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

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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✩ 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
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Ah writer!anon this is wonderful. Thank you for this.

Ah thank you anon for this!

Oh my god, you spoil me! I love how messed-up King George's thinking is, and his self-righteous is so deliciously wrong. Your decriptions of what happened are chilling, and I'm glad that this one is from the King's POV, because to have it from Connor and Haytham would have been even more heartbreaking. Will we at some point see any unbroken characters' reactions to what Connor and Haytham (and the king's other minions) have become?

Because the Templar ceremony looks like a wedding.

So Charles' family is Old Money, right? His father was a general and his grandfather a baronet and politician etc. And like women in those times, I would guess Omegas would be married off to secure family ties via children. The Templars very much like to be tied as intimately as possible into the ruling class. So as a secondary demand for Charles' joining, they ask him to become Braddock's mate so they can get some babies.

Enter Haytham. He thinks Charles deserves a better mate. Besides, Braddock is going to get a dishonourable discharge form life anyway. Whether he just takes a liking to Charles or you go the soulmate route doesn't matter. Braddock, of course, is not amused.

This wasn't love, this wasn't sex – he was fucking her, that's all. No more, no less. No emotions involved, he didn't care for her and he fucked her just like that using her body for one purpose and one purpose only, to satisfy his needs. He didn't aim for her pleasure, didn't care if she liked what he did. She was either a good actor or she really was enjoying his rough touches, the fingers wrapped around her neck when he pressed her face into the mattress as she was on her knees and he thrust into her almost violently. He didn't like watching their faces, never did. He couldn't stand it when he saw their eyes, couldn't stand it when they tried to kiss him. Kisses were for lovers, not for whores. She met his thrusts and pushed her hips backwards as he moved in and out of her, her moans filling the room while he hardly made a sound at all. Skin slapping against skin, wet bodies touching, nails raking over limbs, scratching, biting, searching.

In the end he didn't come, pulling out of her and kneeling for a few more moments behind her naked form, breathing heavily and running his fingers through sweat soaked hair. She turned around, her cheek still pressed against the mattress, eying him and her gaze almost burnt him. “What's wrong?”

He looked at her, his lips moving but no sound came. He got off the bed, reaching for his clothes and got dressed quickly. “What's wrong?”, she asked again, her voice rising with confusion and she sat up, pulling her knees underneath her body, wrapping the blanket around her body to hide from his sight. Altair would have almost scoffed. He looked at her, cold eyes burning into hers and he reached for the small pouch on his belt, placing a few coins on the small table right next to the door. It was enough money to pay for the whole night. She called after him but he didn't pay her any attention at all as he made his way through the brothel and out onto the streets of Paris.

Altair wiped his face, his hood up shielding him from curious eyes and turning him into a faceless shadow. He'd no idea why he went there, why he sought a woman's warm touch. Sex wasn't even that important to him, in all honesty it often rather bored him. It was a physical need which was necessary every now and then but nothing he truly enjoyed. Most of the times he tried to ignore it, knew no good would come of it ever since-

No. None of that. No thoughts about him. It was neither the right time nor the right place to think about it. He was on a mission, his master counting on him – he wouldn't disappoint Al Mualim, wouldn't let himself get distracted any further. It was bad enough he'd visited a brothel, in the end it only felt degrading.

Altair returned to the small room he currently stayed at, renting it for small money right above the small shop of a blacksmith. It was late the night and he would depart tomorrow morning and return to Masyaf to deliver the news.

When he opened the door Altair knew instantly something was off and he scanned the chamber, his eyes soon falling on a figure sitting on his bed. He felt for his throwing knives, about to pull one small dagger out and aiming for the person sitting there but it wasn't the blade that cut through the silence, but the figure's smooth velvet voice. “That's no way to greet old friends.” Altair still throw his knife and it hit the mattress right next to the man's thigh but he chuckled unimpressed.

“No, it's my way of greeting you”, Altair muttered and walked through the dark room, reaching for an lamp and lit it, the oil burning quickly His face was instantly illuminated by a soft glowing orange, the flame trembling and creating flickering shadows across the walls. The bed creaked when he moved, getting off and walking towards the young assassin, hand laying on Altair's shoulder to turn him around. “You lack some manners then”, he muttered, eyes roaming over his face and he cupped his jaw, his thumb brushing over Altair's scar. “I should teach you some”, he added as he leaned towards, closing the distance between them and consuming Altair's mouth with a kiss.

