asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

Welcome to Constantinople

‡ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

‡ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

‡ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

‡ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

‡ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.

‡ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

‡ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 5
Fills Only
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It does make you wanna cry... But then again, it would be a good idea for a Writer!Anon... right?

It was only a few minutes later before they heard the yelling, the screaming, the general chaos of above the water, and he buried himself partly in the mud, his child against his chest once more, happily fed, and he listened as his younger brother nestled against his side. The mutilated, devoured bodies of the young women were, no doubt, floating at the top by now, their naked bodies a horror to the people on the surface, but he didn’t care: he was fed and content, his charges nearby. He nestled down farther, keeping his child warm, and he could feel his younger brother’s nervousness from beside him. He ran a hand down his back, his claws lightly scratching against the tough hide. He would be hungry again soon, years of underfeeding plaguing them, too stubborn to die. He could already feel his child stirring, that familiar whimper of hunger haunting him. They hadn’t had a decent meal in years, and it was catching up to them now that they had one good meal. He had watched and waited, and the forces surrounding the lake were thinning out. So he had attacked. The king grew fat and lazy, and the children and soldiers arrogant and stupid.

“Creatures, if you are out there, we wish to speak to you. Can you hear us?”

Even in the depths of the lake, he could hear the humans. He wanted his undersea vent again. If it hadn’t been for the natural heated springs below them and the sun, they would have died of cold.

“I don’t think they can, sir.”

“You underestimate them, moron. My father always warned me to never play in the waters. He was right. Your children are cocky, arrogant idiots to play with monsters.”

He detached the sleeping, shivering child from his chest and had his younger brother cover him, swimming leisurely to the top and touching his fin against the top of the waters.

“So you do hear us.”

A splash of the tail.

“Why, mercreature? Have we not treated you fairly?”

He screamed in an explosion of water and threatening moves, swimming toward the shores and feeling himself jump from the water to grab the man and scrape his claws against his throat. Pathetic: he could smell the fear the man gave off. There was the sound of someone loading their bow, and he heard the man make a small noise.

“You take my freedom and my family, and you expect me to fall at your feet thanking you?” he hissed, and his voice sounded rough from lack of use.

The king was tense in his arms. “What do you want then, monster?”

“My freedom.”

The king inhaled deeply, his breathing quivering with fear as he tapped his claws against the human’s Adam’s Apple. They had incredible dexterity even in the shallows of the water. They were the pinnacle of aquatic fighting.

“What would make you stay?”

“Nothing.”

He inhaled deeply, through his mouth, drinking in the fear that radiated from the man, and he couldn’t help but pass his claws over the rolls of fat, knowing his child would be even better well-fed with this ugly beast.

“If I were to say no?”

“You will die.”

“If I were to say yes?”

“You will give me your fattest young woman to feed my child and spare your life as the pathetic coward you are.”

The king inhaled deeply, then, without batting an eye, he uttered, “Bring me the plumpest young woman we have. Take your freedom and leave.”

He waited patiently as there was a quiet murmuring before, eventually, there was the sound of a young lady stepping forward. He looked, giving a feral grin. As soon as her feet touched the edge of the lake, he hissed in pleasure.

“Now take your freedom and go,” the king hissed.

He pushed the king forward into the lake, raking his claws through the girl’s neck and dragging the body under the water. With all the heavy dresses, he could drop it off near the middle and let her sink to the nest, where his child would awaken and no doubt feed greatly. His child would be healthy again.

Then, on a whim, as he heard the people leaving, he swam forward quickly, screaming and grabbing the king’s leg, dragging him under with a cackle that chilled the soldiers. He pulled him down to his younger brother and watched his face light eagerly. As they ate, he swam along the bottom, stirring up the currents with the high speeds his kind swam at. He raged well into the night, smashing into the boats of the soldiers who would try to spear them out of the lake.
He had been contented to lie low in the beginning, when they fed him well and gave him both distance and respect, but he would not let any more harm come to his brother and son.

When the soldiers’ boats snapped in half, he would watch as the ones that couldn’t swim sank in their armor, their last glimpse of the world murky waters and a demon grinning at them before two clawed hands much different from his would grab them and pull them down. They would eat well for the next few days.

