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

Entry tags:

assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only

Join or Die

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

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

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

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

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

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

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

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I loved the short but brief interaction between Clipper and Connor, and Clipper right away ready to be his faithful sidekick, much like Charles Lee was to Haytham early on. Clipper is respectful and even calls him "sir" even though they're the same age and the lines where Clipper said: "I want to be ready when you call on me", "I want to fight with you someday" and "That means something coming from you" OMG ... someone please write something about these FEELS

Yes! I love Clipper Wilkinson! Do want.

OP is absolutely fine with an art fill! :D I'm just glad people actually like this idea.

Exactly! His personality compliments Connor's beautifully. Their interactions were so damn sweet and endearing that it's not even hard to interpret *something* going on between them as canon.

Fourthing! Plus, lately I've been imagining Haytham staging an intervention for Connor for dumping all that tea.

I mean, maybe that's kind of what I wanted to do. /cough

WriterAnon, you spoil us with these fast updates! I love it. Your dedication to this fill is amazing. You never fail to make my days/nights/2 AM study breaks with these updates. Even at 2 AM you crank out quality writing for us - I only noticed one typo while reading. ^.^ Now that I finished loving all over you, time to get into the review proper!

What is Hickey planning?!?! :I I never penned him for a schemer, since when you kill him in AC III he was pretty adamant about only helping the Templars for the money. But he did work as a spy for Johnson, so I guess he must be pretty sneaky for that, at least.

Although I think Charles' crush on Haytham is pretty much canon at this point, lol, I still wonder if Haytham is really gay. Or is he just saying he is to lure Connor into trusting him? (And when will he re-enter the story?? O.O I miss Haytham, even if he is an evil bastard in this.) I also wonder, if Haytham really is gay, than why did he have a relationship with Ziio? Argh, all these speculations on Haytham's sexuality make my brain hurt. >.<

Poor Connor. It's really getting intolerable there for him. *hugs* If I were him, I'd be trying my damndest to escape at this point. Everyone has nasty designs on him at this point.

Keep going WriterAnon, you are an inspiration to all other asscreed kink meme WriterAnons! *cheers*

omg I swear I would give this a try but alas I only watch GoT and I am not versed enough in the ASoIaF universe to actually write anything coherent or decent or good, but someone else please please PLEASE fill this.

This is a fantastic prompt OP, be proud.

OP, I think I have ideas, so I might give this a try after I finish the other prompts I'm working on right now. Question, would you mind if I made a crossover with Metal Gear Solid?

Just light crossovers with a few characters coming over, so if you don't know the series it wouldn't be hard to understand.

I can certainly try writing this without the crossover though, it's just that these two series are incredibly alike in the order/free will battle thing and your prompt is begging for it asdfghjkl; There's also the fact that AC and MGS are close irl too, I'm honestly surprised there was no MGS reference in ACIII.

I'm pretty sure Haytham is bisexual at this point. After Zio, we don't hear of another female love interest at all. I thought there were strong hints between Haytham and Holden in Forsaken. Also want to thank writer!anon for the speedy updates (shamelessly reloads page every hour)

Have I mentioned lately that this is my favorite story in the entire fandom? Because it totally is by an incomprehensibly wide margin. It's just so damn engaging and perfectly immersive and gleefully, unabashedly addictive and HOLY BALLS I LOVE YOU, AUTHOR-ANON.

Not the OP, but I'd like to throw in an enthusiastic FUCK YEAH in favor of the Metal Gear crossover! I never knew how badly I wanted that until this moment.

I have a vague memory of seeing a lacrosse stick in the Homestead manor. Maybe Connor teaches the rest of the Homestead crew. Maybe he teaches Haytham? Or Haytham remembers playing with Ziio which leads to bonding times.

Or a modern day AU with the down-and-out Assasains attempting to win against those damn Templar kids from the next town over?

OP is also surprised that there were no MGS refs in AC3, either...weird. I've never actually played the MGC games, but I know a little, and most of what I know is about the characters.

And hey, crossovers are cool! So yeah, that's fine in my book!

So, it's basically canon by this point that Connor's a virgin, right?

So, I wanna see him lose his virginity, to somebody with a lot more experience than him.

