole time as a form of punishment, a “I told you so” moment.
- But he is glad to have you at the end of the day, no matter how many angry, teary eyed lectures you give him. I think he’d hate to see how his grief/actions are hurting you, and that he can’t do. You are the love of his life, he’s find healthier ways to deal with his grief. You would be the light at the end of the tunnel for him.
- When he would write about his grief, those entry’s would usually end on a positive note, discussing ways you are saving him.
- Late at night, as you are both curled up together he’d whisper about how you had saved him from himself, you gave him reason to live.
- You’d definitely have to encourage him to mentor Leon. He’d be very opposed to the idea, but you know you’re man better than he knows himself, he needs more than just you in his life, he needs a purpose like mentoring.
- I think with your encouragement he’d eventually accept allowing another into his life, aka Leon.
- I believe you and Leon would become his new found family, he might even consider raising a few children of your own together, once he felt like he could let go of all the guilt and grief.
- Basically you are the sunshine that breaks through on his stormy moments of grief, you both create a beautiful rainbow of life/happiness together.
Jacob Frye:
- So I think this man appreciates a person who he could just open up too, just to help him reflect.
- But also I think he needs a partner who can lighten the mood with a lighthearted joke (or cheesy puns). He enjoys a good laugh with his s/o.
- Jacob would appreciate your soft touches, especially when he feels the world is against him. He also appreciates you listening to him when he really needs someone to just listen, and not argue.
- You probably should keep him away from pubs and street fights when he’s grieving . If he could drink and fight his grief away, he would.
- Maybe take time to get out of London, and maybe go visit his home of Crowley, or visit small towns and enjoy the slow life of the countryside.
- Jacob loves when you and your children take the time to cheer him up with hugs and family love when you all notice he’s down.
- Definitely tries to pretend he’s okay though, and will probably try to make a joke out of his feelings.
- Do not let him think that his emotions are invalid, because that man has some serious ptsd, especially after his near death experience with Jack. 😭❤️
- I think at moments he’d just break in your arms, and just let all his emotions out. But that’s the only time he’ll allow himself to be emotionally vulnerable.
- Let’s be honest, Jacob is really just a big ass kid who really needs some love and support.
- He’d probably be sassier than usual when it comes to his grief. Which would get under Evies skin at times. So you would probably have to do some family interventions, and keep Evie from strangling her brother.
- I think yours and Jacob’s family would be his remedy to any grief he feels. He adores begging a father/husband.
- Also maybe bonding over a cup of tea (or ale) with his s/o would be another good way to ease him out of his grief.
- Also, he doesn’t want to burden you with his grief. He tries to be the rock of you’re relationship, the one who you can come to with all you’re problems, not the other way around. But he’d appreciate when you allow him to open up.
- He’d think his grief would be too much for your poor lil shoulders to handle, so it’s his job in his opinion to take all the emotional weight on his shoulders. So you gotta get rid of that way of thinking, encourage him to share with you.
- He would definitely enjoy some train rides through England, showing you all his favourite sights and places. I think he’d enjoy traveling with you in general, whetherher it was England an another country altogether.
- But I think Jacob would honestly need a distraction from his assassin work when grieving, and I think showing him the simpler pleasures in life would help him bounce back eventually.
- I think grief is a very dangerous thing for poor Jacob.
- And I think he’d even avoid you when he doesn’t know how to handle his grief. So you’ll probably have to put your assassin skills to work and hunt him down, he won’t make it easy.
- Grief + Jacob = fight club (stop this man before he fights half of London)
I keep remembering Ezio Auditore exists and I wanted to do one of these for him. One of my first video game crushes and a fellow June cancerian (literally we share a birthday!) Enjoy!
Ezio would never stop flirting with his partners. Using cheesy lines, complimenting every part of you, the whole nine yards.
And this doesn’t just stop should you two get married, if anything, he’d UP the flirting antics to heights that’ll make you blush and kick your legs like you’re teenagers
Physically affectionate to an nth degree. Like not just in the bedroom but he’ll also hold your hand, arm around the shoulder or waist, grab a handful of ass when he can
Will probably come to you bloody, bruised and battered once you know about his assassin work. It’s a quiet, careful intimacy to Ezio to have his partner bandage him up.
