asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Entry tags:

assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only

Join or Die

✩ 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!

List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

LOL That's because we don't want it to end. I'm actually surprised Charles and Connor don't have more kids... and be this badass band of brothers armed to the teeth with assassin skills, templar power, and pomeranians...okay I'm going to stop right there.

BTW, did James end up dying as well with Charles and the rest of the Inner Circle from that trap Haytham Lee pulled?

Haven't really decided about James, but as a very loyal Templar, he's going to be too dangerous to be let loose. He's charismatic and likable, and those are very dangerous qualities to have in a foe.

I see three possibilities:
1) James is still alive, and Haytham Lee, for Clipper and his own affection for James, places him under house arrest (risky with a chance of James breaking free and rebuilding the Templar Order)
2) James is still alive, and Haytham Lee has him painlessly and quietly killed (also risky with a chance of turning Clipper against him)
3) James's natural charisma leads him to being named diplomat, is invited to France by Lafayette and winds up a casualty of the French Revolution

Charles and Connor doesn't have more kids for a very specific reason, one that is one of the deciding points that turns Haytham Lee against his father. They argued (Charles was mad at Haytham Lee for not doing something perfectly and wanted him punished, Connor got in the way), and Charles's temper got the better of him. Connor was pregnant with two baby girls (both would have been Alphas). Charles meant to grab him and drag him to his office (it was unseemly arguing at the top of the stairs), but Connor sidestepped him, lost his footing due to the extra weight he was carrying and fell down the stairs.

Connor barely survived, but he definitely miscarried and needed surgery to remove the dead fetuses (who were at an advanced stage). The surgery worked, but his child-bearing parts were severely damaged and, as a result, he couldn't have more children.

Horrible, I know. Did I mention I have a thing for angst?

That's not the full reason of why Haytham Lee ends up orchestrating the entire Inner Circle's death and hijacks the Templar Order, but it's the starting point of it.

Eeee, thank you all again for your wonderful comments! I am, as always, very flattered to have you all reading this beastly thing. Please allow me to scoop you all up into a monster hug. :3 Also, haha, I'm afraid that this chapter is not especially exciting (to me at least), but alas, plot's gotta do what plot's gotta do! Still, I hope you all enjoy it! ♥

***

Day One Hundred and Forty-Two
Following his return, Haytham had thought the next few days would be busy, but even he had underestimated the amount of work that had piled up in his absence. With New York City (and even Boston, to his dismay) in Charles’ pocket, there was little business to attend to in regards to those two locations, but he was relieved that the rest of the Americas still largely considered him their rightful leader.

Mere hours after he’d finally left the comfort of his quarters on the morning following his return, he had a wealth of visitors inquiring about his well-being, his travels, and, of course, the state of the Order. Information started to flow all around him again, and Haytham relished it, evident in the enthusiasm of his conversation and simple desire to get back to business. Thirty minute meetings with his brothers turned into sessions that stretched late into the night.

And through it all, Connor remained a quiet and pleasant shadow in the background.

At first, it had been a little strange, a little unsettling, to have an Assassin in attendance to these Templar meetings, and there had been whispers among his men and worried looks. With each passing hour, however, it became clear that Connor was not there to cause trouble; he remained a comfortable blue in Haytham’s second sight, and once or twice, he even thought he caught the faintest of smiles on the boy’s lips.

The days continued to pass this way until, at long last, the initial flurry of activity settled. Haytham still felt the keen sting of losing the support of both New York City and Boston, but now that he knew he still had faithful men, some of his anxiety started to ebb; his worries had been a touch overblown. Even so, it would take some work to unify the Templars as they had been before--one cohesive and powerful unit, especially if there was still bickering amongst their highest ranked members.

With continued silence from Charles, Haytham sent out several messengers to locate the man, and as he waited for a (hopefully favorable) response, he turned his attention again to his son. Over the course of the last few days, he’d seen the boy with a book in his hands as he sat in on these meetings, and that, he figured, was what Connor had hinted at when he’d sneered at his educational comment the night of his return.

“One or two books does not amount to a very thorough lesson, you know,” he commented idly, as he quickly penned a letter to the Templars in Charleston; his visitors might be gone, but his work remained. Connor glanced up, and again, there was that soft, knowing smile that only caused his father to frown.