Who, how, when, why, don't matter. I just want to see how it happened.

We are here anons. Oh yes, it’s scary King Washington time again. Thank you for the feedback! I’m sorry it’s once again shorter than normal but I didn’t really know what way I wanted the meeting between Connor and the King to go, I hope you all are pleased with it! And as a forewarning this week will be busy so I’ll try to get as much as I can out, which means either a few days in between or shorter updates.

***

He was warm.

The frozen hands, that had snatched him away from the living world in response to his death by strangulation, now cradled him in a pleasantly mild embrace. It was so peaceful here, so different from the chaotic world he’d just left behind. Maybe he should stay here after all, it was just so very nice, so very calm.

The burning gaze of a childhood friend. The terrified shriek of a woman. The sound of bodies falling, one by one.

Connor felt his heart tighten and a rush of panic-fueled adrenaline through him. His people were dying. His people needed him.

He had to get up, he had to get up now! Yet his body would not listen to his mind’s command as it lay there, refusing to budge. He wanted to snarl at it in anger, but his tongue was frozen too. He want to cry out in frustration but the only thing that left his mouth was silence. He had to calm down, this frantic struggle was going to get him nowhere. Taking a few deep breaths he focused solely on small movements, the twitching of his fingers, the wiggling of his toes, the shifting of his arms. Slowly but surely he reconnected to every tense muscle that awoke from its forced sleep. Half-awake now he could tell he was laying on something comfortable, extremely so. His arms were held above his head, by what he did not know for his lethargic mind couldn’t grant him a reasonable explanation. His eyelids felt like weights as he used what little strength he had to open them. The world around him was blurry and dark, Connor hoped he wasn’t too late to save his people from Washington’s men.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness he realized he wasn’t in the longhouse he confronted the Commander in at all. The room was small with only a bed--which Connor was laying on--and a nightstand with a single lit candle on top in the corner. Noticing there wasn’t a window made his anxiety spread for it meant no quick escape would be possible. He moved to sit up, to get a better feel for his surroundings, remembering immediately when his arms wouldn’t budge that they were pinned above him. Looking up he saw that his arms were secured in coils of chain that wrapped around the metal bed frame. He tugged at his arms experimentally but they refused to even jerk, let alone move.

He laid back down, glancing once again up at the wooden ceiling and swore lightly when he finally took notice of the missing weight upon his person. Of course they’d be gone, Connor chided himself, who would leave their prisoner armed with weapons? Sighing lightly, however, when he realized that he was still clothed in his assassin robes. At least not everything has been taken from me, he thought.

There was a loud creak and Connor turned his head over to see a door open he didn’t even know existed. Three soldiers--for a second he thought them to be patriot soldiers, but their uniforms were incredibly different and intimidating--marched in and over to the bedside. One reached over and unwrapped the chains from the bedpost before pulling Connor off of the bed by his bound wrists, causing him to fall onto the floor with a loud bang. Connor groaned softly, his body was definitely not ready to be thrown around yet. He sluggishly attempted to crawl away from the men, to get out of this cramped space and find out just exactly where he was. The men didn’t let him get far.

Two pulled him up by his arms, their grips like iron claws, as the third unchained him. Move! Connor mentally screamed at his body, move! He felt his arms twitch in response as they repositioned his hands behind his back, chaining them up once more. When the soldier finished he came back around with what looked like a dog collar in his hands. Connor stiffened, his lip curling up into a snarl, there was no way he’d let them put a collar on him like some dog. The soldier, whose eyes were nearly hidden beneath a helmet and face cover, stared back at him indifferently as he reached forward to put the collar on. Connor jerked his head back lazily as the man secured the collar around his neck, thankfully lose enough for him breathe normally but tight enough to make his throat uncomfortable when he swallowed.

The man then hooked a chain leash to the collar, tugging it lightly to make sure it was secure. Nodding to the two men who held him up they walked out of the room, towing Connor along as his feet dragged across the ground. As he pulled at the constraints he let his eyes sweep across the hall they lead him down. He cursed when he noticed the only windows in the hall were too high up for him to reach and that they were barred with thick poles, leaving a space too tight for even a hand to slip through.

It was like Bridewell prison over again.