Pet names are an ABSOLUTE! But his go to’s are- “my dear”, “Mi Amore/Tesoro (my love/treasure)” and (because I’m a hopeless romantic) “Luce dei miei occhi (light of my eye)”. He will get pouty if you don’t use nicknames for him too!
A certified lover boy. If he’s away from you for too long, he’ll look up at the sky and sigh. Absolute love sick puppy vibes.
Of course Ezio is a flirt and may have wondering eyes. He’d never cheat on you once it’s official but his eyes will still wonder. More so in a “I wonder if this person would be down for making love with my partner and I”
Summary: Being the sibling of Leonardo da Vinci often means struggling for supplies. But not if Ezio has anything to do with it
Pairing: Ezio Auditore da Firenze x da Vinci! Reader
Warning(s): None! :)
Note(s): I've only read part of Assassin's Creed: Renaissance, but I already love this universe. I hope I got Ezio's personality right!
Florence wakes in layers.
Not all at once- never all at once- but in a slow unfurling, like a canvas being stretched across a frame.
First, the bells. They begin as a question rather than a command, distant and uneven, their tones slipping through the early morning haze as if the city itself hasn’t quite decided what kind of day it intends to be. One tower answers another, then a third joins, and for a few lingering moments the sound is almost disorganized, uncertain, until it gathers into something resembling rhythm.
Then the shutters. Wood against stone, a staggered chorus of creaks and knocks, each window opening like a careful eyelid reluctant to face the light. Some fling wide without hesitation- merchants eager, impatient- while others inch open slowly, as though wary of what the morning might demand. Dust shakes loose from their hinges. Fabric awnings are unrolled. A woman leans out somewhere above the street, shaking a cloth that sends yesterday’s dirt drifting into the air to catch in the pale gold of dawn.
The voices follow.
At first, they’re little more than threads- half-formed words, murmurs that blur into the background- but they gather quickly, weaving themselves into something dense and alive. Vendors testing their calls before committing to them. Apprentices exchanging quiet complaints or laughter as they carry tools too heavy for their sleep-heavy limbs. Footsteps echo unevenly along the stone streets, some hurried, some dragging, each one already certain of its purpose, or at least pretending to be.
You’re awake before most of it. Leonardo always said you had a sculptor’s patience but a thief’s hours.
You don’t argue with that.
Not when the evidence of it sits in the corner of the workshop, half-born and waiting, your work caught in that uncomfortable space between intention and reality. It watches you in the way unfinished things always do, not with accusation, but with a kind of quiet insistence. It knows what it could become. It knows you know. And it waits for the moment your hands are steady enough, patient enough, certain enough to make that leap from formless to defined.
Your hands hover at your sides for a moment before you turn back to the clay.
What remains of it rests on the table in a modest, stubborn lump- too small for ambition, too valuable to discard. You press your thumb into it anyway, slow and deliberate, feeling for resistance, for life. The surface yields beneath the pressure, soft but not supple, the texture just slightly off. It doesn’t respond the way good clay should. It doesn’t listen.
You press again, deeper this time, watching the impression hold.
There’s not enough of it.
Not enough to build structure. Not enough to correct mistakes. Not enough to risk anything beyond the safest, smallest adjustments. You could stretch it, thin it, coax it into something passable, but passable has never been the point. There’s a limit to what can be created from scarcity, and you’ve run your fingers along that edge so many times you know exactly where it ends.
You exhale through your nose, slow, controlled, and pull your hand back.
“Leonardo,” you call, your voice carrying easily through the layered clutter of the workshop, “if you take the last of the good brushes again, I will start labeling them as military assets.”
There’s a pause- papers shifting, something metallic clinking faintly- before the voice of Leonardo answers from somewhere deeper within the chaos.
He laughs, bright and immediate, the kind of laugh that arrives fully formed before the thought behind it has even settled. You can hear the distraction in it, the way his attention is already divided, splintered across sketches, mechanisms, ideas that refuse to wait their turn.
“They are military assets!” he calls back. “To the war against mediocrity!”
You huff a quiet laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as you reach for a cloth and begin wiping the clay from your hands. It clings stubbornly to your skin, settling into the lines of your fingers as though it belongs there.
