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
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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Yay, part 2! I enjoyed hearing things from Charles' perspective as well. Can't wait to read the rest of this story!

When I saw this prompt I was praying for Ziio
and you gave it to me.
bless you anon.
Bless you.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine anyone would fill this prompt with Ziio. I'd hoped, but didn't think...

Just. Yes. Unf. It was delicious. XD THANK YOU ANON!!!

Holy shit. The choking. Oh my. I didn't even know I wanted that until you wrote it.

I was picturing evil!Charles (the way we see him later in the game) right up until the end, and then it was all sweet!Charles (the way we see him at first).

Thank you Anon!!! :D

alksjd al;slaksdj fla;si asl;dkjfasjdf;aslkd

I'd had a rough day today, and I come home to not one, but TWO AWESOME FILLS.

My brain shorted out. I dropped everything and read them both (my cat is still pissed at me about that).

THANK YOU BOTH AGAIN FOR THE WONDERFUL FILLS! HEEE!!! Both my OTP's and two bottom!Haytham's.

I just. Unf. *runs off for re-reads*

*snicker* RapeTruck!Robert?!

I have this sudden image of a Templar!Decepticon raping an Assassin!Autobot.

It was a long day okay? IDEK.

So I never thought I'd say this, but I sort of missed the minstrels in ACIII.

...okay, so that's a complete and utter lie, but I'd love to see how Connor, or Haytham and his Templar lackeys (or all of the above?) would react to minstrels running around Boston or New York or even one of the villages in the frontier.

What would happen if one cornered our touch-despising Connor?

Maybe Charles Lee is out doing Templar-y things and can't seem to lose his singing "friend"?

What would happen if one took a liking to Haytham and decided to serenade him--as he was trying to stealthily climb up a building?

Or what if one trailed Ziio all around the frontier as she tried to track down Haytham for a "meeting"?

Or...? Doesn't matter, just make it cracky and funny

this is the 'brb' anon! according to the oxford dictionary, 'chimera' can be used to refer to a fantasy or illusion, so… yeah… also, very mild forsaken spoilers ahead.

i hope this is all right, anon!

Haytham struggles against his bonds in vain. He is on his knees, his wrists bound securely in front of him to a heavy desk. Not impossible to escape, but difficult enough for this fantasy to have some degree of realism. His weapons are gone, his hidden blade no longer on his wrist.

"Charles, what are you doing?" he asks, haughtily. "Charles, untie me this instant!"

There are footsteps behind him, and Haytham has difficulty wrenching his head to the side, to look upon the man leering at him like a piece of meat.

"That's not going to happen, sir," Charles replies, voice respectful despite the smirk twisting his lips. He steps forward, and crouches. He grabs Haytham's ponytail, and tugs sharply to pull the ribbon off. Haytham hisses in pain. Charles flicks his hat off, too. It lands in the corner of the room.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"What I've always wanted to, sir. You." Charles' voice is low, dangerous, but he's still so terribly polite. His mouth brushes against the shell of Haytham's ear. A hand slides up his back and digs into his shoulder, threateningly.

"I- I don't--" Haytham begins, stammering in a way he hopes conveys shock. "Explain yourself!"

"I think this is going to explain everything for me, sir."

He hears the sharp noise of a blade-- his hidden blade-- engaging. He lets out a soft gasp, goes very still. He can feel the blade trail lightly down his clothes, and the hand on his shoulder defty unties his cloak, yanks it off.

"Killing me is a bad idea, Charles--" Haytham begins, warningly.

"I'm not going to kill you, sir," Charles laughs, and somehow it sounds wrong. "I'm simply going to teach you a lesson. One you sorely need, might I add."

Haytham is silent a moment, as though pondering his possible courses of action, limited as they are.

"Lesson?" he asks. The blade is back, lightly pressed against his jacket.

