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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Part 1
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Apologies for how long this installment took, but at the same time thank you so much for the wonderful comments. On the plus side though, this one did end up being quite long (although whether that's a good thing is debatable).

Never compromise the Brotherhood. Connor remembers with clarity the first time he heard those words. He had only been at the manor for a couple of days when Achilles had sat him down for what all the novices fondly referred to as The Talk. Several hours later the mentor had finished his highly condensed history of their cause with a strong reiteration of the creed's three tenets. It had been a lot to absorb at the time but he had been fresh, keen and burning with a curiosity to know more. However he could never forget the emphasis that had been placed on that last one; yes, you should never harm an innocent, that was a given, and yes, you should be a blade in the crowd, but the last came above all. Compromising the Brotherhood is the gravest of transgressions. Time and again after that day it had been drilled into him, into them all. The repetition seems to have been rather in vain though.

Somewhere, in a part of his mind that isn't entirely preoccupied with the invasion of his mouth, he knows that he's doing a very dangerous thing. In failing to pull away he has already failed the creed. It should worry him how little he actually cares about that prospect, but there are more important things to focus on, such as the hand slipping round his waist and pulling him closer. To be fair, if he's honest with himself he was already compromised before this mission was even conceived. Haytham has been figuring all too prominently in his thoughts and dreams ever since the liberation of Southgate, there can be no doubt that he's fast developing feelings for the Templar that he shouldn't. Maybe once he can think properly again he'll do something about the serious problem. Or maybe he won't.

Needing to breathe is what ultimately separates them, even though they remain mostly tangled together. Neither of them seem particularly inclined to let go of each other just yet. Connor tells himself that its the coldness of the bitter wind that makes him duck his head to rest against the man's chest, burrowing slightly closer. A sense of safety and protection floods through him as the arms wrap a little tighter around him in response, of a strength he hasn't felt in a very long time. Even so he knows that he's in real trouble now. This wasn't supposed to happen, not by a long shot. But he can still turn this to his advantage, he can still pretend that this is all just part of the plan.

A loud crash from inside the tavern causes him to lift his head, body immediately tensing. He almost misses the way Haytham's grip on him reflexively tightens at the suggestion of danger. Both of them fix their attention on the door, each glaring without the other noticing. Apparently whoever is on the other side of it senses the sheer weight of displeasure being directed their way as it remains distinctly shut. Nevertheless the distraction has served as enough of a reminder. Not safe.

'We should move on.' Sufficiently called back to his senses, the young Assassin firmly pushes the man away and takes a decisive step backwards. It takes a great deal of restraint for him not to take a fair few more. Running feels like his best option right now, as it is becoming quite clear that he cannot seem to safety spend any time alone in close quarters with the Templar. He already has useful inside information, the others wouldn't blame him for retreating.

Respecting the move, Haytham tucks his hands calmly behind his back and agrees. 'An excellent idea.'

Together they move off down the road, keeping pace, to head deeper into the sparse collection of buildings that make up the frontier town. It makes sense as a course of action, there could easily be another inn within its limits and for his companion's sake Connor hopes there is. Even he would be reluctant to return to the woods were he bound to stay on the ground, as starving predators made bolder by cover of night are no doubt lurking near the edges of the settlement in search of easy prey. Anyway he sincerely doubts that the grandmaster would want to attempt sleeping in the treetops, not to mention the problems he'd have just getting him up there unless there was a ladder close to hand. But, having taken his leave so abruptly last time, the teenager remains somewhat uncertain as to what exactly happens next.

A not-uncomfortable but still expectant silence hangs between the pair as they walk. Keeping his eyes down, making sure that he doesn't look anywhere near Haytham's face, the novice tries not to think too much. Obviously they are going to have to talk about what happened between them there at some point, for as much as he tries to pretend otherwise he doesn't want to act as if nothing has changed. And although the other man is giving him space, he gets the feeling that his companion doesn't either. Not that he's actually giving him much space. It's as if the Templar expects him to bolt or try slipping away again at any moment. Only a small step away he is clearly ready to put quick a stop to any such attempts at escape, Connor's not sure whether he should be flattered or worried.

Ultimately they don't have to go all that far before finding themselves in the shadow of another inn, much to the younger's relief, one that looks a little more promising in terms of peace. A warm glow falls through the windows onto the snow and he has to admit that it does look rather inviting in comparison to the alternatives. The timely arrival does throw up a problem however, given that the pair have yet to speak or make any sort of tactical decision. Although this doesn't seem to occur to Haytham who is quick to head for the promise of shelter as if there is nothing to be discussed first. Uncertain and caught between warring impulses, however, Connor hesitates.

His companion senses the pause, halting after only an extra couple of steps and raising an eyebrow. 'Necessity is at least half a day's travel from here. There is no more that can be done about it tonight at any rate.'