“I agree.”

“So you agree that my statement still stands: your education has come to a complete and utter standstill in my absence.”

“If I had only read one or two books,” Connor answered, slipping a ribbon in between the pages before snapping the book shut. Haytham’s gaze lifted, a mildly curious expression crossing his features. “In your absence, I have gone through a good portion of your collection.”

At that, Haytham remembered a comment Mrs. Langley had made several days prior about putting up books.

“You decimated my library, didn’t you?” he asked flatly. When the boy said and did nothing, Haytham pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You wasted my servant’s time and made her put up the reading material you removed? How many books did you take from the shelf at a time?”

Apparently, Connor had not expected his father to become upset about his books being in disarray, as a slightly troubled look appeared on his face. “I would have replaced them myself, but your organizational methods have no rhyme or reason to them,” he replied, frowning now, and well, Haytham couldn’t really fault him about the organization bit; few people could make sense of the way he liked to store his things (and yes, there was sense to it!), Mrs. Langley being one of them. “Besides, I took up other chores in her place.”

Haytham’s eyebrows lifted.

“I assisted in the kitchen--” Well, the boy’s knifeplay certainly was excellent; that didn’t seem to be that far-fetched of a place for him to help out. “--and I have taken over part of the laundry.” That, however, was rather odd.

“I had much time to kill,” Connor hurriedly continued, as his gaze rather purposefully drifted sidewards, and it was with a soft, “Ah,” that Haytham understood.

Well, that certainly explained why and how his bed linens disappeared so very suddenly the day after his return, as even Mrs. Langley was not so in-tune with him to know a quick bedding touch-up was needed. Still, Haytham had to applaud the boy for his forward thinking; despite the maid’s continued blindness toward his son’s deviant behavior, she would be hard-pressed to deny the evidence on the sheets if she ever caught sight of them.

“It is not as if I have never helped Mrs. Langley in the past,” the boy finished lamely.

“I’m... glad to hear that you are getting along with my staff,” he finally said, as smoothly as he could manage. Was this an awkward conversation? Yes, he liked to think that it was. Best to change topics before Connor clammed up entirely from embarrassment. “And what did you think of my book collection? I trust that you enjoyed it to some degree if you saw fit to leave in shambles.”

“It was extensive--informative, too.” Connor fondly ran his fingertips over the cover of the volume currently in his hands. “There is a heavy bias to your choice in works though.”

Haytham allowed a smile to curve his lips. “Go on.”

“I have come to understand why some would pursue the ideals of the Templars as you have,” the boy continued, brow furrowing slightly. “There is a certain degree of protection that comes from order, and peace can be attained through it.

“But I still believe that the methods the Templars use are wrong. It is too easy for those lulled by a sense of security to fall to tyranny.”

“You still prefer freedom then--or rather, the illusion of it.”

Briefly, Connor narrowed his eyes at him, and his words took on a slightly sharper edge. “Of course. Freedom for both body and mind.”

Haytham chuckled and rose from his seat, circling around the table to gently lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “When you have seen as much of the world as I have, son, you will come to realize that true freedom is but a dream.”

“That will not be the case here. The birth of a new nation will provide us with the opportunity we need.”

An almost pitying smile crossed Haytham’s features. “I’ve kept you inside too long,” he said, expression gentle and voice soft--bordering on condescension. “Let’s go on a walk, shall we? I believe you’ve a cloak and hat in your wardrobe.

“I will wait for you out front.”

Without another word, he swept off, leaving a mildly stunned Connor to collect his thoughts at this sudden development. To be quite honest, even Haytham was a touch surprised with himself; the decision had been a bit more spur of the moment than he would have cared to admit to. Like with his travels, though, he knew that this day would have to come eventually if the two of them were to stand on equal ground and view the world in the same light. Thankfully, Haytham felt a little less trepidation about this than he had about leaving for New York. After all, his son had not fled in his absence, and this time, Haytham would be here by his side.

The boy came to meet him in a flurry of half-donned outerwear a few minutes later, and Haytham could not help but notice the boyish excitement his son displayed at being able to step outdoors again. He watched the boy inhale deep and close his eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the moment. It was a shame, really, that Haytham couldn’t exactly let him remain this way--carefree and joyous--because there was something infectious about the smile that spread across his face.