"Oh, yes, sir. If it's not enough that you've been endangering the Order's plans and ideals, you've been fraternising with the enemy. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were the enemy. You need to do your job, Haytham. You need to be reminded of what it is you stand for."

The blade dips lower, suddenly, brushing against the seam running down his arse.

"Fraternising?!" Haytham snaps. "Last I spoke to an assassin, I was ten years old!"

"You think that native whore isn't one of them? Why do you think she's halting our plans?" Charles demands, slipping one hand under Haytham's jacket and waistcoat, untucking his shirt. "Why are you letting her?"

"She's just trying to protect her people," Haytham replies, beseechingly. He tugs at the ropes again, hopefully. "We need to--"

"We need to absolutely nothing! Why do you care so much for the savages?!" All traces of respect are gone from Charles' voice. His fingers curl under the waistband of Haytham's breeches, and he slices through the fabric effortlessly. Haytham shudders at the sensation, of metal not-quite-sliding against skin.

"Charles? What are you--" Haytham tries to twist, to get away from the fingers now curled in the ruins of his breeches. Charles gives him a harsh blow to the cheek for that. Haytham grunts in pain, even though it doesn't hurt very much. He wants to make this as real as he can for Charles while it lasts: every man has a particular way of relieving stress and anger, and they've played with stranger fantasies than this.

Charles tears the remaining fabric from Haytham's arse, and runs a hand along the exposed skin. A good thing that particular pair of breeches were old and worn and seldom used anymore.

"Charles," he tries again. "Charles, stop. This isn't funny, I--"

He yelps as Charles squeezes, just a little too hard. He allows his breathing to shudder, for his voice to crack. He pulls at his bonds again, desperately.

"Christ, Charles, just stop for a minute and think!" Haytham snarls, only to have one cool hand wrap around his throat. The fingers tighten dangerously. A threat.

The fingers digging into his buttocks relax, and slip off his skin. He hears the sound of buttons being undone, and a deep breath. He swallows, trying to will his body to relax. He took the precaution of very thoroughly preparing himself not long ago, and Charles promised to use extra grease.

Charles hesitates, and Haytham doesn't blame him. These kinds of make-believe scenes have an euphoric aftermath, and more often than not are extremely enjoyable for at least one of them… but this isn't the same. It's more painful, more raw, more emotional. Though Haytham is a willing participant, he knows Charles is almost crippled with worry.

He gives a soft cough, the signal "it's all right", and speaks again, his voice trembling, absolutely wrecked.

"C-Charles?" he stammers, casting his mind back to the most painful moments of his life. His father's death, his mother's practically vegetative state thereafter, Braddock's slaughter of the innocent, the people he had failed to save. He has to really concentrate for his breath to start to shudder, and for moisture to gather in his eyes.

Charles regains his composure, and slips a couple of slick fingers inside him. He chuckles bitterly.

"Loose already? You whore. Was it Diio or a gentleman of the night?"

"Her name is Ziio," Haytham replies, weakly. The hand around his throat tightens again, constricting his oxygen intake a little. Haytham gasps and croaks, to complete the illusion, tugging at his bonds again.

"I don't care," Charles says. He removes his fingers, and there is the wet sound of fluid being applied to flesh. He grips Haytham's hip with an oily hand, and thrusts inside in one smooth motion. Haytham cries out, as though this is agony. There is a little burn, from stretching, but he's all right.

"Sorry," Haytham chokes. "I'm so sorry, please just stop, please--"

The hand on his throat is removed, and Charles grabs his tousled hair and wrenches his head backwards, and this actually does hurt a little. Haytham moans a little louder than the ache really warrants, and he concentrates on the agony he'd felt when he was ten years old and couldn't go to his only friend's funeral. His breath hitches, and the first tear leaks from his eyes.

"You need to learn," Charles hisses, and he rocks back and thrusts again. The rhythm he settles into is one of efficiency for him. The point of this is not for Haytham's enjoyment, that will come later.