Already at work mentally weighing up his best options, the novice simply nods by way of acknowledgement. He's fairly confident that Lexington's outskirts should offer a barn of some sort, or maybe even a stable, with a decent stock of clean hay to bed down in for the night. A bit of a risk, true, but one he's happy to take under the circumstances. It'll be much warmer, and generally safer, than returning to the trees or trying to find anything further out in the wilderness. If he gets moving soon he can probably find such shelter and be properly settled before the snow starts to really fall again. Daybreak will wake him naturally enough, so he can be back here in plenty of time to make sure his 'ally' hasn't had a change of heart and decided to disappear on him.

Keen to get out of the rapidly declining weather as soon as possible, Connor tries to decide which direction would yield the fastest results. His foot has barely moved to take the first step before a hand latches onto him, accompanied by the unamused inquiry: 'Going somewhere?'

'Apparently not.' Forced to meet the pair of interrogative eyes the Assassin finds himself abruptly at a loss as heat rises to his face. Ashamed of himself as he already is, he still knows that given the opportunity he could quite easily find himself kissing the man again. He can practically hear Achilles telling him what a fool he is. Self-consciously he weakly tries to pull away, more as a gesture of discomfort and defiance than actual escape attempt.

Haytham practically growls in response. 'I didn't go through all that just to let you go walking off into a blizzard.'

'I am not your responsibility.' Crossing his arms, as much as possible given the way that the man just won't let go of him, Connor bristles and stands his ground. Of course, he'd rather not go walking off into the blizzard thank you, but this is a matter of principle. Not to mention sanity.

'No, but that doesn't mean I will leave you out here to freeze to death.' Tone exasperated, his manner indicates that he would much rather be having this conversation in the warm. Or that he would rather not be having it at all.

'My people are perfectly used to coping with these sorts of conditions.' Internally warring with himself over whether to close off and pushing his companion away, he ends up adopting an increasingly defensive stance. It's not what he wants and it's no good for the mission but he's still very much tying himself up in knots. Really the teenager thinks he manages to pull off a very convincing retort, which is almost immediately undermined by no fault of his own as an unfortunately-timed shiver courses through his body.

Taking that for an invitation, Haytham promptly step right into his personal space. 'That may be, but you're already half-frozen. Don't make me drag you inside.'

It is clearly meant as a serious threat, from the look being directed at him Connor knows that it will be carried out with no hesitation. And he could really rather do without that sort of embarrassment. Still a little reluctant, he nevertheless gives in. Spending the night within the walls of an inn is an undeniably alluring prospect, almost better even than that solitary sleep in a barn. Of course, it is hardly the best of ideas under present circumstances. He's really not sure he trusts himself to be sharing quarters with the grandmaster. As much as he would like to get the chill out of his bones, he doubts that he'll end up getting much sleep this way. No is obviously not being taken for an answer however.

Although, he reasons as Haytham insistently shepherds him inside, the more time he spends in the Templar's company the more likely he is to discover other information of use to the Brotherhood. Besides, the whole point of this exercise is to gain the man's trust and confidence. Obviously to do that he has to take some risks, do some questionable things. They can't blame him, really. As the door swings shut his companion seems reluctant to withdraw too far, although he does at least let go now. He probably still thinks that the teenager is going to bolt at the first chance. However as Haytham moves off in search of the premises' proprietor he leaves him where he has stopped, with a few backward glances. The frozen novice barely notices, his attention already captured completely elsewhere.

Compared to the main room of the tavern it is fairly subdued, with no conversations rising above the general murmur and absolutely no loud, drunken soldiers. Focal point of the space is a large, roaring fireplace around which a fair number of patrons have pulled up their seats to better appreciate the ample heat it is giving off. It is one of those individuals clustered near the flames that arrests Connor's attention. For draped across a chair, with boots propped up casually on an adjacent stool, holding a newspaper up at a somewhat odd angle, sits a rather nonchalant-looking Dobby. He knows without a doubt that she's aware of him even before she lowers the paper to shoot him a small, surreptitious yet jaunty little wave. Making only a vague gesture of recognition and greeting in return, he has to admit that he's more than a little thrown. She can only be there for one reason; the Brotherhood is keeping an eye on him.

Really that ought to reassure him, it really doesn't. Achilles can't already doubt him, can he? Mentally shaking himself, the young Assassin does his best to squash the suspicion and the sudden rush of guilt it provokes. Maybe he has compromised the Brotherhood, just a little, but he hasn't done anything that serious. All he really did was kiss the man, it's not like he announced his affiliation or handed over directions to the homestead after all. No need to feel this way. Besides, the others are probably doing it in order to make sure he's safe, and alive. Watching out for him instead of just watching him. Yes, the thing to be feared here is the Templar grandmaster. Unless, that is, someone else saw what happened earlier, but then Dobby wouldn't have waved cheerfully at him like that. Would she?