His time in confinement there had been ranked among one of the worst experiences he had been through since becoming and assassin.The room had been small, suffocatingly so, and the hallways no better. The closed up windows that prevented his escape were daunting, as well as the bars that served as a door, that let him witness everything with the exception of leaving. As he ‘escorted’ to where-ever the men wanted him the familiarity of the situation was eerily similar to that of Bridewell. The chains upon him were not only constraining his body, but his restless spirit the same way the ropes the prison guards had bound him with those months ago.

He glanced down at his feet, concentrating on getting his legs to move for now. He’d figure his way out once he was free from these men and running--he always thought clearer when he was moving. He’d have to get his weapons back first, the hidden blades most importantly because if he lost those Achilles was sure to have his head. He knew the weapon itself wouldn’t take too long to rebuild from scratch, but the ones Achilles had passed down to him themselves were priceless. He would not let them be stolen.

There was a scraping noise of heavy oak upon stone and Connor barely had time to glance up to see enormous carved wooden doors before he was tossed onto the floor in the newly revealed room.

He grunted lightly, strugglingly to pick himself up onto his knees. Once he did however the soldiers were on his sides again, forcing him to look down at the gray ground. When I am free, he swore, you three will be the first to die. The ears pricked up when he heard the sound of leather boots stroll across the stonework somewhere in front of him. There was a rustling of fabric as someone sat down across from him with a contented sigh. Despite being given only silence the soldiers beside him moved back, leaving him there staring at the ground not quite yet ready to look up and see who had entered the room with him.

“Connor.”

His body froze, a chill descending over him and filling his blood with ice. The man’s tone was as frigid as it had been before, but he wasn’t angry for the time being and Connor wanted to keep it at that way. He snapped his gaze up, peering from beneath his hood to behold a man he had once called friend.

Washington sat there in a throne of gold, resting his chin in his hand as he smirked down at Connor, fingers tracing patters on the smooth surface of the Apple--now resting upon the top of a small staff.

“W. . .What?” He rasped out, his voice sounding alien to his own ears. Hoarse and soft.

The man’s smugness grew, leaning over a bit in his throne to stare haughtily down at him. “I apologize I wasn’t there to be with you when you woke. I had other matters that needed attending to. I hope my men treated you well.”

Connor gaped at the man, “Where am I? What’s going on? Where are my people?”

“Connor, Connor, Connor,” The man chuckled lightly making Connor’s brows furrow, “You should know not to rudely demand such things from me. It’s disrespectful to your king.”

“King?” Connor snarled, anger beginning to boil inside him as Washington ignored his questions. “What are you talking about? Commander release me-”

He choked on his words when he was suddenly yanked up and off of the ground. The world spun for a moment before he was forced onto his knees again, this time right in front of Washington. He bent down over his knees, grinning down at him as he took the leash into his hand.

“Comman-”

The glove that slapped across his face was definitely less powerful than the punch he had received before he had blacked out, but it’s sting wasn’t any less gentle. Rough fingers seized his jaw, forcing him to stare up at piercing blue eyes.

“King, Connor. I am the king.”

Fine, if the man wanted to call himself a king Connor would call him such, so long as he got his questions answered.

“King,” He muttered lowly as the man’s grinned revealed sharp canines, “Where am I? Where are my people? What have you done with them?”

“You are in my palace of course. Its just been recently finished so I understand your confusion. I however am not responsible for a few pesky natives.” Connor opened his mouth to protest in fury but the man cut him off. “Haytham saw that they were moved to a much more quiet area a little ways from Boston. They’re doing wonderfully I hear.” Connor felt a tremendous weight lifted from his shoulders as he sighed in relief. His people were safe, he was a little on edge though knowing that his father had been the one to relocate them. Once Washington let him go he would make sure that they were indeed all right before confronting Haytham about his actions-

Wait. Palace?

He stared up at the man in confusion “Palace? You do not have a palace.”

“Why Connor,” The man stated in surprise, not bothering to hide the cruelness in his voice, “don’t you remember? I’ve been building this palace for the last four years! Every day and night the men and women of this new nation have dedicated their time to help establish such a fine gem that even the Crown would be envious of.”