He punched him in the guts and the man groaned, stumbling backwards and rubbing his palm over his stomach. “You don't touch me like that”, Altair told him and his fingers got already busy to remove his chestplate. Another of his chuckles filled the room and he sat back on the bed, leaning heavily on his elbows as he watched Altair removing his belt and red sash, folding the latter neatly and placing it on top of the armor which now lay on the table. “No”, he said nonchalantly and waved his hand, “I just fuck you.”

“You missed me Saleh?” Altair stared at him, his robes gaping and revealing a flat stomach with a soft trail of hair leading from his navel further down and underneath the waistband of his trousers.

“I missed your mouth around my cock.”

“Can you even get it up old man?” Saleh looked at him, lips pressed tightly together. It wasn't like Altair said something which wasn't true. Saleh was old, could be his father actually, his hair already turning gray and looked just as silver as the moon's light. It was a sight he'd rather forget. Saleh snorted at him and rolled his head from one side to the other, the ordinary clothes of nothing but a man seeming strange on his body.

“How long has it been now boy? Three years? Four?”

“Five”, Altair said unimpressed, sitting down on the chair to remove his boots and he groaned when his feet were finally free as they hurt from the day. He leaned back and eyed Saleh skeptical. “So how come you are here?”, Altair asked, his whole body radiating distress. He didn't want him here, he didn't want to see Saleh's face, didn't want to waste his energy speaking with an outcast. Somebody who waited for Al Mualim's heart to turn soft again to welcome him back into the Order – they both knew no such thing would ever happen as Saleh was forced to live in exile with no chance to ever return. Still, he clung on to that hope and maybe that was his way of staying sane – so who was Altair to judge?

Saleh just smirked and lowered his head, eyes hidden from Altair's sight. “I count nine fingers. So you've finally achieved your blade. You father would be proud”, and Altair gritted his teeth, hating it with all his guts whenever he was talking about his father, bringing his ghost back from the dead to the living. “But it seems you still lack an assassin's ability when it comes to going unnoticed. There were rumors filling the lands, Altair, rumors about a white ghost leaving a trail of blood behind. I followed your trail and look who I found? The boy I turned into a man. I'd call it destiny wouldn't you agree?”

“I'd call it misfortune.”

Saleh sighed and placed one hand to his chest, falling onto the mattress with his back first and staring up the ceiling. “Uhg, I'm hurt boy, I'm deeply hurt.” He looked at him again, propping himself up using one of his elbows. “What is it with you? Normally you would have been already on your knees sucking my dick and yet you're still sitting there with too much clothes on. That needs to change.”

Altair just shook his head, swallowing every threat down which was about to leave his lips and roll over his tongue. “Just... go Saleh. Go wherever you came from. Whatever it is you're seeking I assure you it's not here”, he sighed and wiped his face with one hand, peering at the older man through his fingers. Saleh's eyes grew cold and distant and his face wrinkled up as he sat and looked at Altair. “Ah”, he said and licked across his lips, rubbing the back of his head, “you see I'm very disappointed.”

“Why is that?”

Saleh slowly turned to Altair and straightened his back, making it even more visible that he was at least two heads bigger than the young assassin. “After all I've done for you and after we finally meet each other again I thought I would get a warmer welcoming and not getting kicked out”, he stood up walking towards Altair. His muscles tensed and his fingers curled into a fist when he craned his neck to look up at Saleh in order to meet his eyes. If it was needed he would defend himself, if it was needed Altair was ready to kill, no matter if old friend or not. Saleh placed one hand onto the small table behind him, leaning down to Altair. “It seems you've forgotten why I'm here. It would have needed nothing more but a word and it'd be you in my position, cast out like a lousy dog. And why not? Because I made a promise to your father”, he whispered, foul breath crawling over his skin as the man leaned into him, his lips almost touching his ear.

“I'm not sixteen anymore”, he said but his voice sounded uneven and breathless, his heart beating wildly. He shouldn't feel like this and Altair felt disgusted with himself. “I'm not the boy I used to be, easy to manipulate and following your orders.”

“No you're not sixteen anymore”, and Altair could feel how his lips pulled into a grin against his ear. “But you still are the boy easy to manipulate. The only thing that changed is that it isn't me anymore fucking you but that Master of yours, fucking with your mind and playing you like a little puppet and you're sitting here, too arrogant and blinded by the Order's lies to see the truth.”