Busy trying to read any further clues in her posture or general demeanour, he wouldn't have noticed the return of the essential cause of all this doubt were it not for the way his fellow novice suddenly stiffens and quickly pulls the newspaper up in order to cover herself up as much as possible. Not wanting to send any extra attention in her direction, just in case, Connor quickly turns away himself and fleetingly meets the man's eyes. For all he can tell Haytham doesn't suspect a thing, but he is far from easy to read. Whatever the Templar is thinking he cannot begin to guess. Well, aside from the obvious as he is gestured towards the stairs, and then closely followed.

At the foot of the stairs he hesitates, glancing in Dobby's direction one last time. She is looking right back at him, as expected, from behind the shield of the broadsheet. They hold each other's gaze for a second and she carefully mouths: 'Safety and peace.'

He cannot risk responding or even reacting to the message, not when a potential enemy is so close behind him. Oh how far away he feels from either safety or peace at that moment. Almost physically caught between allegiances his position feels more perilous to him than it ever has before. The sight of the other Assassin reminds him of what he is, what he stands for and the creed he serves. Yet...

Occupied with his thoughts and his guilts, Connor ends up being waved through a door and is several paces into the room beyond before his brain catches up with his body. The unmistakable sound of the door shutting and the bolt being slid home halts his immediate impulse to turn around. Instead his muscles effectively seize up, tensing with the realisation that he has let himself be trapped so easily. In this area of training he clearly remains lacking. If the other man had wanted to kill him he probably could have done it, could still do it easily enough his mind adds. But no, Haytham needs him alive, and more than that can't possibly suspect his real purpose here yet. Nevertheless, any sense of security he gives the teenager is inherently false.

Intently aware of his surroundings, of the position and movements of the Templar, the novice's fingers begin to itch for the comfort of a weapon or the release of a hidden blade. Trying to cover up the telltale nervous tremors he folds his hands together and simply fidgets them instead. From below the sounds of the bar are still audible, but are not loud enough to drown out every small movement in the room that Connor is picking up on. He wills himself to stop thinking about how loud his own breathing sounds and his face not to start heating up again.

'Preferable to a blizzard, don't you think?' Apparently unfazed in the least, and unaware of the teenager's minor discomfort, his companion brushes past him in order to better assess the accommodation.

Looking it over, he has to agree, at least internally. A window, that is definitely large enough to climb through if needs be, sits in the wall opposite along with a small, thankfully unlit fireplace. What irresistibly draws his eyes is the one, admittedly large, bed that the room boasts. Crossing his arms, Connor wonders if this is what his companion asked for or if there was simply nothing else available, he's not sure which explanation he prefers in all honesty. Best not to focus on where that train of thought leads. Still, it is a decently sized chamber and there is more than enough space at the foot of the bed for him to comfortably lie down in. There's even a good rug in the spot, covering up the slightly less than accommodating wood of the floorboards. While it is tempting to ask for a pillow, its a luxury he can go well enough without. It shouldn't be too hard to sleep there, under the circumstances.

'I will take the floor.' He announces, as resolutely as possible.

'Oh, for goodness sake...' A highly unimpressed look is directed his way. 'Tomorrow may not be an easy day, and it will be a damn sight harder if you aren't properly rested.'

Not expecting to meet quite such decided opposition to his perfectly reasonable proposal, Connor is put on the back foot. 'I am quite used to-'

Waving aside the objection, Haytham cuts him off. 'I'm sure you are. But you have to admit that it is not the most comfortable of choices.'

'Yes, but-'

'No. The bed can accommodate two easily enough and you clearly need the warmth.' Satisfied that there is nothing further to be said on the subject, the grandmaster retires to the other side of the bed, removing his hat and cape as he goes.

Following him with his eyes, the Assassin stays put, not complying but not disobeying either. He remains rather torn, fairly certain that sharing the bed is really a very bad idea. But his body does crave something soft and truly comfortable to rest on after so long and he is sure that his companion is still not going to accept any objections. After all, as the leader of the colonial Order he must be used to being unquestioned. Stubbornness prompts him to hold out longer against agreeing, yet he cannot afford to be too hostile or standoffish. Trying to keep in the mindset of the assignment is becoming a headache. It doesn't exactly help to see just how well-armed the Templar actually is as his various weapons are removed from concealment to be set aside for the night. Then he starts properly undressing and Connor's eyes cannot avert themselves fast enough.

Almost as if he senses the teenager's discomfort Haytham pauses halfway through removing a holster. 'I'd rather not have to argue the point all night.' But I will if you make me.