He was content to lie low with his brother and his son, feeding off the corpses, the water’s edge blessedly silent, and he knew their time to escape was soon. The feast that rolled around several nights later, as tradition so demanded, would require all the soldiers at the castle, and no trip to the lake that year. He gathered his child and his younger brother, pulling them up and out of the lake, slipping through the trees on the opposite side with the grace of someone who had done it for years. It was a rather trivial thing for him, his voice. He knew that his younger brother couldn’t talk, and his son was deaf, but it didn’t matter: they were free.

They ran well into the night, down into the village and slipping through the shadows as they followed their call to the sea. The sea was their mother, their protector, their provider. When they were pulled away from her, she called them back. When they were happy, she was happy. When she was happy, they were happy. And she was never happy when her children were missing. His younger brother was still too young to properly feel the pull toward the ocean, and his son had hardly touched the waters of their mother.

They ran until their legs collapsed from the cold of the night and huddled together as close as they could. They were a stubborn people. They would not die that easily.

It was snowing. It was beautiful at first, downright magical. Desmond had been singing carols in the Animus. Rebecca had mulled some wine. Yes, it was pretty damned festive right up until the power cut out. Lucy found herself with three bright sparks bored and frightened, so like any good leader, she found them a distraction.

"You want to play strip monopoly?" Rebecca echoed Lucy's incredulous demand while Shaun merely blinked and nodded.

Perhaps, Lucy reflected, she should have gone for a different game. Scrabble, perhaps.

"Strip scrabble's easier," Shaun was saying, huddling closer to the wood burning brazier. "But we only have a monopoly board so . . ."

"You sound like you've done this before." Desmond shot Shaun a sideways glance, it was almost appraising.

Shaun lifted his head. "I'm a connoisseur of board games," he said airily. "I know of only one way to make a game of Monopoly interesting."

Rebecca rubbed her hands together and took a seat by the upturned crate they were using as a table. She poured herself a coffee and cupped her hands around it. "How do you play?"

"Rebecca!" Lucy squeaked, in spite of herself.

"I'm curious," her spiky haired friend said with a one shouldered shrug. "I mean, it's going to be at least another day before the power comes on. At least it's warm in here with the stove going, why don't we have a game?"

Desmond was smirking now. "You want to defile my ancestor's crypt with a game of strip monopoly?"

Rebecca grinned. "I, for one, think Ezio would love this idea."

And that was what decided it, really.

I adore Rebecca's logic.

I've finished Revelations and the drama stuffed in there just broke my heart.
Now I come with a single request. I don't know if anyone asked it before but... I really, really, really want Altair to be there to stop Abbas from killing Malik. ;___;

I'm craving some fluffy AltMal just badly. ;___;

Desmond unfolded the familiar square of greenish cardboard onto the crate and kicked a cushion towards it, sitting down as he began sorting chance cards from chest cards. The edges of the cards were soft with damp, a few pewter tokens were missing and the property cards were sticky. Just like any good Monopoly set should be, Desmond reckoned.

Lucy was perching on the edge of her chair, watching Rebecca deal out the money with suspicion in her eyes. "So how does this work?"

"Every hundred dollars is an item of clothing," Shaun said, selecting the top hat. "Every hundred dollars you pay, you lose an item. However, every time you pass go, you lose an item of clothing. You can choose to keep your clothes, for the cost of two hundred dollars."

"Harsh." Rebecca studied the playing pieces with her lips pursed and her nose wrinkled. Desmond had to smile. She reached out for the shoe and placed it beside Shaun's top hat. Desmond gestured for Lucy to choose her piece.

Shaun continued. "You can buy back your clothes at the start of every turn. But you must do it at the start, before you land on a property. All other rules are the same."

"Does landing on free parking get you the community chest money?" Rebecca asked, while Lucy plumped for the iron, leaving Desmond with the dog.

"Ooh, an English variant," Shaun said, "Sure, why not. Lastly, all items you're wearing count as one piece of clothing, so a pair of socks is worth two hundred dollars, got it?"

"And are gentlemen's agreements allowed?" Lucy asked, twisting her fingers together. "Like I'll let you go free if you let me go free?"