Connor searched his memory for such knowledge of the colonies building a palace, he looked back at Washington when the man began to snicker. “Oh how foolish of me, I’d forgotten that you’ve been asleep for the last four years.” He stiffened.

Asleep? He had been asleep for the last four years? How? What? It couldn’t be possible, there was no way. What about his people? What about his father and their mission? Achilles and the recruits? The members of the homestead? What about the war? His mind was spinning, aching from all the new questions that had arisen from what he had been just told. Did Achilles know that he was all right? Did they know he was here? Surely Washington, even possessed, would tell them he was here? His attention snapped back to the man in front of him as he slowly dragged a calloused thumb over his lips.

“Asleep may not be an appropriate word to use. Unaware maybe? No, no no.” He tapped the finger against his lips in thought. “The Apple can do marvelous things you see, when you had fallen unconscious from that little “incident” at your village those few years ago it left your mind more. . .open to the artifact’s influence. I didn’t think that such a young man like you should be under so much pressure everyone had placed upon your shoulders. So I had the Apple render your mind unconscious, your body however was fully awake.” Noting the expression of horror that broke across the youth’s face he added, “Your body was kept awake so I could make sure you did not pass from dehydration or starvation during those four years. I took care of you very well if I do say so myself. “

Connor sat there for a moment, sputtering for a few seconds before he spit out in accusation, “You mind-controlled me?”

“I only did what I had to do to keep you safe.”

“Safe?!” Connor shouted, “You took control over my body to make sure I didn’t get in your way! You kept me away from the people I had promised to help! To defend! How could you do that to me-”

The sharp yank on the leash was enough to make the collar steal his breath away. He coughed in surprise, breathing in quickly to try and get his stolen air back. He looked away in fury when he felt the man take his jaw again. Big mistake. The man dug his fingers into his skin, making him hiss lightly as he pulled the leash again. He gazed up into dark, clouded blue eyes with a touch of gold. The man let go of his leash and rested his hand upon the Apple once more, tracing small patterns on it as his other hand went back to running it’s thumb along the edge of Connor’s lower lip.

“Stop touching me.” He demanded lowly, glowering up at him with searing eyes.

Washington slapped him firmly again, his cheek surely reddening in likeness to the man’s hand as he stared off to the side of the room furiously.

“Connor don’t make me hit you again.” He threatened coldly, “I do not want to damage your face any further than I have already.”

He didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on the cracked rocks inside the wall. Silence passed between them for what felt like hours--in reality only seconds--before the ‘King’ grabbed his hood, forcing him to once again meet the gaze of the now brutal man. He had a softer look upon his face this time, pushing Connor’s hood off with a mixture of sly eagerness and wicked curiosity. He ran his fingers through his hair and gripped a good handful of it, not yet tugging sharply but keeping it there as a warning.

“I’ve always wondered how long your hair was,” he stated simply, “I’d only seen a fleeting glimpse of it when your hood had fallen off in the middle of battle. You had put it back on quickly enough, but not fast enough for me to see just how much you had.” He let his hand linger for a moment longer before he let it drift down to clutch his cheek. “Being much younger than I, I was always asking others if they too thought your skin still possessed such softness that was only granted to those still bounding enjoying their youth. Despite your numerous scars I never believed it to be anything less, turns out I was in right.”

Connor shifted uneasily, trying to move back but the man held him there easily, sweeping his gaze over every scar, wrinkle, and imperfection that decorated his face intently, pausing a moment only to wet his lips. The hand was drifting down again to take his chin once more, thankfully no longer playing with the outer edge of his lip.

“Your lips,” he paused, gazing down at them hungrily, “were the only things I really saw constantly, other than an occasional glimpse at your sharp eyes. I had always been drawn to them, dreaming of what they felt like. Soft like petals perhaps? Maybe a bit chapped from the winter weather, but never unappealing.” His thumb leisurely moved up his chin to the bottom of his lips, “No, never that. Always beckoning me in like a Greek siren.” His voice had turned into a low, husky growl as he pushed his thumb past his lips, touching teeth.

Connor wanted to demand him to back off, to get away from him, to never be within arm’s reach of him ever again, but his tongue was to thick to form words. The only thing he could do was pull away but Washington’s fingers dug into his jaw while the other pulled at the collar, holding him there. He looked up into the man’s eyes, hoping there was something that let him see that the real Commander was still there despite the influence of the Apple, anything he could do to snap the man out of this.