“That’s not a real war.”
“It should be!”
The workshop breathes around you: paper rustling faintly in the draft from an open window, the soft scrape of something being adjusted in the next room, the ever-present scent of oil, pigment, and damp earth. Morning light spills in at an angle, catching the dust suspended in the air and turning it into something almost deliberate. Each particle glows briefly, suspended between presence and disappearance.
For a fleeting moment, you can almost see it, the shape you’ve been chasing.
Not in the clay, not yet, but in the space itself. In the way the light bends, in the way shadow gathers. It exists there, fully realized, perfect in a way your hands have not yet managed to replicate. Close enough to recognize. Too distant to touch.
Your gaze lingers, then drops back to the table.
“I need more clay,” you murmur, the words quieter now, meant less for him and more for the simple act of saying them aloud. “The finer kind. Not the riverbank sludge you brought last time.”
The thought doesn’t leave.
It settles somewhere behind your ribs, quiet but persistent, like a flaw in a sculpture you can’t unsee once you’ve found it. The piece you’re working on- what it could be- presses at the edges of your mind with growing insistence. It deserves better than this. Better than compromise. Better than clay that resists you at every turn, that dulls your tools and swallows detail before it can fully take shape.
You exhale, long and resigned.
Which means you’ll have to go out.
You picture it before you even move: the walk through crowded streets, weaving between carts and bodies and stubborn animals that refuse to yield. The market stalls. The weight of the coin in your palm, never quite enough. The vendor’s eyes, sharp and assessing, already calculating how much they can take from you before you realize it.
The bargaining alone will be exhausting.
You’ll have to feign disinterest. Criticize the quality. Turn away once, maybe twice, before they call you back. It’s a performance as much as it is a transaction, and you’ve never decided whether you enjoy it or resent it.
“It’s going to be a whole thing,” you mutter under your breath, the words dissolving into the quiet of the workshop.
By the time the sun climbs higher, Florence has made its decision. The earlier uncertainty has burned away beneath the weight of daylight, leaving behind a city that refuses to be ignored. The streets swell with movement- voices rising over one another in layered argument and laughter, merchants calling out their wares with practiced insistence, the sharp ring of metal striking metal somewhere not too far off. Heat begins to settle into the stone, drawing out the scent of the day- warm dust, sweat, bread, horses, the faint tang of the river threading through it all.
Even from within the workshop, it presses in.
Halfway through reorganizing your tools- aligning them not by size, but by instinct, by the order your hands expect to find them- you hear it. The door. It opens without knocking.
The sound is soft, but distinct enough to cut cleanly through the ambient noise of the city beyond.
You don’t turn immediately. Instead, you adjust the position of a sculpting tool by a fraction of an inch, buying yourself a second, two at most.
“Leonardo,” you begin, voice dry with expectation, “if that’s you, and you’ve come back only to take something else-”
“It is not Leonardo.”
The reply slips into the room with an ease that doesn’t belong to interruption. Warm, threaded through with quiet amusement, and unmistakably familiar. It lands differently than your sibling’s voice ever does- less scattered, more deliberate.
Ezio leans in the doorway as though the space was built with him in mind.
One shoulder rests lightly against the frame, his posture relaxed in a way that suggests awareness rather than ease- as if he’s chosen exactly how much of himself to reveal in this moment and nothing more. Sunlight spills in behind him, catching along the edges of his cloak, tracing the folds of fabric that never quite fall still. Even at rest, there’s motion in him, subtle and constant, like a current beneath calm water.
For a brief, passing second, it almost looks staged.
Like he stepped into the light on purpose.
He notices you looking- of course he does- and his expression shifts, sharpening into a smile that carries recognition with it.
“Though I could attempt an imitation,” he adds, pushing off the doorframe just slightly, “if you prefer. I believe I have studied him long enough.”
“You would need to talk faster,” you reply evenly. “And make less sense.”
His hand rises to his chest in exaggerated offense, fingers splayed over his heart as though you’ve struck something vital.
“You insult both of us.”
But the smile doesn’t leave.
“Only a little.”
The words leave you dryly, but there’s no real heat behind them, just the ease of a familiarity worn smooth with time.