"If accepted by both parties," Shaun confirmed.

"Alright." Lucy snatched up the die with authority of a leader. "Let's go."

Altair assembled the assassins before him, looking as grand as he could. His gaze swept over them, and he flicked the Eagle Vision on, watching as the wave of blue filled his vision. He could almost see the hearts of all of them beating all at once. They were the same brotherhood: they were the same person. It was all still the same, just with a different head. And as he looked over the sea, he frowned at a flickering, slightly purplish in color.

Abbas. His biggest enemy.

Regardless, he had to ignore it as he started rebuilding the castle. Malik was by his side at every moment, guiding, directing, pushing. He was more than anything that Altair could have hoped for. The man was from Heaven, always patient and remembering more than Altair could, telling him his schedule, directing him from point A to point B. He needed the man more than life, and the entire brotherhood depended on them. There was so much do that he had to leave Abbas alone. He knew that this wasn’t a good idea, but neither he nor Malik knew of any other way. So, they had to leave him alone long enough to get the brotherhood on its feet.

And when they did, Altair started watching Abbas. He had spies follow the man’s footsteps, stalking his shadow, listen to everything he said, everything he wrote. He could see it in the man’s eyes, feel it in his presence. He was up to no good. There was nothing loyal about that man to them, and the sooner they found reason to doubt him the better.

But what terrified him most was the way he looked at Malik. It was as if he were sizing him up like a cat sizes up her prey. He watched, and Altair could see the gears in his head turning. Malik could feel it. There was no denying it. The man was becoming paranoid, looking over his shoulder every few moments, staying closer to Altair than he had thought he was. There was nothing good about Abbas. Altair forbade Malik from practicing in the daylight, with anyone other than those deemed trustworthy and sworn into an oath of silence. If Abbas would attack, then Altair would make sure that he didn’t know how strong the cripple was. Abbas was clever, but he was even more.

So when the door holding the logs in the trap outside the walls of Masyaf “accidentally” unlatched and crushed the man and his followers, Altair simply nodded, asking them to examine it, only to pass it off as a mouse, or the wind, or a supernatural force.
He refused to let it be known that it was himself that pulled the latch free, and that it was a clone from the Apple sitting at the desk as the assassins ran in.

Oh, yes, Abbas was smart and crafty. But Altair was even better.
-------------
It was from the 100 Theme Challenge I was doing, and I just though it so appropriate to share. :3

Oh, wow. This is so dark and gritty, thank you writeanon! I'm guessing that the oldest is Altair, the brother Ezio, and his son is Des? (You haven't given us names, so it could also be Malik, Kadar, and Tazim. *stares*)

I hope they get to the sea safely!

This was amazingly written. I never cared for bdsm, but this was wonderful. I love all the details throughout the entire story. I like how you covered a lot for the background of their relationship as well. I especially liked how for every touch, you wrote Vieri reacting to it. Your writing flowed well and the sex scene was really nice. I'm impressed that it's your first. Hopefully, it's not your last. :D

Driveby!anon likes this! But is also confused as to who is who. The father and elder brother sounds more like Altair than anyone (due to the cunning mind) but I could be wrong... Hope to see more Anon!!!

Couldn't it be both?

OMG, I love the matter-of-fact tone of this part. Laying out the rules, Community Chest money, 'Gentleman's Agreements'. I am so stoked to see more! You are a brilliant, wonderful Write!Anon. I have no firstborns to give, but how about love?

17 and 2. Hit me with it! (Such a good idea)!

I hope this is the kinda thing you were looking for, OP.

-----

It hadn’t been easy for Desmond, after he’d woken up and made his pronouncement, to get time to himself. Physically he was fine; he’d known he was waking up after a long time asleep and he’d taken the time to stretch and get used to moving again. Mentally…

He turned the hot water on and let it run while he shucked hoodie and shirt in one move. He rubbed at the scruff that’d grown out longer than he was used to, eyeing himself in the mirror.

“I think I like it.” He muttered to himself, his hands undoing the button on his jeans as the glass shower stall started to gain some steam around the edges. It kinda reminded Desmond of Abstergo, and he quickly checked the corners of the small bathroom for any hint of cameras.