“There will be plenty of time to enjoy what Mother Nature has to offer later,” he said, beckoning for Connor to hurry after him as he stepped past the gates. “I’d like to welcome you to Philadelphia first.”

Like a dog coming to heel, the boy tailed after him as he started down the street. While this was yet another test of their relationship, Haytham hoped for their little trip to be instructional as well. Age and experience had taught him in no kind way that the world, for all that the Assassin’s fought for it, would never take easily to their Creed; while the Templars merely had to win once, their enemies would have a never-ending battle upon their hands.

“Freedom only exists for those in power,” he started as they walked through the marketplace. Though it was a cold day, the sun was shining, and people thronged the stalls as shopkeepers shouted about their wares. Connor made a noncommittal sound as he looked at the products on display, and Haytham gently led him away. “Listen to me,” was what he said, quietly getting his to focus again; his son merely gave him a smile. “This is important.

“It is their definition of freedom that suits their needs. You have seen it with the slaves--” Haytham gestured at the empty platform on the other side of the square where humans were often bought and sold, and the boy’s gaze flicked over, the joy in his expression at last faltering. “--and your people have suffered at the hands of such privilege as well.”

“We need only a leader who would stand for the rights of all--” Ah, the boy didn’t bring up Washington. Good. That bastard wasn’t worth mentioning here.

“And what is a leader?” Haytham asked, continuing his slow amble. Connor frowned.

“An individual who would guide us--”

“But isn’t that infringing upon one’s free thought? If we are truly to be free, no one should be dictating what we think or do.”

“You are trying to twist my words,” the boy said, now looking a little cross. Haytham merely turned to regard his son and shook his head.

“I merely show you the reality of them.” As they continued down the street, he gestured at the church nearby and the militia stationed up and down the street. “We talk about morals and demand justice for those wronged. Why? To create order for a civilized world--to maintain peace.

“Don’t misunderstand me: I do not mean to say that the Assassins are wrong and that we are right, but the ultimate goal of your organization simply cannot exist in the real world.” Haytham again touched a hand to the boy’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, as if trying to impart understanding upon Connor. “It’s simply not practical for a truly free world to exist, so why not allow for a benevolent leader to guide humanity along a better path?”

“I will not resign myself to such a bleak outlook as you have,” his son finally answered, still walking in step with his father, but he looked a touch crestfallen now. “I fight because I must and because no one else will.”

“An answer fit for a man true to the Creed,” Haytham responded with a shadow of a smile. By no means did he expect the boy to leave his precious Brotherhood with a few words and some real world examples, but he wanted him to think about it--for it to fester in his mind and thoughts. And if the troubled expression upon his face was anything to go by? Connor had listened and taken the words to heart.

They continued on in silence now, footsteps falling in time with each other, and the remainder of Haytham’s tour of Philadelphia was a rather quiet one. He continued to point out famous landmarks, noted good spots to survey the area from, and on several occasions, even made mention of a few of his favorite locations in the city--a theater, a tavern, a bakery.

The hour was late by the time they at last returned to the Kenway home, but as he opened the gate, Haytham turned to regard his son before letting his gaze flick upwards toward the trees. “If you would like to explore for a while longer, you are free to do so.

“You will not find your allies in Philadelphia, but the Templars here are faithful to me and you are too quick for the militia to catch; you’ll have free reign over the rooftops. Go on, stretch your legs.”

“What?” The tone of Connor’s voice clearly suggested that his thoughts had been elsewhere, as Haytham had suspected they had been since their tour had turned into a one-sided conversation. Over and over again, he’d caught the boy staring at the rooftops and trees instead of the more terrestrial offerings he’d been pointing out. He sighed and gave Connor a gentle push back toward the gate.

“Enjoy the city as you will, seeing as you clearly didn’t enjoy my rendition of it. Be back before dawn unless you wish to be thoroughly punished in the morning.”

“And what if I leave and never come back?”

Haytham smiled, confident. “You care for me too much.” Like one of his brothers, like an Assassin. “You won’t do it.”

Connor merely stared at him for a moment and then disappeared, scrambling up a tree and vanishing into the foliage. Haytham didn’t bother to watch him go, instead heading straight into the house. Their unexpectedly long trip outside had put him quite behind in his paperwork, and if he was going to be getting any sleep tonight, he needed to get back to it straightaway; Haytham could worry about the boy in the morning.