Haytham lets out groans of pain and shuddering breaths and choked gasps and slurred pleas for this to stop- none of the words the real signal to stop. He allows his body to tremble, for his muscles to spasm, for tears to drip down his face and for Charles to use him as he needs.

It takes only a few minutes for Charles to moan especially desperately and his body to stiffen and his hips to stutter and for heat to flood Haytham.

Afterwards, Charles withdraws carefully, and unties Haytham's hands from the desk. Charles helps him straighten his spine, massages his shoulders and wipes the dampness from his face as Haytham cleans himself and removes the tattered remains of his trousers.

"Are you all right?" Charles is clearly anxious. His touch is worshipful once more. He cups the reddened part of Haytham's face, obviously wondering if his skin will bruise.

"Fine, thank you," Haytham takes a few deep breaths, and gives him a reassuring kiss. "Feel better?"

Charles nods, clearly somewhat ashamed. Really, though, Haytham thinks, if either of them ought to be ashamed, it's Haytham himself. What sort of man allows himself to be used in such a way, by another man, no less?

"I'm sorry," Charles begins, hesitantly.

"Don't be," Haytham replies. He strokes Charles' arm tenderly. "It went well, didn't it?"

Charles nods, looking a little relieved. Clearly, though, Haytham's reassurance is not quite enough.

"Shall I take care of you, then?"

Haytham nods his assent, and lowers himself into the desk chair somewhat gingerly, watching Charles sink to his knees.

Could Anon get a Mamma Mia-ish story?

Connor is going to get married to Washington (or Clipper) and wants his father there, the only thing is, he doesn't know who his father is! Enter Haytham, Charles and *INSERT OTHER TEMPLAR HERE* (I was thinking maybe William or Thomas.) He thinks he'll be able to tell his who his father is at first glance but NOPE. Now he has three men, all believing they're his dad, all wandering the Homestead and finding out more and more about their apparent estranged son.

I think that's about it, whether it's Ziio or Achilles playing the part of the mother is up to WriterAnon. Also sexy times are not necessary but are encouraged.

It's my personal headcanon that Charles is a fan of erotic asphyxiation so I had to throw that in there haha

And that's exactly how you were supposed to see him so I'm glad for that! I imagine that Charles is mostly always the way we see him in the beginning around Haytham, it's just that Connor hates him (for good reason) so obviously when we're playing through his point of view, we're not going to see sweet Charles.

No problem, OP!

Yes, perfect. This KM lacks Haytham/Ziio and this was just perfect.

first Charles/Haytham anon here

omg this was so awesome! I love how you have Haytham drawing on his past experiences to try and make it more belivae for Charles and this was really so hot. Awesome job! :)

seconding this for Connor/Clipper! and also just for the pure hilarity of it all, especially the idea of Achilles playing the part of Connor's mother. much as I love Ziio, that's just hilarious to me.

DID SOMEONE SAY NICE DE SABLE???

Are you the author!anon writing that Robert/Kadar a few pages back by any chance?

Thirded! Fourthed! Someone please write RapeTruck!Robert! :D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D

adshfgk thank you so much I absolutely adore your fill! <3

I love Spado so much! I had no idea that the real Charles Lee loved Pomeranians so much and it just made my life. ;u; My headcanon is that Haytham and Charles are in a serious relationship but just dating and Connor moves between houses every other week or something like thattt

Will do. Just fixing up some problems I saw in the first two chapters. Glad you enjoy!

First time trying to write sleepy sex. But I’m a fan of lazy/slow sex fics, so it wasn’t too hard for me to imagine how it would go. I hope this is okay!

----------

Haytham realized he had spent too much time without seeing Connor when the presence of anyone who wasn’t his son annoyed the hell out of him. In a sense, the feeling itself annoyed him even more. It got incredibly out of hand when the mere touch of Charles made him frown in disgust. Charles Lee, the only man he trusts with his life, the only one around he would consider a friend. It killed him inside and he only wished he could make it stop but he had long gone past the point of no return.