Inspecting a small, uninteresting crack in the ceiling with almost single-minded determination the novice knows that it's probably best not to prolong this any more than necessary, as much as he wants to. Painfully self-conscious he reluctantly shrugs off his quiver and bow before resting them down carefully. Somewhat tempted to hold onto the hunting knife he nevertheless leaves it with the other weapons and removes his shoes. Refusing to look anywhere near the man or the other side of the room he quickly pulls back the covers and slips in almost fully clothed. Connor also makes a point of lying as close to the mattress' edge as possible, without actually falling out, and curls up semi-protectively while fixing a defiant stare on the wall. At the first excuse he'll be on the floor. Just as much as anything, he doesn't trust himself to be in this position. His stomach clenches and curls with a mixture of tension and anticipation as he simply lies there and waits, ears straining in order to pick up every movement of his companion.

After a torturously long wait the covers pull and the other side of the bed shifts tellingly. He doesn't flinch, not at all. It is something of a relief when the room's only lit lamp is extinguished, plunging them into near-total darkness. The imposed limit of sight is both a blessing and a curse. Connor has an impulse to turn over, to try and get just a look, but he resists it. Narrowly.

Some moments later a loud sigh makes him jump slightly again. 'That cannot be comfortable.'

'It is better than the floor.' Even if it's a concession of an earlier point, it is the easiest retort that comes to mind under the circumstances. At this rate the cold is not going to be much of a problem.

'Connor, I don't bite, moving closer will not kill you.'

Rather than risking the unspoken alternative, the teenager begrudgingly shuffles himself slightly further over. He doesn't dare move far, in case he accidentally ends up almost on top of the Templar, but he shifts far enough to be undeniably on the bed. Rolling onto the floor would take a bit more effort now though. Remaining just as, if not more, tense he tries not to dwell on the proximity. Even if he wasn't in the company of someone known to be such a dangerous enemy, he would still definitely have been at least a little rigid and nervous about it. This is more uncharted territory as far as he's concerned; the only person he's ever slept anywhere near as close to as this was his mother, and that had been many years ago now. The thought makes him start to feel a little lonely, despite himself.

'There now, that wasn't so hard, was it?'

Silence feels like the best tactic at this moment, for if he ignores his companion long enough then he will surely just go to sleep. Only once the man is definitely asleep will Connor be able to properly relax somewhat. He is more unsure than ever about where he stands with the grandmaster, which doesn't really help matters. But now is hardly the time to start addressing that. So he bites his tongue, fights any impulse to so much as twitch, and tries to feign sleep. After what seems like hours, but is probably not all that long at all, he picks up the slow, deep breathing coming from the other side of the bed and decides that he is in the clear.

In order to be sure he waits several minutes longer before allowing the tension in his muscles to ease somewhat. A contented noise almost escapes him, it has, after all, been quite some days since he last slept on a mattress. Years at the homestead have clearly ruined him. He can still sleep more than adequately on the ground, floorboards or anything really but he needs something softer to get a really good night's rest these days. Shifting slightly as he strains his ears for any new sounds of wakefulness the novice is struck with a thought. For a while he debates it silently, the idea is a rather stupid one and it could end up bringing him nothing but trouble. Nevertheless, he can't quite shake it once it has taken root in his mind.

Cursing himself all the while, Connor slowly and gradually pushes himself up on one arm to twist a look over his shoulder. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness, he searches out the shape of the other man beside him. He frowns at the warm, yellow glow he finds, it gives away no clues. Target, person of interest, potentially ally; any of the above, or all of them at once. Admittedly a definite red or blue would have been worse, more clear-cut and thus more damning, but as he considers it he finds himself worryingly unsure as to which of those alternatives he would have preferred to see. But, at least there is no cause for concern that will keep him up all night.

Letting his vision slip back to normal, losing the room in darkness again, he lies back down and throwing caution temporarily to the wind burrows slightly further into the covers. A powerful tiredness is catching up to him, not at all helped by the presence of a pillow after so many nights of absence. Fighting it off is quickly proving futile, and really it is better to face his companion again tomorrow well-rested rather than struggling to stay awake all night keeping watch on him. He is beginning to drift as another, sporadic shiver jolts him, the mattress shifts again and there is suddenly an awfully close body right next to him.

'What are you doing?' Tensing, Connor thinks he can be forgiven for sounding just a bit hostile.

'Relax. Just sharing heat.'

Some moments pass and it seems as if that really is all Haytham is doing. Despite the gentle reassurance he still finds relaxing again rather difficult when he remains so constantly, incredibly conscious of the warm body as his side. But he has already let his exhaustion begin to get the better of him and it proves impossible to fight off for long, especially not with how comfortable he feels. His companion's proximity has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

That night Connor's sleep is dreamless.