He steps inside without waiting for permission. The door closes behind him with a soft, controlled sound- no careless swing, no sharp impact. Even that small motion is measured. There’s a rhythm to the way Ezio Auditore da Firenze moves through space, one you’ve come to recognize even when you’re not looking directly at him. Careful, but never hesitant. Aware, but never overtly so.
He doesn’t scan the room the way most people would.
He absorbs it.
Every object, every shadow, every potential obstruction- acknowledged in passing, cataloged without effort. His path through the workshop isn’t straight, but it’s efficient, adjusting subtly around tables, tools, and stray scraps of material as though he’s walked this exact route a hundred times before.
“You’re here early,” you say, watching him as he crosses further into the room. “Leonardo’s in the back, terrorizing his own work.”
There’s a faint clatter from deeper within the workshop, as if to punctuate the statement.
Ezio’s mouth curves slightly at that, something knowing in the expression.
“I will speak with him shortly.” His head tilts- just a fraction, just enough to shift the focus of his attention fully onto you. “But first…”
The pause is deliberate.
Only then does he reach behind him.
You hadn’t noticed it before, not really. Your eyes had registered the shape without assigning meaning to it, dismissed it as part of the silhouette he always carries: cloak, movement, presence.
But now, the bundle becomes clear.
Cloth-wrapped, the fabric drawn tight around something dense enough to give it weight, to pull slightly against his grip. It’s not large, but it’s substantial, held with the kind of care that suggests intention rather than convenience.
He brings it forward and sets it down on your worktable.
Gently.
More gently than you would expect from someone who moves with such quiet certainty. The wood barely acknowledges the added weight: no harsh knock, no careless drop. Just a soft, deliberate placement, as though whatever rests inside deserves not to be jostled.
“For you.”
The words land simply.
You don’t reach for it.
Instead, your gaze flicks from the bundle to him, narrowing slightly as you take in the ease with which he’s offered it, the lack of explanation, the quiet confidence that you’ll accept it regardless.
“That’s ominous.”
“Only if you assume I bring danger with me.”
You glance back at the cloth-wrapped shape.
“You usually do.”
“Ah.”
His smile shifts, barely.
It sharpens at the edges, something more precise slipping through the charm. Not offense. Never that. Just recognition. Agreement, perhaps, dressed in something lighter.
“Then today will be a welcome change.”
You let the silence stretch for a moment, just enough to make your hesitation visible, just enough to remind him that you’re not so easily led by curiosity alone.
Then your attention drops back to the bundle.
“…What is it?”
Ezio doesn’t answer directly.
Instead, he gestures- one small movement of his hand, open-palmed, inviting rather than instructing.
“Open it.”
You take a step forward.
Another.
Close enough now to see the texture of the cloth: worn but clean, tied with a knot that’s practical rather than decorative. Your fingers hover over it for a heartbeat, feeling the faint coolness of whatever lies beneath even through the fabric.
When you pull the cloth back, it falls away in soft folds, revealing clay.
Not the coarse, stubborn kind you’ve been fighting with. Not the damp, uneven sludge dragged from a riverbank and passed off as usable.
This is different.
The surface is smooth, almost velvety in appearance, its color even and clean. It holds its shape without cracking, without sagging, sitting there with a quiet readiness that feels almost anticipatory. You don’t need to touch it to know how it will respond- but you do anyway.
Your fingers press lightly into it.
It yields perfectly.
No resistance where there shouldn’t be. No hidden grit. No inconsistency beneath the surface. It takes the impression of your touch as though it was waiting for it, holding the shape cleanly when you pull away.
You look up at him, suspicion settling in slowly- like ink spreading through water- tightening the space between your brows.
“…Leonardo didn’t tell you about this.”
“No.”
“I didn’t tell you about this.”
“Also no.”
Your eyes narrow further, as if scrutiny alone might force a contradiction into existence. The workshop around you feels suddenly quieter for it: the distant scrape of tools, the faint murmur of Florence beyond the shutters, even Leonardo’s chaos reduced to background noise.
“So why do you have it?”
Ezio leans lightly against the edge of your worktable as though it were placed there for his convenience alone. One shoulder dips into the wood with practiced ease, his weight distributed in a way that suggests he’s done this sort of thing in a hundred different rooms.