In his hand rested a letter, one he received during the morning. The assassins had last be seen leaving Boston, going in direction of the Frontier. Sighing, Haytham held the letter in front of a candle sitting by his desk, letting it burn. Connor wouldn’t return to New York any time soon and it made something inside him stir with anger, but mostly, annoyance.

----------

It wasn’t until two weeks later that Haytham entered his room to find the boy slowly removing his bracelets and assassin attire. Connor glanced at him, but didn’t stop. He proceeded to remove everything but his undershirt and breeches, laying everything neatly (although without folding them) on top of the single table.

“How was the mission? Anything on Church yet?” For lack of what to say, Haytham figured starting with the main objective was a nice start.

“Yes.” Connor practically dragged himself to the bed and threw himself on top of it, laying flat on his belly. “But we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Haytham raised a brow at the sight. “Tired, aren’t we? Do all assassins survive on this little stamina?”

Connor didn’t move a muscle. His lack of response to Haytham’s jab made it clear he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. It was too bad Haytham had been waiting for his return for far too long to comply.

Sighing in defeat, he proceeded to do the same - removed his belts, coat, bracers, boots and hat, organizing everything besides Connor’s mess on the table. He frowned at it. When would the boy ever learn to fold his clothes properly?

If Connor was surprised when Haytham slipped in the bed behind him, he didn’t show it. The boy could at least face him. Haytham wasn’t one to cuddle - or to want any sort of proximity, but there was something about him - about them, he reminded himself that he had been the same with Ziio as well - there was just something about them that made him want to stay. To be close. To touch. To want.

And he wanted Connor, even if the Assassin was too tired to even look at him properly.

Dragging himself closer, Haytham traced patterns on his son’s back with his fingers. He glided them up and down his back over the thin layer of linen. Still no response. He approached his neck then, just barely brushing his lips against skin. There was definitely a small moan as Connor breathed out this time. Smiling in victory, Haytham let his hand slip under his shirt, caressing the boy’s back with his tips.

“You were gone for an entire month. Is this how your return is supposed to be?”

“Tomorrow.” His voice is slurred, almost as if on automatic.

“I want it now.” He smiled against Connor’s neck, licking his lips and letting his tongue touch skin purposefully.

“Hng.” He shifted a little, turning sideways so that his back fit perfectly against Haytham’s frame. “Impatience is one of your greatest flaws, father.”

Haytham took advantage of the position, running his fingers over his belly instead. The hard muscle relaxed under his touch and he brought two fingers up to a nipple, caressing it gently. When his son let another low moan escape, his snorted, trying to conceal a smile.

“Impatient though I may be, considering how much you seem to be enjoying this, ‘flaw’ is hardly the way to describe it, son.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by that.”

Haytham took the opportunity to lick and scrape his shoulder, leaving trails of wet kisses and bites all over the back of his neck. “Of course you don’t.” Moving up slowly, he breathed against his son’s ears. “Just keep your eyes closed and let me take care of this.”

The boy didn’t complain, not that he expected him to. He kept on kissing his shoulder while his hands brought the boy’s shirt as high as possible. He knew Connor wouldn’t let him remove them, tired as he was, but he didn’t particularly mind. Haytham wanted to make this enjoyable for both of them. A welcome for Connor, a reward for doing his job properly while also taking care of his needs.

His hands took full advantage of the situation. He slipped one under the boy’s torso and pinched his other nipple lightly, twisting it under his fingers. His other hand made small movements up and down until he was tired of dawdling and finally touched below his waist. Haytham promptly loosened his breeches with one hand and caressed his half hard member slowly. A quick stroke and Connor was leaning into the touch almost imperceptibly. But Haytham saw it; felt his hips slightly moving forward to rub against his hand.

Oh how he loved this. Who would have guessed Connor would enjoy contact when he's too tired to pretend he dislikes the feel of his father’s hands all over his body? Haytham wanted nothing more than to preserve this memory forever.