It was then he snapped, pushing Saleh away and sending the man stumbling backwards, standing up fast so the chair lost its balance and hit the ground. “It's time for you to leave”, he breathed through clenched teeth, eyes narrowed to small slits, chest heaving with unresolved anger.

“Indeed it is”, Saleh nodded as he rubbed his chin, looking Altair up and down. “It's truly a shame then, you've had all the potential but you decided to throw it all away. I thought you were your father's son but it seems you're nothing more but one of Al Mualim's sheep.” Saleh snorted and made his way towards the door, his hand already reaching for it. He stopped right next to Altair though, his fingers touching the handle but he didn't pull the door open yet. “Al Mualim caught me fucking you and I was the one sent away into exile, yet you were allowed to stay. Ever wondered why?”

“Out”, he snarled, staring at Saleh from the corner of his eye. The old man nodded. “I see”, Saleh said and smirked. “You do know then.”

He stepped out of the room and the door fell shut behind him and Altair stood there, watching his world burn with chaos.

Holy shit! He's our next protagonist!? Now I'm tempted not to kill him and bring him to America, but... well, we'll see.

and holy shit, he was a PIRATE before he was an Assassin!
Man, those Kenway genes, got to love them!

No worries, Anon. It's as people always say...if there's at least one person reviewing, you know there's at least half a dozen quietly reading. :)

But <3 for this installment. Connor getting his heat early...was Charles feeding him some special 'teas' after all? Did his body just adapt to the situation?

Hehe, whatever it is, it provides very delicious angst and is a great teaser for the soon-to-be angsty porn.

Oh Connor, he has such body issues in a way...He very much has an alpha personality (or was forced to develop one to protect himself as an Assassin) in a Omega body. You've done a very good job highlighting it here, with the way he's ashamed of his heat.

...and still so innocent on top of it all. As if Charles wouldn't celebrate a marathon sex with very large probability of getting Connor with child. :D

//pets Connor//

This is an awesome prompt! Totally seconded!

Thank you! I'm just happy I didn't alienate everyone reading it. I'm the one writing it and I think it's messed up.

I didn't plan to write one, but I'm flexible, so now there'll be a part from someone free. The plot bunnies just keep on coming.

Somebody please fill this! The bonuses. Ugh, so hot.

I just want a fill where Haytham is an Omega and he's been keeping it a secret for all these years, barely indulging his needs because it'd jeopardize his position as Grand Master. Eventually though he cannot repress his heats any more and an Alpha around him figures it out. Whether it's Charles, who is more than eager to help his Master Kenway through his predicament or Connor, who just reacts instinctively to the scent of an Omega in heat around him, I just want someone to give it to Haytham hard, fast and messy. :D

In the 1700s-1800s, a lot of sailors got tattoos, and many Native American's had tattoos even before then. It's been stuck in my head for days now and I really just want a post-AC3 fic where faulkner notices connor looks a little down and drags him to get a tattoo.

Bonus points if;
-Connor is totally against the idea until he sees the final product
-The tattoo is really elaborate and pretty much tells his life story in a few images

Um.. wow. I mean, damn. That's just so damn hot.

I never knew how much I wanted Haytham/Charles Omegaverse fic until I saw the prompt and
immediately started writing this. Sorry there's no Haytham in this one! He'll be in the next part, I just wanted to use this to set things up. Also, the title is kind of random. I had the hardest time thinking of what to call it so I just used my tag for all things Haytham/Charles on tumblr.

----

When the offer to marry Edward Braddock in exchange for becoming a full member of the Templar Order was first made, Charles's response had been an immediate yes. He didn't particularly care for Braddock from what little he'd seen of the man at that point, but that seemed like a minor problem when faced with the possibility of getting what he wanted most in the world. Omegas were rarely allowed in the Order. Between heats which left them almost entirely useless for half a week every month and their generally submissive nature, they were too much of a liability. Useless to the Order unless they were producing more future Templars and even then, it wasn't necessary for them to be made members so long as their husbands were.

It's why the offer proposed to Charles was so exciting. He'd spent his whole life fighting the idea that his only use to the Order would be producing future heirs and now-- now his efforts were finally being acknowledged! What did it matter that children were still expected of him? The fact that they offered him more than just a Templar husband-- the fact that they offered to make him a Templar was everything he could have ever wanted.