He was only met by eyes glazed over with an emotion he did not recognize, glaring down at him like a predator stumbling across trapped prey.

He didn’t like being prey.

Clipper is such an adorable little fanboy. I've been wanting to see them get cuddly ever since I saw them first interact eeeeeeeeee <3

As far as I understood, Haytham isn't gay in this (nor in the game), he is simply telling Connor that he is, and the rest of the Templars are in on this.
The memento from Braddock was no doubt from when he killed him, but the way he told Connor about it, made it seem differently, simply to make Connor believe what he is told to be true. Haytham had never been with another man before, despite both him and Hickey saying otherwise.

As for Charles, while I don't think he has a 'crush' on Haytham, I do believe he idolizes him to the point where he will do anything Haytham asks him to do (even hurt Connor the way he has), in the game as much as in this story. It is mentioned in Part One that Charles's affection towards Haytham makes him easier to manipulate, and give incentive to hurt Connor.

I could be wrong, but this is how I saw it.

OP!anon, I was originally going to try and write the entire fill and post it all at once, but I quickly came to discover that this thing was going to be a lot longer than I had originally anticipated, since I apparently want to write out all the build-up and... stuff. (Plus my work schedule meant you... probably would've been waiting a while for me to finish everything ahaha. orz ) ANYWAY, I hope this is okay! Enjoy. :)

***

Day Zero
The boy had no sense--none whatsoever. Ordering ships to fire upon the very fort he was going to be infiltrating? Haytham had, in his time, done some rather reckless and downright dangerous things, but even he drew the line somewhere. Connor, apparently, did not know when to draw it or couldn’t be bothered.

Breathing heavy and arm aching, he stared down at the boy who had caused him so much trouble over the years and ruined so many of his best-laid plans. Oh, there was some strange sense of admiration there, some pride, but Haytham could not suppress the overwhelming feelings of anger--anger that this individual, his own flesh and blood, could not see the sense and logic of the Templar way.

The sheer stubbornness of the Assassin was beyond frustrating. If he only had another chance, he would have sought to break it--with force, as words had done little to convey the importance of his lessons thus far--and that was the last thought Haytham Kenway had as the world went black.

Day Five
Haytham awakened with a throbbing headache, and the light--the blasted light--was in his eyes and far too bright. He instinctively rolled away from whatever the source was, shielding his face with his hand, groaning quietly as the pain in his skull spiked.

“At last, you return to us,” a voice said, coming vaguely from the direction he had just turned away from. Footsteps were quick to follow, and to Haytham’s great relief, a shadow came to hover over him, shielding him from the infernal daylight. Maybe he should have worried for his safety, but at this moment in time, Haytham simply couldn’t rally the energy or care to do so. The man’s tone then took a sharper edge to it, bordering on anger. “You should have come with me.”

“Hah.” So it was Charles. Given his state of being, Haytham doubted that he could put up a fight even if forced, but it seemed that he was safe, at least for the time being. “You are a fool for returning for me.”

“You are still the Grand Master of these colonies. I could not have--”

“Charles,” he said, cutting the man off with a weak wave of the hand. “Consider yourself blessed that you did not run into any trouble en route. You retain the amulet, do you not?”

There was a brief pause, as if Charles was not entirely happy to be reprimanded, but the moment passed. A quiet sigh filled the space between them. “Would you like me to return it to you?”

Again, Haytham gestured with his hand. “No. Keep it.” The trinket held nothing but bad memories for him now.

“Shall I let you rest then? You took quite a shock from the shelling.”

Resting some more (preferably with the light out of his eyes) sounded like an excellent idea, but there was something Haytham needed to know before he slept once more: “The boy. Is he dead?”

There was a slight sniff, like some displeasurable scent had filled the air, and Haytham already knew the answer; his lips quirked in a grim smile. Of course, how could he even think of this as a legitimate question? His son wouldn’t die from something as harmless as cannon fire.

“He rests in the room down the hall,” came to the curt reply. “I had thought to finish him for you, but...”