His fingertips traced Connor's erection from base to head in a series of ghost trails that made the boy shiver in his arms. When Haytham decided to lace his fingers around him entirely, the boy leaned his head further back, almost tucking it beneath his cheek. Making proper use of the situation, he licked the boy's earlobe, all the while stroking him with agonizingly slow half touches.

His fingertips smeared the precum over the tip, back and forth, running down the entire length all the way to the base. He softly caressed the balls and went back to pumping the engorged shaft and kept it at a steady pace this time. After a while Connor’s breathing became uneven and he started caressing the head with his thumb.

Something incoherent came out under Connor’s breath, but he didn’t catch it. Seemed like an unintelligent mixture of Mohawk and English. Smiling to himself, he proceeded to join his groin to Connor’s arse, rubbing it leisurely. He left the abused nipple behind to tilt Connor’s chin back, planting a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Come for me, Connor.”

Haytham increased the pace on his son’s erection, building up according to the boy’s breathing. It quickly became ragged, although it wasn’t nearly as frenetic as some of their past sessions together. He was probably too tired to enjoy this as much as before, but Haytham was absolutely loving every moment of it.

It didn’t take long for Connor to finish. No sounds came out this time and the boy visibly relaxed entirely, almost as if he had been dismantled, while quick spurts of white dirtied Haytham’s hand. Still he kept pumping the boy and slowing it down until he completely finished coming. Satisfied with himself, he planted another quick kiss to the boy’s mouth and let him go. His head immediately feel on the pillow and Haytham smiled to himself, content with the result.

Decided on not letting the opportunity escape, Haytham unlaced his own breeches, freeing himself. He had longed to do this for such a long time that as soon as the thought of it actually happening hit him, he became completely hard, a single bead of precum falling on the mattress. He slid a hand under the base, hissing when even the touch hurt.

Not wasting another second, he guided his member in between his son’s legs. The feeling of the warm linen against his skin made him shiver and he had to bite Connor’s shoulder to stop an involuntary sound (though the boy in question didn’t even seem to notice). He started slow. Gave it a few thrusts, set the pace to his liking. It felt heavenly.

His hands were back to Connor’s torso, hugging him tightly. He increased the pace slightly, rubbing himself against the tight space hard. The linen was sure to give him a burn in the morning, but he would deal with it later, not caring in the least at the moment. There was no way he could let this chance go.

When he came, his breath nearly stopped. He kept on thrusting slowly until he had no more liquid to pour out. He paused, letting his breath caught up with him. Satisfied, he turned to Connor, nuzzling his nose against soft hair.

“Thank you.” he said out in a murmur.

His response was a snore.

Immediately getting up on his elbow, he looked down at Connor’s sleeping face. He wasn’t quite sure which emotion hit him first - surprise because the boy really was tired, anger for being left behind, embarrassment for being angry, disappointment because Connor actually fell asleep while they had sex.

Sighing in defeat, he decided to worry about it the following morning. Even he felt sleepy now. Pulling the blanket over them both, he closed his eyes.

----------

When morning came and the first rays of light hit Connor, he slowly woke up feeling reinvigorated. He inhaled deeply, letting the warm morning scent fill his lungs. It had been a long time since he slept this well.

However, he opened his eyes in surprise when he realized he couldn’t move, for there was something, someone behind him. Looking down, he noticed his father’s hand resting atop his hip and smiled. He faintly remembered the previous night. He honestly wished he had paid it more attention because it was rare for Haytham to do all the work and make Connor feel as good as he felt then. It was a shame the ride back to New York had robbed him of his energy.

Still, he laced his fingers with his father’s.

“Morning, father.”

But the only response he got was a low growl. Chuckling, he slowly turned around in order not to disrupt his still half-asleep father. Just when he faced Haytham entirely, he hissed a little when his member brushed against Haytham’s thighs and glanced down. He was hard already? How could it be possible?