I'm glad you like it! I was a little worried because it was more obviously a scene, and not an actual rape, than the other fills, and I wasn't sure how BDSM-y you'd wanted the fills to be and asdfghjkl I'm just really happy you liked, anon. :3

The Hangover assassin's creed style. Altair, Ezio, and Connor get together and throw a party for Desmond who passes his initiation test into the brotherhood. After a crazy night, they wake up with no memory of what happened the night before. Whats worse is Desmond is missing.

Pairing: Don't really care. I don't mind yaoi.

For inspiration click this link: http://askaltmal.tumblr.com/post/41137257377/assassins-hangover-au-in-which-the-four-best

Oh my god writer-anon, I love you! This was so worth the wait, and ILU <3

Connor's panic and anxiety are understandable, and I must admit I am worrying a little what the Brotherhood are going to think about his slightly suspicious behaviour, and if he's ever actually going to tell them that he's sort-of in a relationship with Haytham... Er, as part of the mission, of course. *cough* (Keep kidding yourself, Connor, it's entertaining to watch)

dub or noncon warning

Haytham and Connor are captured by King Washington who decides to use the opportunity to hurt them and humiliate them, so he uses the Apple to compel them to have sex while he watches. They have no choice but to obey, however, they remain fully conscious of what they're doing, which, naturally, is deeply distressing for both of them. Bonus points for:

-Connor is a virgin and deep down he's terrified, both by the idea that this will be his first time and that it's his father who's about to take him
-Haytham can tell he's a virgin so he actually tries his best to be gentle both as a way to rebel against Washington and because he genuinely does care
(-Alternately, ignore the bonus points above and write Connor topping Haytham)
-The Aftermath
-They do it again out of their own free will

Since I know and love Alice (the artist for the ask AltMal blog), I second this prompt with monster truck force.

~~And suggest Shaun as the love interest. XD~~

Seconded (or thirded, whatever) I literally made this post a few pages back XD I WANT THIS DONE PEOPLE.

Seconded, HARDCORE SECONDED.

Aaawww I love caring Papa Haytham

I don't really care what pairing, I've just been craving a rimming fic with AC3 Characters. Pleased someone, anyone, even just a drabble!

There's not nearly enough rimming here :I

Well, this is somewhat creepy, I was thinking about making the same prompt only about a minute ago. D:
Also, seconded.
Also, if the fill is Connor/Haytham I will love you all forever.

This is beautiful omg this needs to be filled

Could this Anon get a fic where Haytham (still young, perhaps teenage years, ie, 16-20) Is with Reginald Birch, still very much trusting him, and gets completely taken advantage of, yes in the way you're thinking of.

I would love it if it started as dub-con and turned into non-con. Haytham agreeing to it first, but Reginald does a shitty job of preparing him (Or doesn't bother with it at all) and he ends up hurt, begging him to stop.

Bonus points:

+50 ~ Begging, any kind any sort.
+100 ~ Dirty talk
+150 ~ Reginald being an ass, basically telling him to suck it up and deal with the pain.
+200 ~ Tears, on Haytham's part.

If you can think of anything else please add it. I'm gonna go hide in the corner of shame now... >////>

yes yes yes yessssss someone please write this

The bed was rocking violently and Connor could hear the headboard hitting against the wall. The gravity of the situation was finally dawning on him. He began to feel a little scared. He wasn’t supposed to be in here right now, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be hearing this. His father’s grunts sounded so unnatural compared to how he usually spoke and Connor knew he was intruding on something very, very personal, Templar business or not. He knew what sex was, but beyond that the act was fun and sometimes produced babies, he was a little fuzzy on the details.

The rocking slowed considerably and Connor lifted his head a little, hoping that they were done.

But then Charles Lee spoke up, his voice a growl. “Haytham!”

“What do you need, Charles?” Haytham purred. Connor found this to be an odd time to ask that question.

“Fuck,” Charles groaned, sounding not too happy about being quizzed. That was another really bad word. Connor had heard Mr. Hickey say it and his father had told Connor to never, ever repeat it. It was becoming apparent he didn’t have the same standards for Charles, because Haytham didn’t stop to reprimand him. “Haytham, more, please.”

His father gave a hoarse chuckle and the bed began to shake again. Clipper had clasped his hands over his ears and was squeezing his eyes shut as if that would block everything out. By his contorted expression, Connor was guessing that he could still hear the sound of the headboard and Charles hissing “Yes, there, Haytham, yes,” again and again.

Connor was at a loss as to what to write in the mission log. This was more frustrating than anything: to be in a prime spying location and his father and Charles Lee were squandering it by just panting and shaking the bed around. He wouldn’t say this mission had been a failure, though. Some missions, like the mission to escape from the schoolyard through a small hole underneath the chain-link fence, had “FAILURE” written across them in red Crayon. But at least he’d found out that his father kept prisoners in the master bedroom and that the Templars were active in Italy. His father was busy with work a lot, but he never told Connor much about it, not about Italy or anything. It must have been a Templar secret.