After all, it was time to see if the hawk he was training would return to the falconer’s glove after hunting. A songbird in a gilded cage was of no use to him.

Hmmm... maybe Clipper does //chokes// before James is killed? Or Clipper drifts from James eventually? Cause I still picture Connor and Clipper to remain close friends as they become older and finally... FINALLY... get to return to the Homestead and visit the graves of their fallen brothers.

And oh god, Charles causes the deaths of his daughters... I'm sure one of them would have been named Isabella (after Charles' mother) and Connor probably names the other twin either Deborah...

My heart went running off again from the constant angst abuse.

If it helps, I'm leaning toward option 3? :) That way, Haytham Lee won't be directly responsible for causing Clipper pain, and Connor can console Clipper over news of James's death.

Although Clipper dying is intriguing...and heartbreaking of course. It has potential to turn James truly dark. Especially if it was because there was a rebellion or something and Clipper was just a bystander casualty. It would solidify all the beliefs the Templars have about the 'evils' of freedom.

Sorry about the constant angst abuse. If it helps, Connor's remaining life after the coup d'etat Haytham Lee managed to pull off is less...dramatic? :)

But yes, the deaths of the two unborn baby girls has ripple effects that winds up ripping the 'perfect world blinkers' from Haytham Lee and eventually destroys Charles.

I enjoyed the exchange between these two quite bit. I wonder what Connor plans to do while he's exploring and when/if he returns to Haytham. I love how Haytham has used Connor's affections as a leash.

The last two sentences were just amazing-- author anon your writing style is just so asfghkjfkkd. I also couldn't help but snicker when Haytham told Connor about being 'thoroughly punished' hahaha either way I will be eagerly awaiting for more as always!

The crew was celebrating. Connor looked on from the wheel, his head resting on his arms. Anchor had been dropped for the night, and the men had decided to bring out some of the ship’s spirits and drink. A few of them must have had something stronger hidden away in their bunks, because Connor knew that most of them had had only one or two mugs of grog.

Faulkner had begged off for a few hours to join the men; Connor had granted it, knowing that he would keep the men in line. It would not be the first time they had done this, but hopefully they would be able to take their stations in the morning without too much complaint. The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, and after two weeks at sail and a successful battle, they deserved a night of revelry.

“Do you not keep your crew in line?”

Connor turned to see his father coming out of the Captain’s cabin. He had given it to the older man to keep him separate from the crew, which had turned out to be a good idea. Haytham might consider himself to be rather knowledgeable about the high seas, but the comments he had made during their voyage had made the crew less than pleased. Connor shrugged in answer to his question, looking back to the celebration on the deck. Some of them had started to sing, their voices carrying in the windless night.

“I doubt we’ll be able to sail in the morning,” Haytham said, coming to stand next to him.

“They will be well,” Connor replied, quirking his lips as the song reached them.

“That deep in their cups? I highly doubt it,” Haytham said. “Even Hickey knew better than to sail with a hangover.”

“My men live on the sea,” Connor said, his eyes going over to his father. “Landlubbers do not hold their liquor as well as we do.”

“I have yet to see you drink anything of that sort.”

“I do not care for it,” Connor told him. Haytham rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. “Occasionally I will join them, but I thought it a bad idea at this time.”

“Afraid I might do something?” Haytham asked, leaning on the rail.

“I do not trust you,” Connor reminded him.

“What must I do to prove that I mean you no harm while we work together?” he huffed. More men had joined into the chorus, revealing its nature. Haytham straightened, crossing his arms. “And these are the sort of men you would trust before me?”

Connor shrugged, mouthing the words to the song into his arms. Haytham exhaled deeply, his foot tapping on the deck.

“You do not have to listen,” Connor reminded him.

“I can hear it even in my current accommodations.”

Connor shrugged again, enjoying the look of annoyance that Haytham gave him at the motion. The song wound to a close, the men taking deep drinks.

“And I suppose you think this is appropriate for your men,” Haytham scoffed. “It’s a wonder you are able to even function in normal society.”