Instinctively he brushed his erection absent-mindedly against the only source of heat besides himself in the bed.

Another growl and Connor stared at him.

“Father.” He tried tapping his shoulder and caressing his cheek, but it only made Haytham angrier if his curved brows were any sign.

“Let me sleep, boy.”

“Like you let me sleep yesterday.”

Haytham sighed, but still did not open his eyes. “Just do what I did to you yesterday and let me sleep.”

Haytham turned his back to the boy. Connor on the other hand, immediately smiled and glued himself to his father. Not wasting any time, he quickly humped between Haytham’s thighs, murmuring ‘father’ again and again until he came.

Brushing his lips against Haytham’s shoulder, he quietly mumbled “Niá:wen”.

Not the expected angst, but one of a different sort...

//runs and hides//

Warning: char death

His Mother’s Son

Journal of Haytham Lee, aged 12

I can’t believe it.

I...I really can’t.

It’s not real, it didn’t happen.

IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.

It’s not fair, why...?

Grandfather. Uncle.

They’re good people. Grandfather didn’t like the riots and everything, but he was working to help them, in Congress. He was trying really, really hard. And Uncle was just one his way to visit me and Mother.

Mother’s showing a lot and is tired all the time now because of the twins, and Uncle only wanted to come visit and help him.

Why?

They weren’t even supposed to be together! Grandfather was supposed to come today, but his schedule changed so he started early. And Uncle only made a stop at the store in Boston to get Mother a few things.

It’s not fair.

It’s really, really not fair.

They weren’t even supposed to be there!

Just...

Mr. Collins said that they can’t even prosecute anyone, because no one knows who did it. That mob formed when Grandfather and Uncle happened to be around, and there was so much chaos that no one knows who actually...

They’re all in jail now, but Mr. Collins says that unless we can figure out who did it, they’ll have to be let go.

The jail doesn’t have a lot of money either. They can’t afford to feed them.

This isn’t...

Uncle and Grandfather were good men. Grandfather is smart and a good Senator. Uncle is funny and strong and amazing.

That’s what really gets me, you know?

Bad things happen, I know. Like when Father hit Mother. Strange accidents happen, and you wonder why afterwards.

But these are really good people. They weren’t even supposed to be there.

Everyone will feel bad for Grandfather. Because he was a Senator from New York.

But Uncle...

Mother’s really sad about it. I am too. But everyone else? They don’t even care.

Because he’s different.

Because he’s Native.

That’s my Uncle.

He’s wonderful and told great stories and taught me to hunt.

He’s been there my whole life and helped Mother and didn’t even tease Father as much as he could have when Father insisted on wearing fancy clothes in the forest and then slipped into a pile of muddy leaves.

He’s gone now, and no one will care?

Except me? Except Mother?

And it’s all because they’re mad that Father isn’t doing more for them?

I just...

Journal, I think I hate them.

WRRRRYYYY... Okay I knew Haytham couldn't die of old age, but to be murdered by an angry mob? And Kanon too??? That's just... arghh!

Charles is probably going to snap really soon.

A/N: author!anon has a headache, so there maybe more grammar mistakes than usual

There was no pain this time. Not after the hasty preparation and his insides still slick from his husband's seed from their previous session. Still there was some mild discomfort that came with impaling himself upon Charles' erection. But it paled against the shock of pleasure that ran up his spine when that rigid cock made contact with that cluster of nerves inside of him

Connor tossed his head back over his shoulders and moaned loudly, uncaring if it disturbed the entire household. Once again, his body was blissfully on fire. Perspiration dewed upon his skin. His hands grasped at the bedding, twisting them in a fierce grip as he continued to lower himself down.

Just when the pressure was about to become too much, finally - finally! - the ample erection was all the way inside of him. He panted heavily, dizzy from pleasurable heat, and struggled for a moment to hold himself still. When Connor's vision finally cleared, he tilted his head up and gazed down at his husband with half-lidded eyes.