“Charles, almost—” His father’s voice was tense, like he was holding onto something and trying hard not to let it drop.

Charles’s moans suddenly became much more frantic and higher-pitched. He gasped and the noises he was making trembled. Haytham gave a soft shout and then gradually the bed stop creaking and everything was quiet except for Haytham and Charles’s mingled panting.

Connor glanced over to Clipper with an eyebrow arched in a “Are they done?” sort of expression. Clipper widened his eyes and shrugged.

“Feeling better?” Charles Lee asked teasingly and out of breath. They were shifting on top of the bed again.

Haytham chuckled. “Quite,” he replied. “You always provide an irresistible distraction.”

They were kissing again. Connor made a face. The bed was no longer rattling around, so they must have stopped doing whatever they were doing. He just had to hold out until they left or went to sleep or something. He sort of hoped that his father would go check on him and say goodnight (the pillows Connor had jammed under the blankets would fool him for sure, though), but as he heard them pulling back the sheets, he realized they intended to just go straight to sleep.

The room went dark. Charles and his father were murmuring things to one another but Connor couldn’t make out their soft words. After a while their voices died out and he could hear them both breathing steadily on top of the bed.

Connor was patient, but Clipper was fidgeting all over the place and nudging Connor as if he expected him to just curl up and a take a nap under his father’s bed instead of flee. It was nearly pitch dark, but Connor flashed him a flat look anyway. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he shoved his mission log back into his hoodie pocket. There was no movement from up above. He needed to escape before Clipper started crying or something and ruined all of their hard work.

Connor jerked at Clipper’s shirt to get his attention. The other boy immediately stilled and Connor began to army crawl out from underneath the bed. Clipper followed clumsily, having a difficult time crawling and holding his gun. Connor was nearly completely out from underneath the bed when he turned around to look back at Clipper – and saw his father sitting up in bed.

“Connor?” His father looked shocked at first, but his surprise quickly melted into anger.

“Run, run!” Connor said frantically under his breath. He clambered to his feet and yanked the bedroom door open. He could hear Clipper right behind him as they sprinted down the hallway. Connor’s bedroom would be the first place his father would look, so Connor thundered down the stairs and ducked into the kitchen. He collapsed behind the island and Clipper plopped down right next to him, still hugging his Nerf gun to his chest.

Clipper glanced over at Connor nervously. “What’s your dad gonna do when he finds us?”

Connor was nervous too, but he was the leader and he couldn’t let Clipper see how scared he was. Leaders had to be brave. “I’ll handle him,” he said very bravely as he pulled his Nerf pistol out from his pocket.

They were only sitting there for a minute before Connor heard the sound of heavy footsteps upstairs. Sure enough they went to his room first and he heard the muffled voice of his father – “Connor?” – before the footsteps backtracked and thumped down the stairs. Spado must have been helping him search; Connor could hear the Pomeranian’s collar jingle and his nails against the hardwood floor as his father descended the stairs.

“Connor!” his father said again. The kitchen lights came on. He must have heard their heaving breathing because he stopped and his voice hardened. “Connor, come out this instant.”

They were cornered. No matter where they ran in the house, his father would find them. Connor poked his head up above the island and balanced his pistol on the tile surface. Haytham was standing in the doorway and at his feet was Spado, looking happy to be a part of this exciting night. Haytham looked less pleased. His greying hair was out of its ponytail and lay across his shoulders. He’d had the decency to put on a nightshirt and pants at least.

“We’ll never surrender,” Connor declared as he aimed the Nerf gun at his father. Clipper shakily stood beside him, but he tilted his gun so that it was aimed at the wall instead.

“If you shoot me, this night will be worse than you can even imagine.” His father spoke slowly and dangerously as he took a few steps towards them. “I suggest you put down the guns and give them to me right now.”

He must have been using his diabolical powers because Connor felt himself relenting. Clipper wasn’t even able to last under Haytham’s venomous gaze as long as Connor; he put down his gun immediately and held up his hands. Connor gave a defiant snort but dropped the Nerf gun onto the island and shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Haytham continued. “Clipper, you are going to sit down and wait while I call your parents. And Connor, when I come upstairs I expect you to be in your pajamas and in bed. Do I make myself clear?”

Clipper was nodding his head like a round-eyed bobblehead doll. Connor rolled his eyes.

“Yes, father.” He spat out the word as he slunk around the island and marched up the stairs. Spado wagged his tail as Connor passed and Connor thought he looked extremely delighted about the capture of Master Assassin Connor Kenway.