“Yesterday,” he says, “you mentioned needing better clay.”
“I did not-”
“You did.” He lifts a finger slightly, as if marking the memory in the air. “You were standing… there.” A small gesture toward the far side of the room. “Arguing with Leonardo about brushes.”
“That sounds like every day.”
“Yes.”
Your mouth opens, then closes again.
“But yesterday,” Ezio continues, “you also complained about stones in the clay. You seemed… frustrated.”
The word frustrated lands softly, but accurately enough that you don’t immediately dismiss it.
You stare at him for a long moment.
“You were listening?”
“I was present.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“For me,” he replies evenly, “it often is.”
There’s no defensiveness in it. No attempt to justify, no expectation that you’ll accept it as anything other than fact. It’s simply stated, like weather, like stone, like the inevitability of morning.
You glance down at the bundle again.
Cloth now half-fallen aside, revealing the smooth, pale surface of the clay beneath. It sits there quietly, almost unnervingly so in contrast to everything else in the room. No grit. No unevenness.
Then your gaze returns to him.
“…So you went out and got this,” you say slowly. “Because I complained. Once.”
Ezio’s shoulders lift in a small shrug- minimal, controlled, almost absentminded.
“You needed it.”
“That’s not a reason. That’s an observation.”
“And yet,” he says, a faint thread of amusement slipping into his voice, “here we are.”
A breath leaves you, quiet, disbelieving. Not quite a laugh, but something that brushes against it on the way out.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Your fingers rest lightly against the clay again, grounding yourself in its texture: the way it yields without resistance, the way it holds shape without complaint. It feels almost unreal compared to what you’ve been working with.
“And it probably wasn’t easy to get.”
For the first time, something flickers across his expression. Something closer to amusement edged with secrecy, like a door briefly opened and then shut again.
“Florence is full of resources,” he says lightly. “One simply needs to know where to look.”
You let out a soft huff through your nose.
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It should.”
Your hand remains on the clay, fingers resting as though confirming it is still real, still here, still yours to shape.
“Thank you,” you say at last.
The words are quieter than your suspicion, but more certain than it. Ezio inclines his head.
“You are welcome.”
From deeper within the workshop, Leonardo’s voice cuts through the moment like a thrown stone through still water.
“Ezio! If you are here, I require your opinion on something that may or may not explode!”
Ezio closes his eyes for the briefest moment.
“I should go before he tests that theory alone.”
“Probably wise.”
He pushes away from the table, but pauses as he passes you. His gaze drops- not to you, but to the clay still under your hand.
“Make something remarkable,” he says quietly.
Then he is already moving again, cloak shifting with him, the room adjusting subtly to his absence even before he reaches the door.
a/n: saw the painting of Leda and the Swan and it gave me the idea to write this blurb.
Ezio slipped through the narrow streets of Venice until he stopped in front of Leonardo’s workshop. The humid air clung to his clothes, carrying that mix of wet wood, and the faint bite of fresh paint leaking through the cracks of the old windows. He’d found another codex page during one of his missions, and as always, hoped his friend could turn that fragment of lost knowledge into a new upgrade for his hidden blade.
He pushed the door open without knocking; there was no need. Leonardo had insisted more than once that his workshop was as much Ezio’s home as his own.
A familiar voice called from deeper inside.
Ezio followed it, passing under a second wooden arch into the large studio where Leonardo painted, sculpted, and sketched bizarre inventions with the same devotion. The place was a beautiful disaster: sheets of sketches everywhere, strange mechanisms half-assembled on cluttered tables, sculptures frozen mid-creation.
“Shift more weight into your right hip and let your torso follow.” Leonardo was instructing, focused as ever, while adjusting the pose of his model; of you. “There… Now imagine your arms wrap around a swan’s neck, but gently. And look down to the opposite side, as if you were watching your own children with tenderness…”
He moved your hands just so, nudged your shoulders into alignment, and finally cupped your chin between his fingers to turn your face toward the light.
That’s when you lifted your gaze… and saw Ezio leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. He had lowered his hood, revealing a knowing smile, and his eyes locked on you. Heat prickled under your cheeks. Being naked for Leonardo was already something you had grown used to by your second session, but you hadn’t planned on a second man admiring the view.
