Assassins' Creed Oneshots

|44|. Arno ♡ III

Ngl I completely forgot that I've been posting this fic here too and I'm starting to think that I should have done it as a mini fic, seperate to this oneshots book but I suppose it's easier to appeal to an already existing audience if I post it here. 

QOTD: how's quarantine been? I've mostly been playing Odyssey and Minecraft lol as well as binge watching Netflix series.  

-Kia C.

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THE COST OF HER LOVE:

Tunnels and Tears

Three weeks had passed and (Y/n) had been avoiding both Axeman and Arno like a plague. Not only did she only report her missions as completed during the earliest hours of the morning when no one was about, but she also took the tunnels to get to the hideout to avoid passing the Café-Théâtre.

She was overworking herself too which didn't help her situation on the slightest. All she did was work; mission after mission, extremist after extremist would fall to her blade. There was not a Jacobin stronghold in Paris that she hadn't infiltrated at this point. She hardly left herself time to eat, all hobbies were forgotten and the few free hours she had remaining were spent on what little sleep she could get. Sleep was difficult when all she could do was scorn herself to be so stupid for letting herself get so attached to another woman's man.

It was difficult to accept but she began to see sense in all the doubts which plagued her mind and kept her up at night: Arno wouldn't like her back and she had to accept that. He never showed her any verbal confirmation that he liked her too. She had misinterpreted all the times he'd held her close, kissed her forehead and held her hand.

She often thought back to when he'd put his arm around her shoulders on their way back from a mission or the times he'd bought her her favourite flowers when he noticed she was feeling down. Some childish part of her had hoped that this was him seeking her affection but now she was sure that she had been wrong all along.

She had never helped him to receive affection from him (some part of her little imagination land pictured it at times but she would never pressure him like that). In all honesty, she only ever wanted to see him happy and never confessed her feelings to spare him the confusion and guilt. But now he knew and she didn't know if she could face him anymore. (Y/n) knew that Élise made him happy and she refused to ever stand between his joy. She wanted to see him happy, even if it was with someone else.

But what if he thought she only ever helped him to try and gain something? She didn't want him getting the wrong idea about the type of person she was - she wasn't manipulative and would never want to force him into thinking he owed her anything.

A large part of (Y/n) hated Élise and that sat uncomfortably with her. Jealousy wasn't in her nature and she knew that the redhead made Arno happy. She suspected that she simply didn't like the fact that Élise stayed when he was good and left when he needed her the most, leaving him to turn to (Y/n) for support.

She'd seen Arno broken so many times and it shattered her heart to utter pieces. She knew that if the Templar continued down this path, she would wind up dead and Arno would have no one left seeing as she could no longer bring herself to face him.

Currently, (Y/n) stumbled into the hideout, head spinning with exhaustion. Her boots shuffled across the patterned floor and dragged up the curved staircase, gripping onto the bannister to support her weight.

She headed over to where she could document her mission and fell into the chair, it's old wood creaking in protest when she collapsed onto the velvet cushion which pillowed the hardwood. Her dainty fingers took up the white quill that had been resting in the inkpot. Her hand shook for whatever reason (she opted to ignore it, wanting to get the day finished with so that she could return home) and she prepared to write down her success in burning the Jacobin heist plans but the black ink pooled on the page, seeping a few layers under in a shimmering dark pool.