“Don’t be stupid. If they were planning on spying they’d hide the cameras better.” And yeah, they would, but Desmond still took one last look around before the last of his clothes joined the pile on the floor.

He turned the hot tap partway off and turned the cold on, and once it was perfect he stepped inside. A huge sigh gusted out of him, and he rubbed his blunt fingernails over his scalp just for the sweet sensation.

“Oh god… it’s been so long.”

He rubbed his arms, down over his chest and torso, to his thighs, over his knees and he squatted to run his fingers between his toes. He moaned loudly, and Desmond had to smile because as long as he’d been waiting for this, Clay’d been waiting even longer.

“You have no idea.” Clay muttered, and it sounded exactly like Desmond’s own voice except for that hint of a different accent. He stood back up and deliberated between the bar of soap and the bodywash for a few seconds.

“Soap, man. We’ve earned it.” Desmond said, looking over at the soft washcloth hanging on a little plastic hook. Desmond felt their mouth quirk into a small smirk, then Clay paused for a second to run his tongue over the scar from the inside yet again. Desmond’d stopped doing that years ago.

“If soap is the princess’s wish.” And it wasn’t quite sarcasm, but Desmond let it go once the lathered-up cloth hit the back of his neck.

They groaned in unison, and Clay rubbed slowly at their shoulders. “Fuck.” He muttered while Desmond just floated in the sensation. Arms were covered in lather and rinsed, then lathered up a second time just for the hell of it. Desmond wondered whether these feelings were even his own, then decided a test was in order.

Clay yelped and tried to squirm away, which did nothing more than bump him into the shower door as Desmond tickled their armpits. “What do you think you’re doing?” Clay demanded, taking full control. Desmond let him, and had to give a mental shrug in lieu of a physical one.

“I’m not ticklish.” He answered, and Clay rolled their eyes.

“There are better ways to figure out what’s yours and what’s mine.” Clay insisted, and turned his back to the spray as he started working the cloth down their chest in small circles. Desmond hummed contentedly, and settled back again.

He didn’t really notice what Clay was up to until he felt the first brush of the cloth against his half-hard dick. Even then, Desmond only brought his attention back to bear as Clay re-soaped the cloth and started scrubbing their hipbones. The hollow there, between bone and cock was pretty sensitive, but Clay didn’t let him squirm as he relentlessly soaped and rinsed, soaped and rinsed.

“This is punishment for something, isn’t it?” Desmond groaned as Clay switched sides, avoiding the now-raging hard-on. More methodical pressure, and Desmond was writhing a little on the inside. “Nngh… Can I make it up to you?”

Clay chuckled, and it was probably the first time Desmond’d heard him laugh without it sounding sad, crazy or bitter. It was a really good sound, and he wanted to hear more of it.

“Maybe if you beg for forgiveness, I’ll let you make it up to me.” And the washcloth dipped down to his thighs, inside, outside, backside, sliding just under the curve of his ass and surprisingly teasing. Desmond was gasping and moaning quietly whenever Clay let him use their mouth, groaning disappointment when he bent over to get their calves and feet.

Then Clay did something to their toes that leaves him gasping for breath, and Desmond’s taking over to catch them both from falling. Desmond repeats the little rub-and-tug motion, and he can feel Clay’s eyes rolling back in his head. Desmond does it again and lets Clay have their mouth, and he lets out this panting whimper that Desmond’s never made in his life but fuck would he like to hear it again.

Desmond’s reaching for their dick but Clay’s back in control lightning-fast and refuses to touch them. Desmond starts to complain but Clay has their mouth, and he’s reaching for the shampoo. A thick glob lands in their palm, and Clay turns to face the spray as their fingers rub his scalp until it lathers. It only takes a few seconds to rinse, but then he washes their hair a second time and Desmond practically purrs and forgives him for everything.

He’s going for conditioner when Desmond comes out of it enough to remember how much blue balls hurt later, and thinks maybe if he asks nice Clay’ll be willing to play along. Clay pauses before he pours out any of the white goop and relinquishes their mouth so Desmond can frame the request properly.