“Oh… we have company.” you murmured, not taking your eyes off the stranger.
Leonardo blinked, suddenly remembering you existed.
“Ezio!” he exclaimed, hurrying over to greet him with a brief hug. “You’ve caught me busy, but I bet you bring another codex page, don’t you?”
Without a word, Ezio pulled the folded parchment from inside his tunic and handed it over. Then, slowly, he glanced back at you, still standing on the platform illuminated by the tall window, very much naked.
“Busy with a bella donna, I see.”
Leonardo blinked again, suddenly remembering you existed.
“Oh! Right. We’re done for today. You may go get dressed.”
You nodded and stepped down, vanishing behind a set of curtains that worked as a makeshift dressing booth. Privacy was… questionable, with two men still in the room. But you dressed silently, ears sharp to catch their conversation. You were curious about the handsome brunette stranger.
“I’m working on a new project.” Leonardo explained, already bustling toward his easel. “Inspired by Greek mythology. Leda and the swan… you know. But it’s missing something. I can’t figure out what.”
While Leonardo dove into artistic crisis mode, Ezio’s eyes drifted toward the sketches. It didn’t take long for him to notice the likeness between the graceful face drawn on the parchment and your silhouette moving behind the curtain. The sunlight traced your outline just enough to confirm what he had already admired moments ago. You getting dressed while Ezio very much wished you weren’t.
Leonardo kept rambling, but he noticed where Ezio’s attention had gone. He decided to feed that curiosity.
“She’s a local girl.” he added. “I found her in Piazza San Marco. I knew instantly she was perfect to portray Leda.”
“She is.” Ezio murmured, eyes fixed on the curtain. “You have a good eye, my friend.”
He clapped Leonardo lightly on the shoulder with a wink.
“I hope the beauty of this woman doesn’t distract you from working on my designs.” he teased.
Leonardo didn’t hesitate.
“Don’t worry. Women rarely distract me.”
Ezio frowned, visibly confused.
“I don’t understand.”
Just then, you emerged out from the curtains fully clothed and decent. You approached Leonardo and extended your hand.
“Oh, yes, your payment.” the blond said, snapping back to reality. He rummaged through a drawer and placed a small leather pouch in your hand. You weighed it mentally —seemed right.
“Don’t forget to return tomorrow.” He reminded you.
“Of course.” you answered with a polite smile.
Ezio looked you over shamelessly, equal parts bold and curious. You held his gaze without flinching.
“And you, mi friend,” Leonardo added, waving the codex page lightly. “have brought me something far more complicated. This could take weeks to decode.”
A brief silence followed, interrupted only by the soft rustle of ancient paper as he spread the sheet over the desk. Old ink, strange symbols, detailed diagrams, each page more challenging yet more familiar than the last.
Ezio pulled up his hood, ready to leave.
“Take your time.” he said, pointing toward the codex. “You know where to find me.”
“No problem.” Leonardo answered with a smile.
They shared a quick embrace before Ezio headed toward you.
“May I accompany you?”
You let out a soft laugh, with a playful sparkle in your eyes as you said;
“I know the way to the door, but I wouldn't mind being accompanied.”
Then together, you left Leonardo’s workshop.
As soon as you stepped into the street, lanterns flickered to life reflecting off the canals. And something restless stirred inside Ezio; a feeling that this encounter wouldn’t fade easily. He glanced at you with one of his charming, unmistakably flirtatious smiles.
“It’s getting late. I would rather see you home safely.” he inquired, taking your chin between his fingers, which made you giggle shyly.
“Yes, you're right.”
It was true, it was already dusk and your house was quite far from Leonardo's workshop, and you knew that at night it was no place for an ordinary woman like you.
So you nodded and slipped your arm through his, claiming you felt safer that way. Ezio looked momentarily surprised, but he didn’t pull away. And in this way, both of you walked through the streets of Venice and disappeared into the crowd.
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.
Spent all day washing my hair, making banana bread, baking it, braiding my hair with no time in-between to daydream about Toby, Capitano, Kurt, Remy, Tim, Jack, Altair, Ezio whatsoever. What a tiring day
