Assassin's Creed X Reader One-shots

Petty Competition (Arno x Reader)

@GenesisDume Sorry it took so long. I have yet to play Unity, so I apologise if Arno is OOC. Hope you enjoy!

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Raising the champagne glass to your lips, your (colour) eyes scanned over the crowd, slowly, carefully, taking note of the numerous amount of people milling about, all dressed in the height of fashion, with the gentlemen in perfectly tailored evening dress and the ladies donning elaborate hairstyles and glittering jewels. Several dignitaries were also attending, but there was only one that was of any importance to you tonight.

A golden figure peeks through the crowd, chatting happily to a few other nobles, his arms waving animatedly.

Barnabe-Jean-Jacques Daumier. Templar informant. Your target.

Placing your glass gently upon a nearby table, you broke free of the small gaggle of women you were using as coverage and glided across the marble floor, holding up the front of your (colour) gown to prevent yourself from tripping and falling face-first onto the floor. The last thing you needed was for a room full of snobby aristocrats to get full view of your bloomers.

You don't see Arno anywhere. That's a good sign; maybe now you'll actually win this time.

Daumier turns upon hearing you approach. His eyes scan over your figure appraisingly, lingering far too long on your chest, and offers you a dimpled smile. He takes your hand and places a rough, somewhat sloppy, kiss upon your skin.

You force a smile, fighting the urge to wrench your hand free and slit his throat right there and then.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Daumier," you curtsy, discreetly wiping the back of your hand in your gown. "It's an honour to finally make your acquaintance."

His smile widened, the lines around his eyes deepening, "The honour is mine, Mademoiselle...?"

"(Y/N), Monsieur Daumier."

"(Y/N)," he repeats, more to himself than you. "Un beau nom pour une belle femme (A beautiful name for a beautiful woman)."

"You flatter me, Monsieur," you said simply, a sudden feeling of being watched distracting you. A quick look around the ballroom did nothing to confirm your suspicions. Perhaps you were becoming paranoid.

"Would you do me the pleasure of a dance, Mademoiselle (Y/N)?"

Before you had the chance to accept his offer, a figure appears by your side as if from thin air. A frown tugs at the corners of your mouth as you stare up into the familiar, and annoyingly handsome, face of your fellow assassin and rival: Arno Dorian.

"Monsieur Daumier, pleasure," Arno greets politely, giving a slight bow. Then, with more enthusiasm, "Ah, (Y/N), I was hoping I'd get the opportunity to see you tonight. Would you allow me the honour of a dance?"

He didn't wait for an answer as he grasps your hand and drags you away from Daumier, who stares after your retreating form with a sour expression. Arno twirled you into a dance, placing a hand on your lower back, and holds you flush against himself.

For years you and Arno have been competing against one another, always trying to outdo each other, see which one of you is the better assassin. And Arno had beaten you every single time. Somehow, no matter how slim his chances looked, he always managed to come out on top. But not this time.

Barnabe-Jean-Jacques Daumier will fall to your blade. No matter what.

"Come to try and kill Daumier before me, have you?" You asked bitterly.

Arno's lips curved up into a smile, "But of course. You didn't expect I'd stand aside and allow you the satisfaction of winning, did you?"

You grumbled incoherently beneath your breath.