Until, of course, Haytham Kenway came into his life. He'd heard of the man, of course. Master Birch favored him above all others. He would have had to be paying no attention at all to not hear of the many achievements of Haytham Kenway. The man was the best the Order had to offer, as far as Charles was concerned. He'd rarely heard of a man that could work with such efficiency and talent as he'd heard Haytham did. Charles admired him more than anything , wanted to be him, in some ways. Or, at the very least, he could settle for meeting the man.

Needless to say, when the order for Charles to help get Haytham settled in came, his husband-to-be was less than ecstatic. Charles did his best to hide the fact that he was nothing less than ecstatic.

"He cannot be serious! Does he honestly think you have no responsibilities here? That I am not making use of you? You are not going!"

Braddock paces across the tent, sending the occasional glare Charles' way, as though this were somehow his fault. For his part, Charles remains silent. Better for all parties involved that no one argues with Braddock while his temper is like this.

"If he is as great as they believe he is, he should be able to find his own way in this city without the help of my wife!"

Charles resists the urge to correct him. They are neither married nor mated yet. They are neither husband nor wife. Besides that, what would it matter if they were? Their marriage is not the only thing that is to come of this agreement. Charles is to be a member of the Templars as much as Braddock, should he not have some duties unattached to his military ones? To the ones he has to his future husband? Charles, again, opts to continue his silence instead of voicing these opinions. It's an accomplishment that he manages to remain silent. For as much of a temper as Braddock has, Charles's tends to be even worse-- violent, even-- when the right buttons are pushed. As it is, Braddock is pushing a good amount of those buttons.

"I suppose you must be thrilled by the request."

This brings Charles out of his thoughts and he raises his eyebrows in a look of confusion, though he knows Braddock likely doesn't believe it. Charles has never been quiet about his admiration for the Kenway man. It's likely why Braddock is so angry about Charles having to work with him. The last thing he wants to do is send his soon-to-be wife off to work with a man he already thinks more of that his soon-to-be husband. In a way, it almost takes the excitement away from the assignment. Charles is the one that has to deal with Braddock's jealousy and the man was already jealous enough of his former friend. This is just icing on top of the already too large cake.

Charles raises his hands in front of him, as though to surrender the fight before it turns into anymore of an issue.

"I am only happy to serve the Order in any way I can."

And happy to get away from Braddock and his overly obsessive tendencies.

"Hmph. Of course you are," He sneers at Charles and crumbles the letter. "Fine. I will allow you to go, but remember this: you are mine. I'll not let anyone else have you."

Charles nods and picks Spado up from where the little dog had been sleeping at his feet. No doubt they'd need to have an especially long game of fetch to help calm Charles down after this. Braddock redirects his sneer towards Spado at the reminder that the dog is with them. Spado is the one thing about Charles that Braddock hates the most (aside from his admiration of Haytham, of course) and the one point Charles refuses to budge on. Where Charles goes, Spado goes. Charles only hopes he'll be able to continue enforcing this once he and Braddock are married. If the Alpha is possessive now, he can't imagine what he will be like once they're bound.

"Now go before I change my mind. Maybe Kenway will be able to tolerate your little mutt more than I can."

As though understanding what was just said, Spado barks angrily and Charles leaves before anymore can be said.

I'm not sure if this is what you wanted, anon, but I hope you enjoy regardless.

There are several things Haytham likes about Charles.

The first are his manners. He is impeccably polite, his voice and posture always deeply respectful... well, except for where Hickey is concerned. To Haytham, however, his behaviour is outright worshipful, as though he is constantly in awe of the man he serves. 'Tis nice, certainly, but Haytham is merely a man, capable of making mistakes, imperfect.

Secondly, the man is efficient and helpful, and would be an excellent addition to the Order. Many a time has he offered an ingenious suggestion to Haytham, and in his quick thinking in more than a few tricky situations he has helped further the goals of the Order more than ever expected. Haytham shall need to thank him most thoroughly at some point in the near future.