Other a!anon here! <3 I freaking love this! asdhfjgk the sex bits are hot and I love Haytham berating Connor and commenting on how he knew he was a virgin afterwards. Did you say you were going to do a sequel from Connor's POV? :D

He walks through the hallways, and he can feel it bearing down on him. It hurts: a physical weight, a physical pain stuck deep in his bones. His head hurts, and his skin burns, and he feels dizzy, and his stomach hurts, and his feet drag on the floor. His arms are covered in bloody bandages.

William yelled at him today.

His arms are covered in bloody bandages, just like the rest of his body. He had a fit in the middle of a mission, just completely breaking down in the middle of an alleyway and carving himself up like a Thanksgiving turkey. If it weren’t for Giovanni, he would have cried until he bled to death.

He hurts so badly he wanted to die.

He would have cried until he bled to death, but Giovanni had found him. Giovanni, from the apple, from Ezio’s time, who took him in his arms and held him tightly and bandaged him up and brought him to the hospital and took care him and made him feel loved. He made him feel so much more loved than William, than the Order. His legs have been peeled in sheets with his own blade, his arms are almost bare by his knife, and he’s carved out the blue lines that appeared in correlation with TWCB after putting his hand on the pedestal. He’s carved out those lines several times. The scar tissue is so thick now that he almost doesn’t look human.

William said that he looked the part of their savior (their sacrifice).

The scar tissue is so thick now that he almost doesn’t look human, but Giovanni saw through that. Giovanni, brought to him from the past in a new body, said he is still human. Said that there is a human beneath that scar tissue and beneath that dead outer wall. He believed that there was a young man who was just searching for a little bit of affection, that the crying child he claimed to have discovered was just trying to survive in the world it had been born into. Said that it was okay to cry, and if he needed to find someone who wouldn’t mind, Giovanni’s arms would be open for him. Giovanni said that he would keep him safe.

The Order condemned him for not being able to take out the Templars with the help of the Apple.

Giovanni said that he would keep him safe, and he did. He trudged down the hallway, feeling the glares of the other assassins boring into him, drilling into him, and it hurts. It’s painful. He doesn’t understand why everyone hates him. Does he really have no merit other than death? Will his death actually be that celebrated? Will they throw parties in the streets and drink to his name? With death come idolization, he thinks, and puts one foot in front of the other, leaning against the wall and leaving a smear of blood along the ugly grey walls of the Order, now that the Order has won and he’s been left beaten and broken on the floor. He knows about the plane tickets, about the house that’s hidden. He was promised a quiet place. He was promised that he would heal. If there was one person who wouldn’t give up on him, wouldn’t leave him to rot away slowly, wouldn’t stop until he was healed, it was Giovanni. He was his ancestor, his long-distant son.

“Do not care what they think, my boy: they do not matter.”

He was his ancestor, his long distant son, and Giovanni told him that if he could, he would destroy the Order. His hand lands on the doorknob, wrapped thick in red gauze. He had carved away part of his hand in his breakdown. There was still the trace of blue on his skin. There’s red on the doorknob when he lets go.

William told him he was a waste of life, a disgusting stain on the blanket of humanity because he couldn’t do even the simplest jobs correctly.

There’s red on the doorknob when he lets go, and Shaun and Rebecca are standing in the room, looking shocked. Giovanni looks a little roughed up, and he finds himself apologizing because the Order must have tried to take him on again, tried to assert that he couldn’t leave the compound, but Giovanni wouldn’t stand for that, wouldn’t let them say, “No.” His language is a mess of Italian and archaic Arabic and Kanienkehaka and less and less English by the day, but Giovanni understands him anyway, even as he breaks down sobbing because he’s so sorry that everyone he loves gets hurt. And the man just hugs him.

He was told that he was put here to be worked to death.

And the man just hugs him, whispers that they’ll change his bandages and get him back to rights. He sobs against the man, because he’s responsible for everything, because he’s a problem, a parasite, a disease that can’t be treated, and Giovanni just holds him close and tells him he’s beautiful, wonderful, a better person than anyone he’s ever met before. Talks to him in that soothing voice as he loses himself in the rooms of their home back in Italy, smiles warmly as his wounds are treated and stitched up by his father, the kind red-head with the glasses, and the sweet lady with the headphones and the one red glove. Giovanni calls him “Desmond,” calls him “my son,” and it’s so warm and loving that it burns into his skin, catches his heart on fire and lights him up with something warm and not-bad feeling.

His arms were covered with bloody bandages, now clean.

He would have cried until bled to death, but Giovanni made him want to live.

The scar tissue is so thick now that he almost doesn’t look human, but his father tells him that he is human and beautiful.

Giovanni said that he would keep him safe, and he can say that he never doubted the capacity of the man to pull something like that off.

He was his ancestor, his long-distant son, and he felt as if he was, because those arms were strong and caring and told him that he had a family now.

There was red on the doorknob when he let go, and a long trail of red behind him, but he’s going to let go of it all, and Giovanni promised it wasn’t impossible to heal him.