“You know, you kinda missed a spot.”

Clay raises an eyebrow. “That so?” It’s not an encouraging answer, and Desmond rolls their eyes.

“You know what I’m talking about, asshole.”

Their mouth does that twitching thing again as Clay’s mind fills with unholy glee. Desmond tries to figure out which direction to backpedal in, but it’s already too late and Clay’s got a good firm grip on their body.

“You bring up a valuable point. Let’s explore that further, shall we?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Desmond couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. Clay squeezes a thick line of conditioner onto their middle and ring fingers, and Desmond thinks he knows what’s going on and that really wasn’t what he meant! Clay just grins and reaches back with their clean hand to spread their ass cheeks.

Desmond really wished that he could kick Clay for neglecting them, but then he’s mentally jumping at the cool slippery feeling of those two fingers slipping down their crack to their entrance. Gently they spread the conditioner around, nearly pressing in and then backing off again.

At last after Desmond is reduced to a pleading babble, Clay inserts their middle finger, but only to the first knuckle. Desmond nearly screams, wrests control away and rams both fingers in as far as they’ll go. Clay’s keening and Desmond’s grinning, and they both agree that it has been way too fucking long.

Desmond returns that hand to Clay, rocking back into the rough thrusts, and gets to palm their cock at last. Identical moans spill out as Desmond gives a little twist that he especially likes, then pinches a little just there and they’re both bucking back hard onto fingers neither one is sure who’s controlling.

They try to moan each other’s names but it comes out garbled, and then Desmond has just the right grip and Clay hits just the right spot and they both come hard together against the shower’s taps.

Clay pulls out and Desmond slides them down to puddle at the bottom of the shower. They lie there together and realize that the water’s gone cold. They put off caring for a few seconds.

“That was…” They aren’t sure who said that.

“Yeah.” No way to tell who answered.

“I wish I could kiss you.” And that one was Desmond, since Clay hadn’t thought about kissing someone else for a long time. But now that he had…

“Me too.”

And eventually they’ll get up and save the world. But for right now, they wrap their arms around themselves and press kisses to their wrists.

*looks at all the unfinished prompts I should be working on*

... 16 and 24.

That was so awesome, I just fangasmed. Of course I'm in public, but these people ride the bus, who are they to judge me?

This is what I wanted to happen in the game. Thank you so much.

Oh, anon, you beautiful creature. Thank you, this is perfection.

I will try numbers 13 and 27. :D

This is anon that wanted 13 and 27. Someone already chose 27 so lets change it up and do 13 and 28. :)

Okay, I might have a fill for this but I'll need a couple of days to figure out the end and polish it up ~~and figure out if it should ever see the light of day~~.

I'm leaning toward Rauf/Altair, but I'm not 100%. Does OP have any preferences or comments?

Driveby!Anon thought it was Altair at first, but when OP mentioned Malik, my mind was blown! Now I see nothing else.

This is such an awesomely dark fill, and it makes me wanna bear my teeth in a sharky grin.

I was the Write!Anon for those fills and I am both pleased and embarassed that people are still looking at those. D'aw, people like me!

Thanks for showing your friend!

Oh man, IT'S ON, GUYS.

Keep it up writeanon! *mashes F5*

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 23 of 187

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

Re: Cheated Out

Land Sharks 2 [1/2]

Land Sharks 2 [2/2]

Do Not Pass Go (1/?)

Re: Do Not Pass Go (1/?)

Altair MUST stop Abbas, Altair/Malik

Do Not Pass Go (2/?)

025 Trouble Lurking

OP

Re: BDSM Federico/Vieri part 6b/6b

Re: Land Sharks 2 [2/2]

Driveby!Anon says...

Re: Do Not Pass Go (2/?)

Re: Unusual Pairings

Fill: Sharing Is Caring [1/2]

Fill: Sharing Is Caring [2/2]

Re: Unusual Pairings

Re: 025 Trouble Lurking

Re: Fill: Sharing Is Caring [2/2]

Re: Unusual Pairings

Re: Unusual Pairings

Re: Cheated Out

Re: OP

Re: cannot find

OP