But Haytham was still the Grand Master, and ultimately, it was his call. “You have done well, Charles,” he murmured, sleep already seeping back into his voice. “I shall resolve the matter myself when I am well again.”

“If you insist, Haytham.”

“I do.” His lips quirked. “Watch the boy for me until then.”

He didn’t have to see Charles’ face to imagine the look there. Babysitting duty for the general--no task could be more suiting for the man. None whatsoever.

Day Twelve
The wooden floor was cool and comfortable beneath his feet as he stood beside the window, gazing down at the street below. Men and women continued to mill about, busying themselves with whatever droll activities they had set out to complete; the war, it felt like, had not touched his little corner of the world--peace and order still reigned. This quiet (and the resultant rest) had aided in his healing, and while he still bore the bandages and pains of a man injured in battle, Haytham had found his feet once again.

The house was near silent, save for the distant sound of lunch being made in the kitchens, but after spending several days doing nothing but conversing with Lee regarding their next plan of action, the peace and quiet was quite welcome. That said, though, when it came to a certain room at his residence, Haytham could not help but wonder if the lack of noise was welcome or not: down the hall where Connor was currently staying.

The maid insisted that the boy was well-behaved and docile, but Haytham could not bring himself to believe that--could not believe him to be doing anything but biding his time, despite reports from Charles that spoke of the same behavior. Theirs was an estranged relationship, but he knew his son well enough: he would not be tamed so easily.

Now that he could walk without feeling winded, Haytham believed it high time to see with his own eyes what state that child was in.

“The years have not treated you kindly, old man. You do not bear your wounds well,” was the greeting he received as he stepped inside. The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Connor was seated on the bed, elbows on his knees, and while he seemed to be quite at ease with himself, there was a certain danger to the angles his body made--a coiled power just waiting to be sprung. Unarmed he might be, but Haytham knew all too well that the boy didn’t need anything but his fists to kill a man.

Like father, like son, hm?

“I trust that my servants have treated you fairly?” he asked, ignoring his son’s comment. Connor would be fortunate to be as fit as he (or alive, for that matter) at his age, given the trouble the boy seemed to get into. His son didn’t seem to understand his own mortality and its implications. Didn’t he understanding that his ideals and goals would die with him? That his precious Brotherhood was still being rebuilt and could be so easily crushed without its leader? One only needed to look at Achilles and his downfall to see and understand this, but then again, Connor never seemed to reflect well on lessons of the past--not with his father at least.

“Why do you not kill me? Is your curiosity still not sated?”

Haytham sighed; he hadn’t expected the boy to answer his query in any case. The question his son asked mirrored one Charles had posed not two days ago. The original plan involved wringing the last shreds of information from Connor and then getting rid of him (for good, this time), but Haytham found himself unwilling, especially since he now had an opportunity to mold him to his purposes.

Charles had argued that bringing the boy to their side would be impossible, citing their previous efforts as evidence of this. Haytham, however, was not convinced. Before, there had been too many outside influences: Connor had had too much freedom. Besides, their interactions had been touch-and-go at best; father and son had no time alone, no time to... bond.

“I’ve yet to cure you of your ignorance. It is my... duty, as your father. A man cannot let his child roam the streets empty-headed and delusional.”

“Do you think I will linger to listen to your lies? You cannot confine me here.”

Connor stood then and crossed the room to stand before him, teeth bared in a snarl. His steps, Haytham noted, were like his; the grace and agility he remembered were decidedly absent, the footfalls heavy. For all his talk about his age showing, it seemed like he wasn’t the only one still suffering from his wounds. Haytham lifted his chin and stared the boy down.

“And if I threaten you?”

“I do not fear you, nor what you can do to me.”

“But do you fear what I can do to others?” He let that sink in for a moment, waited to see that brief flicker of worry in Connor’s eyes, before pressing onwards. “I still live. Charles still lives.”

Disgraced and cast out, his power and influence were not what they once were, but they both knew that there was a good reason why Connor wanted him dead: with the right connections and the application of good will, Charles could still return to his former glory and complete his good work.

“The Brotherhood--”

“--Does not know where you are,” Haytham interjected. He pressed a hand to Connor’s chest and pushed, lips pressing into a thin smile when the boy conceded a backward step. “You are alone. Do not think lightly of me and my threats, Connor.