Thirdly, he is Haytham's to command. With but a small nod, a minute gesture, a short phrase, Charles easily dispatches enemies, lies convincingly, steals undetected. Haytham cannot help but wonder how far that loyalty extends. Certainly, he would murder and torture with no justification other than "Charles, would you please?" from Haytham's own lips needed. But would he obey an order to stay still while Haytham's lips and tongue caress his own? Would he sink to his knees and mouth at his breeches with a certain dark glance? Would he spread his legs eagerly with but a single syllable, "now"?

No, this is not the time for such thoughts. Haytham blinks, and shakes his head. He needs to concentrate, to have these new soldiers taken out before they can raise the alarm at the sight of the dead soldiers around the corner. He glances to the alcove Charles is hidden in and gives a low whistle. Haytham's shoulder is still healing from an incident the week before- all Hickey's fault- else he'd be doing this alone.

"Did you hear that?" the soldier on the left asks.

"Hear what?" the soldier on the right replies.

Those are their last words. Charles slices their throats open before they can even turn around, and Haytham steps out of the shadows, smiling.

"Thank you," he says. "That was very well done. Now, let us find the maps."

Charles nods, barely able to keep the delight at such high praise from the mouth of his mentor from his face. He follows just a few steps behind, silently, and when Haytham gestures, he vaults over the short fence they pause at. The fight is short but brutal, and as much as Haytham wants to watch Charles' swift fighting style in action, he needs to use this opportunity to sneak past this gaggle of guards and into the building just across the courtyard.

With one last glance back at Charles, savagely elbowing one poor sod in the nose as two more try to grab him, Haytham ducks into the dark hallway, and makes his way to where Hickey thinks the study is. He hears yelps of pain, and soft thuds, crunching noises and gasps. Clearly Charles is being quite creative today. A pity he can't sit and watch the spectacle, they need to be in and out as quickly as possible.

It takes a mere five minutes to locate the room, find the papers, and re-enter the courtyard. Charles has take the liberty of piling the bodies in various hiding spots: a shrub, two haycarts, an alley overgrown with grass and weeds. He handles the men with care, even those that are dead. There is something graceful in that, Haytham thinks.

Charles is so engrossed in this activity that he does not realise Haytham is behind him until he speaks.

"Thank you," Haytham says, flourishing the papers so that Charles spots them as soon as he glances up in shock. "That was excellent thinking. Let's be off."

"Yes, sir," Charles replies, trying not to smile.

Haytham wonders if it's worth leaving via the other entrance to the fort, so as to watch Charles properly as he twists and stabs and deflects in a flurry of elegant movements. He decides against it. Too many questions. The man may realise what Haytham is doing, and he doesn't have any real excuse for not using the way they entered.

Haytham turns on his heel and stalks southward. They'll meet with the others back at the Green Dragon Inn. He makes a mental note to thank Hickey for that mess with the blacksmith, after all, if it wasn't for that particular afternoon he'd not have had the chance to survey Charles' brilliantly brutal movements today.

Oh my god what is even happening I HAVE MORE QUESTIONS NOW...

I really do enjoy your take on Altair and I love your dialogue! It flows nicely uGH IM SO GLAD YOU UPDATED I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WOULD SOON.

Thank you!

What questions? XD

Oh God that was intense. T_T Haytham still loving Connor despite his betrayal, and yet punishing him all the same...

Can't wait see what happens next!

OMG, I have a fill, and a great one at that!

OP likes where this is going. Also, the difference between being a Templar and an accessoire to another Templar, so to speak, is a very good idea. And I like your characterisation of Charles, polite, but despite being an Omega still with the temper we know he has slumbering in him.

And yey for Spado being there. :) I'm looking forward to the next part.

This is amazing! I love where this is headed - I love how seamlessly the Alpha/Omega elements fit in and I love how you've made Charles and I love that Spado's there! Your writing is beautiful and I can't wait until the next installment!

Dear writer!anon,

This is actually everything I wanted, and a little bit more. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FILLING THIS AAHHH.

So I'm not sure where to post my comment now. Haha I feel like if I post directly under fill 3, then it could get easily overlooked.

But yes, I just wanna say that I've enjoyed the hell out of your fills so far! On the edge of my seat for the next update!

This was so CUTE -- good job anon

Could someone write a few snippets on those two years where Hickey was just an assistant to Johnson before being inducted into the order?

Maybe Hickey has to tag along with Johnson as he goes to trade with the Kanien'kehá:ka, acting as kind of a more bored bodyguard than anything. Not really understanding his function in his new assignment.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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