The look on Charles' face was indescribable. He remained perfectly still, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. Blue-gray eyes were clouded with lust, which was nothing new to the Omega when they were like this, but there was something about the way his mate stared at him now. The expression looked very similar to the one he wear earlier that day, when Connor stood his ground and had simply been dismissed after assaulting one of his husband's henchmen.

Perhaps he was over thinking things. Now was not the time for such in-action, not when his body demanded more stimulation for its own release. Connor had expected Charles to move first, order him to begin, or make some lewd comment. Surprisingly, his husband was still and mute. It was actually refreshing, but he would not wait.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and rolled his hips experimentally. He shivers at the small sparks of delight that comes from the movement, but they're overshadowed quickly when the body beneath him jerks. The throbbing member inside him pulses and nudges against that perfect spot, eliciting a needy moan from his lips.

Connor hates how desperate the sound is to his own ears.

He hates this blasted heat that is the cause of such erratic licentious behavior.

He hates being an Omega period.

He is an Assassin: one who takes lives, not birth them!

Connor wants to scream in frustration, but he moans instead. His traitorous body, as it moves despite his disgust, raising and lowering himself upon his most hated enemy's cock. The Omega wishes it hurt more. At least the pain would remind him that he was being raped. He feels like a dog, with his breath came out in harsh pants. The heat spreads and gathers between his legs, where his own neglected arousal throbbed hotly. His back suddenly arched upwards, eager to draw his Alpha deeper inside of him.

Such a disgrace... vile... disgusting, absolutely disgusting!

What would his proud mother think of him?

What of his wise mentor?

What of his close comrades and friends?

What would his beloved George think if he saw him?

"You're so beautiful..."

Connor remembers those few but meaningful intimate moments. He can recall those adoring clear blue eyes staring at him, as if they could not look away even if their beholder's life depended on it. The warm, reverent touch of a hand upon his skin before it reluctantly drew away. The Commander softly whispering into his ear, how he longed to have him, but felt that his patience would be rewarded once they were married.

Connor also remembers those horrified blue eyes as they watched helplessly as he was defiled. He wonders if he's still beautiful in them. Or would his then-to-be husband see the claimed Omega as unsightly rubbish after Lee had polluted him?

The larger form underneath him suddenly moves, thrusting upwards each time Connor lowers himself down. He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and tries to banish the face of his beloved in his mind. The last thing the Omega ever wants to imagine, as he snakes a hand down to stroke himself, are those beautiful eyes narrowed in disgust.

His body stills as large hands leave his waist to map out his chest. Cool fingertips probe at his naked skin, tracing his muscles as they explored their territory. He hissed as fingers pinch his nipples, twisting them slowly. Connor tensed, causing his tender inner walls to clench involuntary around the invading girth.

A harsh breathless chuckle filled his ear.

"It's amazing... you still feel like a delicious virgin."

He had missed the silence. Why did his husband have to ruin things by talking? The Templar seriously loved the sound of his own voice.

"So tight and hot..." Charles groaned as he thrust upwards once more, but with Connor clenched so tightly around him, it was almost difficult to move. "I doubt I shall ever tire of your body..."

The hands on his bare chest descended. One planted itself upon his hip, encouraging him to move once more. The other lay upon Connor's hand, that was wrapped around his arousal, and began guiding its strokes while gently applying more pressure.

He gasped and moaned, moving again at a savage pace. His knees protested at the motion, but the Assassin could easily ignored the ache. His body was used to physical exertion; it had been trained to endure running, leaping, and climbing. There were even times where he had to squat upon a building ledge or tree branch for hours, waiting for his target to come out into the open.

What Connor still was unused to was the rippling pleasure - warm, thick, and intoxicating - that coursed through his body upon climax. His vision flared white when he finally opened his eyes and cried out. He's distantly aware of his seed spurting between his fingers, and the wet hear filling his belly. With Charles' voice joining his, he was certain that the entire manor - including the henchmen patrolling outside - all knew what their master was doing if they had not known already.