And he just hugs, just takes him in his arms and promises not to let go until he’s healed and functioning again and completely off the radar of the assassins because they’re horrible people.

Giovanni calls him “Desmond,” calls him “my son,” and it’s so warm and loving that it burns into his skin, catches his heart on fire and lights him up with something warm and not-bad feeling—something he’s been told is called “love.”

Three years later sees him flying through the forests somewhere deep in the heart of the USA, soaring through green as he races an eagle and comes bounding home with a rabbit in his hands because he was wonderful enough that he was one of the best assassins his father had ever seen.
`````````````````````

I hope you enjoyed it, anon. :) I couldn't help it. Maybe someone will give you a longer fill. I shot this off instead of doing homework.

I LOVE THIS FILL SO MUCH! Poor Connor and Clipper, I feel bad laughing at the awkwardness of it all.

I also adore this AU and all the details. I agree with the other anon, I'd love it so much if you wrote more in this verse!

Thirded so hard oh my god

seconding for Connor/Haytham oh yes

writer!anon, you don't know what your fic had done to me. i had reread this fic almost everyday since i found it about last week. now you have updated, i definitely reread again from the top! \^0^/

His Mother’s Son

Journal of Haytham Lee, aged 12

I don’t know what to do Journal. It’s been a night since the...since Father...

And I haven’t seen Father or Doctor White or Doctor Davies since. Mary comes to bring me some food, but even though I beg her, she won’t let me out.

She won’t let me see Mother. Or even tell me about him.

She says that it would be too much for me.

Why would she say that? Why does she mean by that?

Is Mother truly...?

No!

I refuse to believe it. I refuse to.

Mother’s been there my whole life. He can’t be...

Mother used to carry me around, you know Journal? When I was little, he used to put me on his back, and I’d pretend I was an eagle and could fly.

And he’d say that it was good, that I wanted to be an eagle, fierce and protective and free, that the hero who wore a hood and saved lives with knives was an eagle.

Sometimes Father used to watch us. He always stood a little distance away, and he never liked that I liked eagles, but I think he was secretly happy, because I sometimes caught him smiling. At me and especially at Mother.

And then Spado would run around barking, and Father would carry him over to Mother and me, and Mother would give Father’s dog a fond scratch...

I don’t understand Journal.

What did I do wrong?

First Uncle and Grandfather and now the babies and Mother...

Why, why am I being punished like this? Why?

Did I do something bad? Am I evil? Am I...?

Uncle was one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. Grandfather one of the smartest. Mother is one of the kindest. The twins weren’t even born yet, they were completely innocent.

So why?

Tell me, Journal, why?

No.

Mother’s not dead. They’d, they’d let me out if he were dead.

And we’d be burying him, so he can’t be dead.

Mother’s going to be fine.

I believe that.

I have to believe that.

Mother will be okay, and then Father will stop fighting with him and...

Father.

Father was yelling at me and Mother told me to go to my room and when I did I heard Mother cry out and then...

Father’s hand was held out. And Mother lay at the bottom of the stairs like, like a sack of clothes.

And the floor was turning red underneath Mother and...

Father just stood there, staring at Mother until Mary screamed and...

This is all Father’s fault.

He pushed Mother down the stairs. I know it.

And it’s because of me. He was mad at me.

And when Mother got in the way, he...

Mother married Father. He trusted him, and Father...

There was so much blood. Mother lay at a twisted angle at the foot of the stairs.

Father didn’t do anything to help Mother.

I can’t forgive Father.

I won’t forgive Father.

I...

//blush//

That's so nice of you! :) You made my day. Thank you! :D

Can't take all the credit though. It's two folks (me and another anon) who are bouncing off each other for this series. The other anon is doing the Honeymoon and Shattered.

But glad you like! //glows//

Not OP, but this is beautiful. Poor Desmond.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [7/?]

Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [7.5/?]

fill anon

The Hangover crossover. Not sure if its done already.

Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [7.5/?]

Connor/Haytham, King Washington makes them do it

Re: The Hangover crossover. Not sure if its done already.

Re: The Hangover crossover. Not sure if its done already.

Re: Connor/Haytham, King Washington makes them do it

Re: Fill 4/4 - Connor's stay at Bridewell Prison :'(

AC3 Rimming

Re: AC3 Rimming

Re: The Hangover crossover. Not sure if its done already.

Broken Trust

Re: Broken Trust

The Super Important Assassin Mission [4/5]

Re: A Lesson in Espionage (3/3) END

Not all Fathers Harm, Some will Heal

Re: The Super Important Assassin Mission [4/5]

Re: Connor/Haytham, King Washington makes them do it

Re: AC3 Rimming

Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [7.5/?]

His Mother's Son 14

Re: His Mother's Son 13

Re: Not all Fathers Harm, Some will Heal