Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ early mornings

waking eivor up in one of his favorite ways. rated 18+ for smut.

YOU SMILE FOR him —to the thought of waking up this way every day. With a soft hum, you drape your leg over Eivor's thighs, moving to straddle him. Your eyes open now, blinking to the adjusting light —you catch glimpse of Eivor in all his morning glory. Beard slightly ruffled, braids half undone, his lips parted ever so slightly as he breathes, well-rested eyes closed still as he relishes the last moments of the morning. His chest is a rosy pink, freckles barely visible to just above his pecs and the dark serpent tattoo. He looks strong as Thor or Baldr, but the scars on his arms and face are a reminder of his mortality.

You place your palms on his chest —fingers lightly pressing into his flesh— lips attaching to his neck as you kiss and nip endearingly. There is a soft smile on his lips with his eyes half-lidded. Slowly, you trail down, kissing every part of him you can reach —his biceps, his collarbone, his stomach— trailing further and further, until you reach his cock, a hard and thick outline visible in his soft linen pants.

Eivor's hands lightly tangle in your hair, fingers gently massaging your scalp as he sinks further into the mattress, already anticipating what he knew you would do next. With a grin, you place small, soft kisses around his navel, and just above the coarse thatch of blond hair above the waist of the pants. He lifts his hips, hands reaching down to push away the lounge pants as you pull them down over his bum and thighs, discarding them to the floor.

Soft and quiet moans fill the air. Eivor hums to the feel of your hand wrapping his cock, lips wrapping around the throbbing and swollen head. Wet and warm, your tongue barely laps his tip, gently bobbing up and down an inch of his cock —fingers working his shaft and taut, heavy balls. With his voice appreciative and blissed, Eivor sighs softly for you, gently encouraging you to bob deeper down him, feeling more blood rush to his cock in a flood.

"That's it, skatt mitt," he encourages, taking gentle hold of your fingers when you place them on his thigh, moving your mouth up and down leisurely, savoring his taste. His sensitive nerves tingle to the feel of your tongue on him. "Fuck," he groans, eyes still fluttering shut. Loosening your jaw, you take more of him, shallow bobs emitting sounds of your throaty slickness, cock shoved deeper inside your throat.

You glide your tongue over one of the thick veins that run up the length of his cock and his hips buck upward into your mouth —his hands twist in the furs and linens beneath him. Eivor breathes your name like a ragged prayer and praises the little, needy sounds you make. Gently, Eivor places a hand on the back of your head to move you down encouragingly, just enough to guide you. With a few more, faster, tighter bobs, you feel him twitch inside your mouth, teeth clenched —release desperately on his hazed mind.

It pains him to pull your mouth from his cock, but Eivor needs to buried deep in the heat between your thighs. He gathers you in one arm, flipping you around to lay beneath him and kisses your neck roughly, his teeth scraping against your skin. Eivor wedges himself between your legs, spreading you wide beneath him. One of his hands slides over your front, pausing to squeeze a breast before continuing its descent. He presses his palm against your center and groans into your neck at how wet you are for him.

One finger slips into your heat, then another —curling upward inside you. All too soon they disappear, and you watch Eivor place the two sodden fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean with a low groan that makes the heat pooling in your stomach burn hotter. "Please," you whimper, and he is quick to oblige after being woken in such a pleasant way.

With one long thrust, he is fully inside you. Eivor's lips find yours for a rough kiss, swallowing your sharp moan at the way his cock stretches you —a delicate balance between pleasure and pain. He snaps his hips into yours again and you hiss at the drag of the swollen veins on his cock against your walls —feeling every inch of him.

Eivor grunts as he pounds into you, kissing you again —sloppily. Your hands claw at his back, but he does not care. The burn of your nails scraping over his ribs and shoulders keeps his pace strong though his composure begins to falter —he had been close to cumming. "Eivor!" His name leaves your lips as a breathy chant, hips rising to meet his own. He presses his forehead against yours, bright blue eyes boring into your own. "Let go, elskan mín," you whisper, threading your fingers into his soft, golden hair.

He picks up his pace and presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, rubbing rough circles. Your thighs tremble as you feel yourself teeter on the precipice of euphoria. Eivor sends you falling with another rough stroke that hits a spot deep inside you. Your toes curl, heels pressing into his calves, hands tugging at his hair as your head falls back, lips parting in a silent throe. He dips his head down, pressing a wet kiss to the base of your neck. The hand that'd occupied your clit, falls away —slipping under your bum to angle your hips upward.

Eivor's thrusts become wilder —feral— as he ruts into you without abandon. You cling to him, gaze still clouded and body still quivering. A quick shudder stills his movements when your walls clench around him, hard. His cock throbs as he lets out a string of curses and strangled moans. Pulses of warmth spread within you and a wet warmth slides from your cunt with several more, lazy thrusts.

You only feel his weight for a moment before he rolls off you and onto his back, breathing hard. You whimper at the empty feeling between your thighs even though his seed seeps from your heat. Eivor draws you into his arms and plants a line of soft, short kisses from your shoulder to your lips. You smile into the kiss, hands running over the planes of his chest. "Good morning," you whisper, flushed.

Eivor chuckles, brushing the damp hair from your face with one hand, the other tracing the length of your spine. "Good morning, indeed," he muses, warm breath dancing over your lips —unsure what he did deserve such a pleasant surprise, though one thing is certain, he would repay you in kind.