Connor rolled his eyes and stood. He looked Haytham in the eyes, seeing the older man’s wariness at his change in disposition. Before Haytham could say anything, he vaulted over the railing to the men and took a mug offered to him.

“Twas on the good ship Venus,” he began to sing, “By Christ you should have seen us,”

“The figurehead was a whore in bed,” Faulkner joined in. The crew began to join in, happy to see their captain joining them.

“And the mast a rampant penis,” Connor continued. He took a swig of grog, letting the men continue the song. He looked up to the wheel where his father still stood. Haytham shook his head and walked away. Connor smiled, and joined in the second verse.

Kyaaa! You-Altair, Malik-Kyaa!

Oh, the Call Me Maybe song, Altair's so cheesy ;3

And Malik, kyaa! About time you two met and you said 'novice' too!

Awesome story! ^_^(b)

Three cheers for the good ship Aquila!
Huzzah, huzzah, huzzah!
The Captain can kill-ya,
With a single look!
His eyes are sharp as his blade,
A blade that shines and gleams,
But nothing does compare,
To his almighty cock!

Three cheers for the good ship Aquila!
Huzzah, huzzah, huzzah!
The crew can mill-ya,
With their speedy skills!
Their hands are large but nimble,
A broadside fired each minute,
But nothing does compare,
To their love in bed!

Fuck. That was supposed to be a chorus of praise to the anon!author. Uhm, it turned into a little gift for both author and op instead? But I really did love this ficlet - Haytham's exasperation made me laugh and Connor's defiance was the cherry on the top. Bawdy songs are the best - the ocean is a very different playground than on land, and there are no neighbours to complain about the noise!

It'll take a few days, but I'm working on something! ^.^

And finally, Connor’s POV again! Lol. It only took 10 chapters. :D
It's a very brief interlude, but hopefully fills in a few things (like how Connor's been surviving the way he is).

Master of the House

Interlude

He remembered pain and hopelessness and despair. He remembered blood and pressure and something wet inside him that he didn’t want-didn’t need-nonononoNO.

He remembered stretching and an unwanted rippling in his belly and something trailing down his thighs and...

He remembered pain, of his breath leaving his body in one giant burst because he was...was—

This was punishment. This was punishment for the, for losing the—

He hadn’t wanted it in the first place, but he never meant to lose it. It was the only thing that didn’t hate him, that didn’t love to make him miserable and didn’t hurt his friends, his people, his family and...

Everything was gray. He was...so tired. Too tired to protect those he loved. Too tired to protect those he could love.

What was the point anyways? Nothing worked. Everything turned to dust.

Faces swam in front of his gaze and talked at him. That doctor. His husband.

They thought his mind gone, that he was dying. And he wasn’t, but he wished he were.

Better to simply be discarded.

At least if he were discarded, he would finally be free of this bed, these walls, this air.

The servants would not have to come by twice a day to spoon broth into him. The doctor would not have to prod him once a week. And he could sleep.

He hoped his dreams would be peaceful. He hoped he would dream of the forests that he grew up in, the lush grass against the soles of his feet, the brush of bark in his hand as he flew through the trees like the birds he had once adored.

He’d wanted to be an eagle once when he had been young, when his mother was still alive.

And so he waited to sleep, to rest.

But then a new face came. And this one was young, gentle, kind.

Familiar.

So familiar.

He knew him. He knew that man!

A sharpshooter, an eager voice wanting to set young boys free from forced enlistment.

A man who bravely fought beside him.

His recruit. An Omega like him.

Clipper...

He was talking to him, whispering softly, begging him to wake up.

And, for the first time in months, Connor wanted to.

I am awake, he wanted to reply, to shout.

He wanted to throw his arms about the man and hug him, to know that he was real and that he hadn’t lost everything and that there was still something left to fight for.

But he was tired. Too tired.

His arms would not lift, his body would not move and his throat would not work. His body rebelled against his wishes, and all he could was lay there, in the bed where he had been raped, in the room he was a prisoner of, in the house of his jailer and tormentor.

He was so afraid that Clipper would go away, that he’d lose him again, like he’d lost everyone else...

But then the servants came. And...

...and they took him out!

Out of that bed. Out of that maddening room.

And they brought him outside!

For the first time in a year, Connor smelled the scent of fresh grass.