Connor wonders if George, wherever he was imprisoned at, had heard them.

The Templar would be that cruel to keep the Commander close by but out of reach, just like on their wedding day. With that in mind, Connor glances over to the side of the bed and half expects to see his love standing there watching. As Charles ravishes his mouth, the Omega wonders what emotion he would see reflected in those sky blue eyes.

Pity?

Disgust?

Betrayal?

His heart clenches tightly in his chest with guilt. The scorching heat is finally gone, leaving him cold and exhausted from the three rounds (including when he was ordered to relieve himself) with his Alpha. Connor did not even want to think of the next two days, or however long his heat cycle plagued him this time. His arms and knees trembled from exertion, and once Charles pulled away, he gingerly climbed off and rolled away.

The Omega does not make it far. Collapsing near the edge of the bed - as far as his husband will allow him - and curls up on his side. Connor could feel his Alpha's intense stare upon his back even as the Templar climbed out of bed to snuff out the candles, blanketing the room in darkness save for the lingering glow from the fireplace and moonlight shining through the windows.

He feels the large bed dip with the added weight, and his blood chills as the Templar reaches out and lays an arm across his side. Fingers splayed over his stomach and Connor tensed in fear. He was afraid Charles would pull him into another embrace, another cage he would not be able to break out of.

Fortunately, his tormentor finally decided to take pity on him. Connor let out a quiet sigh of relief as he felt the hand pull away even if the Alpha's predatory gaze remained fixated on him. For several minutes, husband and wife lay awake in oppressive silence, both eagerly waiting for sleep to claim them.

Connor's eyes grew heavy, dull, leaden as he stared into the darkness that reminded him of the black cloak his beloved used to wear upon his shoulders. In his rare moments of vulnerability, George would wrap the dark fabric around them both and pull him into a protective embrace.

"Shhh... I'm here."

Once again, he could not stop the tears that flowed from his eyes and dampened the pillow beneath his head. His entire body shook as he sobbed quietly into the sheets that had been draped over him. He continued to cry silently even as sleep finally claimed him.

'George, my love, please... please forgive me!'

A/N: More porn and angst, lather, rinse, repeat. Hopefully there will be more plot in the next part

Loved the addition of Connor wondering about Washington in this. It's so...fitting, in a way. You can really see the erosion of Connor's self-esteem.

//cuddles Connor//

Nice inclusion of Charles secretly liking it when Connor takes control (even if it's only an illusion) and acts like Haytham. Oh Charles, still pining after your leader...

Soon, but still a few more installments in between. :)

I know i already told you all my thoughts on Ao3 but i will here too i JUST REALLY LOVE this development and how dark you are making it.

ok my questions - as previously stated - are slowly being answered. I was wondering where malik was and if altair would get out of the anumus and if lucy was really on their side and if they would escape/??? hHHhh

this is coming together so well I CAN'usefwgr REINCARNATION.....PLEASE REALIZE SOON YOU TWO I MEAN ALTAIR IS ALREADY..>COME ON MALIK...

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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Re: Heel [2/?]

Re: Fill: Helpless 1/1 (TW: non-con/dub-con, light bondage, light physical abuse)

OP here

OP here

OP here (again)

Re: WHAT THE HELL OP

Revenge of the Minstrel

Chimera (1/1)

I have to tell two they're surplus, only which two?

writeanon

Re: Fill: Helpless 1/1 (TW: non-con/dub-con, light bondage, light physical abuse)

Re: Chimera (1/1)

Re: I have to tell two they're surplus, only which two?

Re: WHAT THE HELL OP

Re: Guards/Altair

Re: The Super Important Assassin Mission [1/?]

Re: Citadel 2c/?

Back to back (ConHayth)

His Mother's Son 10

Re: His Mother's Son 10

Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 21/?

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 21/?

Re: His Mother's Son 10

OP