Assassin's Creed X Reader One-shots

I'll Always be His (Malik x Reader)

So I tried something a little bit different. Not sure how well it turned out, but I'd love to know what you guys thought!
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You'll never be his.

Such arrogance. You were not some silly little prize to be won. Did he truly believe you were nothing but some possession for him to claim? That he had any right to call you his own? Didn't he realise by now how little he meant to you? You didn't want him. Didn't need him.

What a fool.

Let him continue his pretentious games, for he'll never win. Those dark glances will never entice you, never gaze lovingly into your own (colour) orbs. Velvet lips will never beckon you with such sweet words, never experience the taste of yours. Long, tanned fingers will never lace themselves through yours, never hold you in a way that proclaims you as something that belongs to him.

You already had everything you could ever want. You had your title. Your Creed. Your beliefs, your devotion, your pride. How could there possibly be room for anything more when your hands were already struggling to carry the weight of your arrogance?

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How could he be so blind?

It was a night of celebration. A night to toast, not only good fortune, but to the men you call Brothers. A night where the only thing that mattered was the continuous flow of wine, food, and merriment. But for Malik, it was a night, not for celebration, but for something so much more.

He hadn't had an interest in the festivities, for all his efforts were focused on catching your attention, and hopefully, somehow, expressing how much you had meant to him. Strong, slender fingers tightened around their goblet, while dark orbs shone brightly beneath the safety of their cowl as they admired you from across the table. His lips curled into a secret smile upon seeing you so relaxed, happy even. It was a rare sight, and one in which Malik felt privileged to have experienced.

Now, if you only would acknowledge his existence; give some sign that you had noticed him.

But you didn't. You don't notice him the way you should, don't notice the little things that speak volumes even though he doesn't give voice to them. And you'll regret it.

You'll regret not noticing his broadening smile once your eyes connect, regret not noticing the reddening of his cheeks as Kadar whispers beside his ear, regret not noticing the way his eyes watch you as you excuse yourself from the table, regret not noticing him silently following you through Masyaf castle back to your room, where you plan to prepare for the day ahead, regret not noticing yourself slamming the door in his face, refusing to hear the words 'I love you' that tumble from his lips.

But the one thing you'll regret, more than anything, was not giving him a chance.

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You're to blame.

That's what you tell yourself once your eyes fall upon his exhausted, blood-soaked figure, clutching his left arm, which dangled uselessly by his side, and struggling to stay on his feet as he hobbled through the entrance to Al Mualim's chamber. When dark eyes, once containing nothing less than warmth and reverence, now had little room for anything but anger and hate. When his voice, dripping with contempt, rang loud and true within the stone walls, telling all who would listen about your arrogance, your disregard for the Brotherhood, your failure.