The warm sun against him, the cool breeze upon his face, bark of an oak behind his back, grass underneath his fingers and a warm tongue licking at him.

It was overwhelming.

He wanted to cry.

But there was Clipper, and he was telling him something.

Something about Stephane and Deborah and...James. Who was this James?

His husband? Clipper had wed?

A Templar then, one of them.

Connor felt a brief flare of anger.

But then, he listened. And he heard. And he absorbed.

There was little else that he could do.

But as he lay there, entranced by the tenor of Clipper’s voice, by the softness of the fur against him, he began to feel something else.

It was...it was...

He didn’t know what it was, but for the first time in over a month, he felt himself beginning to rouse.

Sometimes, Connor finds that everything gets a little too much, and he needs a release. He discovers that letting somebody else dominate him mind, body and soul is the most effective form of stress relief for him. His recruits find this need to give control to someone else for a while a bit weird, but they love him enough to help him out every so often.

(Please please please don't forget "Safe, Sane and Consensual" or aftercare!)

It would be super awesome to have non-sexual BDSM, a la Nana To Kaoru. Things like being tied up and blindfolded, being whipped or spanked, or being gagged.

Yes OP this will be one of the two endings. The second one should be finished sometime tomorrow. I'm glad that you agree that the way Connor and Haytham parted works c: Thank you for all the comments you have given me throughtout filling this fic. I hope you enjoyed it!

so I think we all remember that conversation between Dobby and Connor where Connor agrees to give her the first shot at having a family with him and I want to see that family. Connor needs some happiness in his life so something with them raising an adorable family together would be awesome. and if anyone who wants to fill this also wants smut of some kind, I wouldn't mind it if Connor and Dobby were to sneak off to have some alone time while one of the other recruits or homesteaders watched the kid(s).

(Bit of a warning: Detailed description of a deer being dressed.)

“Very good.“

Peering once more at the deer, Clipper found the animal had stopped twitching. The shot in the back of the head had likely pierced its brain, just as he’d planned. Clipper lowered his musket and gave a satsified smile as he got up out of the brushwork.

“Thank you, sir.”

He craned his neck. On a branch a good eight feet above him, Connor perched like an eagle, half-obscured by the leaves. Clipper saluted him before he walked through the knee-high bushes to his kill.

Blood seeped into the ground. He turned the deer’s warm head to inspect the entrance hole. The bullet had fragmented as it met resistance. It widened the field of impact and made for a messier wound, but the fur around the middle was better for leather work, anyhow.

There was the sound of feet thudding on the ground and lots of very deadly equipment clinking together with a metallic chime. Second’s later, Connor’s shadow fell over him, though he hadn’t heard a single footstep rustling the fallen leaves. Clipper liked to think hunting since he was old enough to hold a pistol had taught him a thing or two. Connor, though, he was something else entirely. Wherever he was, he seemed to be able to let the environment swallow him, sight, sound, smell and all.

Clipper took the dagger from his belt, but stopped. “Always wanted to ask – you say something before you skin an animal, sir. What’s that?”

“Nia:wen,“ Connor answered in that grave, even tone of his. “I thank the animal for the life and what it will yield for me.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Clipper decided with a nod. “Nia-wan... ?”

“The thought is worth more than the word,” the other assassin decided generously.

Connor sat by his side. It had Clipper shift unconsciously, make more room than necessary. Though Connor could all but erase himself when he wanted to, this close, he had a gripping presence about him. The obvious strength in those broad shoulders and limbs thick with muscle moving in ever-present tension under the coat, the steady, piercing gaze, it all worked together to make him appear taller, wider. Or perhaps that was just Clipper’s imagination...

To make sure that the animal did not suffer its last moment in silence, should there be a spark of life left, Clipper slit its throat, concentrating on the feeling of warm red liquid running thick between his fingers. It was a good distraction.

“Your shots are always clean. I am not that good,” Connor noted.

Clipper could feel his chest swell with pride. He knew Connor never complimented without reason and to honestly impress him was a feat not easily accomplished. “I can’t jump from horseback on a stag and get it with a hidden blade, though, like you did last week.”

This made Connor smile. He smiled very little lately (though Clipper supposed he’d never really been the cheery type), which was one reason he was happy their hunting trips were getting more regular. Not that Clipper pretended to know Connor all that well – no one really did, perhaps that was the problem –, but since the death of Charles Lee, it seemed to him the man was a bit listless and spend too much time alone in that big mansion of his.

They turned the deer on its back and Clipper pressed his hand into the short fur finding the sternum and slit the soft belly open from chest to groin, careful not to pierce the organs underneath. It was a movement so ingrained in him, he barely had to waste a thought on it. As they watched the blood flow, Connor’s tongue slipped out wetting his lips, like a wolf regarding the spoils of his pack’s hunt.

It made Clipper remind himself, as he would now and again, that this was not one of his smarter ideas.

Connor was an alpha. He’d never voiced it, but then, Clipper didn’t need him to. Right before he had the worst four days of his life, every month the worst four days, it seemed to him, his nose would tell him. Only he tried to keep away from Connor then because he might be able to pick up on Clipper’s smell as well. People, Connor included, thought Clipper was a beta and Clipper was mighty fine with that. Thankfully, it was easier to pose in the big city, what with all the people around. There were lots of betas to blend in with if you were halfway smart about it.

Alpha, beta, omega. They were Greek letters or something, but Clipper couldn’t really tell Greek from Latin anyway. He hadn’t gone to school too long. All he really needed to know was that being an omega was bad news, whatever the old Greeks thought about it. Alphas and their noses could get an omega like him into real trouble.

But then, Connor wasn’t just an alpha. He was a man Clipper admired as a fighter and assassin and lately a friend. What’s more, a friend who seemed to really need a bit of company and distraction and their time together gave him that. Clipper wasn’t one to leave his friends hanging, no, for sure not. He’d just have to keep himself in check.

It would work, he had promised himself that. Clipper had always hated the idea of being restricted by his nature, though anyone would have told him it was his lot in life and he should try to bear it with grace. Weak. Dependant. Too easy to tempt. Omega. He should have consented, but in his own quiet, stubborn way, he found he could not. He plain didn’t like the idea of foregoing a friendship because of something that had been decided for him before his birth.

His disposition still haunted him, of course, though he could never tell why he couldn’t take his eyes off Connor’s full lips or the arch of the muscle of his neck or the intense gaze of his brown eyes even when the heat cycle was weeks away. Better to ignore it like the rest of his these unwanted impulses, though.

“Clipper?”

Clipper jerked and almost dropped the knife into the deer’s guts. Connor’s look was questioning.

“Sorry. Been thinking,” Clipper said. “You want to get the horse? I’ll finish field dressing and we can hang it up at your place.”

Connor nodded his head. Despite Clipper’s convictions – breathing got easier when Connor moved away.

-

Clipper had once heard a beta say that it must be nice to be getting so hot and bothered. Intense was the word he used.

It certainly was intense.

He pulled the sheet over his head with a groan and rubbed himself against the blanket he’d bunched up under his hips, thrusting into the fabric. He felt empty, like there was a huge gaping hole in the core of his body or his soul. He was writhing with want. There were a few moments of release whenever he spent himself, fingers deeply buried in himself, but that wasn’t rest, just exhaustion. It certainly did nothing at all to fill him up. When lust came rushing back, it alsways burned worse than before.

Clipper locked the door to his little third story room with an iron chain on the days of heat and put the key on the top of the wardrobe, the only other piece of furniture next to his creaking bed and and old rickety table with two chairs. It would have been too great a temptation right next to the bed. Not that it always stopped him. Often enough he’d been standing with the key in hand to go out and just find the first best alpha to mate him. They could smell it. It drove them wild. Besides, Clipper thought he wasn’t a complete eyesore. Nothing special for sure. No pox marks, though, nothing more than a few scars from hunting. It should be enough to keep an alpha’s attention for a few minutes. It didn’t take longer. No longer than that to go at least once...

No longer than that to get bound, either. Clipper bit the pillow. He wouldn’t go there again. So far, reason had always persevered, though it was a hard-won victory.

He only heard the knocking and call of his name when it became insistent. Before Clipper had worked himself out of the stained, sweaty, sticky sheets, the person outside was trying to push the door open. It stopped abruptly with a noisy rattle of chains pulling tight after it opened an inch or two.

Christ in heaven. He did not have any space left in his head to deal with this. His landlord didn’t give a fig what anyone was doing in their rooms, which was why Clipper had chosen it (even if he was fenced in between the rooms of two – actually quite friendly – whores). Anyone else should think he was out of town on a contract... Who was this?

“Clipper? What is going on?”

Connor’s voice. And that smell. Clipper’s mouth went dry.

“I’m sick,” he managed, with a voice that was pathetically small and shaking, too.

“Why is the door chained shut?!” Connor gave the door another experimental shake, as if his disbelief would make the chain disappear. “What’s going on?”

“Please.” There was no explanation in his head, nothing at all he could make up. Just this word. Please stay. Please leave. Desperately, Clipper pulled his sheet back up to his chin trying to hide himself, his whole being, the waves of need that he felt travelling through the room like the concentric circles a stone left dropped in still water. At the same time, he wanted Connor to come in and take him and take him until he blacked out.

He clutched the cloth to himself like a shield, protecting himself from himself.

Connor had gone quiet. “We wanted to go hunting today.”

“Oh.” Did they? It was difficult enough to hold on to his own basic rules of conduct when he was this way. He couldn’t have said what weekday it was. He must have messed up setting the date. Should have paid more attention. “’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I woke up with fever.”

Another pause.

“I will leave you alone, then. I trust you will get better.”

“Yeah.” Stay. Stay, I’m going to get the key. Stay with me, I don’t care if you leave me like yesterday’s clothes afterwards, sir, please stay. “Sorry about that, sir. Goodbye.”

Connor closed the door and Clipper almost sobbed in frustration as he grinded into the bunched up sheets. He knew he would thank himself later. It was just so damn hard to remember right now.

-

(Next part coming soon.)

fahsodifawpeoifhanw i am so happy you're filling this omg this is so cute already :D i can't wait for the rest of it. i swear i keep refreshing over and over hoping that the next part will be here

and once again i forgot to say that i'm OP

Poor Connor, you so don't deserve this fate /PETS/ love how you write his thoughts from depressed and angsty (during and after the miscarriage0 to excited when he sees Clipper again, and there's even a spark of him being all protective of his brother at the mention of him being wed to a Templar... however, I wonder if he's going to remain suspicious since all the Templars Connor has known only manipulate and hurt people.

Finally broke my updates streak :( half-way finished with the next Honeymoon chapter but the Washington side-series (yes series, though significantly shorter) sunk its fangs in me... so I wrote that. Will type it up and have the first part (out hopefully 3) up soon.

I'm on it!

ooo...Washington side-story. //grins evilly//

You do have some very shiny distractions. :D Can't wait to read that.

But yes, Connor doesn't deserve the things we put him through. //pets him//

The Templars like to hurt him. Ubisoft likes to hurt him. We like to hurt him. Really, he just gets hurt a lot.

I think he'd be...practical...when it comes to James. Probably never going to like the man much on principle and always going to be suspicious of him (they are on opposite sides, after all), but will be more inclined to observe himself before taking action. Especially since he's at a disadvantage, with the Brotherhood scattered and him the 'wife' of Charles and with extremely limited rights as a result (particularly since it's Charles).

/WORSHIPS/ I am not worry of your awesomeness writer!anon, than you so much for filiing this!

Oh...the feels.

The weaving of past and present into one fine, seamless garment, the pain of both Connor and Haytham, and the fact that they both made a sacrifice...

Oh my heart.

//sobs//

Thank you so much for filling this!

And writer!anon would like to say thankyou for who made this comment, smart thinking! Writer!anon is a derp...

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 182 of 385

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Master of the House - part 12

Re: Master of the House - part 12

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 12 / ? ]

Re: Master of the House - part 12

Re: Master of the House - part 12

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 12 / ? ]

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 12 / ? ]

Shanties

Re: Dream Catcher - Part 4b

Re: Shanties

Claiming!

Master of the House - part 13

Connor and recruits, BDSM

Writer Anon

Connor/Dobby, raising a family

Connor/Clipper: Freedom (1/?)

Connor/Clipper: Freedom (2/?)

Re: Connor/Clipper: Freedom (2/?)

^ OP

Re: Master of the House - part 13

Re: Haytham/Charles Lee

Re: Master of the House - part 13

OP

OP

Re: FILL 3 POSTED - LOOK UNDER FILL 1