“You have weakened us, yes, but are you so naive to think the Templar influence gone?” Indeed, all he had to do was wait--wait for the chance to promote a pawn and reclaim his pieces. He would have new rooks, knights, and bishops at his beck and call. Indeed, it was too early to call this match done. “I told you before: we do not need a creed to exist. Humanity’s natural inclination is toward order.”

Day Twenty-Four
The lessons in philosophy and history, in language and culture, had started, even if the Assassin proved to be an unruly and unwilling student, but still, they were necessary for the boy to become a proper Templar. Hour after hour, they would work, and whenever Connor looked ready to protest, Haytham would remind him of the Homestead, of his recruits, of the dispersed remains of his village. How was Prudence’s boy? His name was Hunter, was it not? And that woman Assassin in his ranks? Was she well? What of the clan mother? Surely she was an old woman now--fragile. Ah, but that was foolish of him to ask; Connor wouldn’t--couldn’t--know...

These were scare tactics, but for now, all he had to do was bluff. The Templar network would slowly recover, and one day, Haytham would have the power to exert influence on the lives of these individuals. For now, though, all he could do was obtain just enough information to frighten the boy, make him worry and fret.

Having to use such crude methods of getting the boy to listen became something that occurred prior to every lesson, and after a while, Haytham grew tired of it. The re-education of Connor, he decided, had to start from the outside; his previous approach had been all wrong. The opportunity to directly influence what went on in the boy’s head was long gone, so instead, he would work his way from the outside in--starting with his appearance.

“Off. Take it off.”

“No,” Connor all but growled, low and not unlike an animal. Haytham sighed and rolled his eyes; trust the child to be troublesome regardless of what he asked of him. “You have already taken away my weapons. What does it matter what I wear?”

“You are a guest in my home. You will do as I say,” he snapped. Haytham strode toward his son, eyes sliding from the top of his head and down to his toes. It wasn’t that the boy’s outfit was all that offensive; after all, he’d fit in... relatively well with the colonists up until this point. No, this was more a matter of controlling Connor and shaping him; that Assassin robe had to go--the symbolism behind it far too harmful now. Besides, the thing was fast going to become tatty if Connor insisted on wearing that and nothing else.

And the hair? Well, it certainly wasn’t the style a gentleman would wear, especially since the parts shaved clean had started to grow back. The thing was downright awkward, and in Haytham’s opinion, it was a matter that needed rectifying--the coat had to go first though.

“Allow me to leave, and I will no longer intrude upon your hospitality.”

“Not an option, Connor,” Haytham said as he grabbed at the lapels of the coat and roughly shoved at them, forcing the fabric over his son’s shoulders. For a moment, it looked as if Connor was going to lash out, but as luck would have it, his arms caught in his sleeves; Haytham smiled, vicious. Such a fix would not hold him for long, but it was just enough time for him to start picking at the buttons of his white waistcoat.

“You will dress as I ask.”

The boy cursed him in his native tongue, and Haytham arched an eyebrow.

“And you will speak to me as I see fit.” He tugged, and the remainder of the buttons popped off, rolling across the floor. Haytham shoved the waistcoat open, and as Connor was now actively struggling to get his coat off, he picked up his pace, hooking his index finger into the top of his son’s shirt and pressing down. More buttons hit the ground, and it was with some satisfaction that Haytham noted that even if he couldn’t keep the boy in the outfits he’d picked out, his current wear would likely be unusable at this point.

What happened next, though, was... most curious.

Haytham pressed his hands against Connor’s bare chest to push the shirt off his shoulders, and the boy made a very interesting sound--a strangled sigh is what he would call it. It gave him pause and made his eyebrows lift. His son seemed to realize what had just happened, and he snarled, eyes flashing like a cornered beast. “Remove your hands, father.”

Oh, but how could he? Haytham found this to be an excellent discovery, and to torment Connor all the more, he dragged his nails lightly against his skin, teased a nipple. While this had not been his original intention, Haytham was not unlearned in methods of breaking a man through... less conventional means. If he had an advantage, he was certainly going to use it to its fullest extent. “Have you genuinely never used your body like this before?”

“That--” Ah. The boy’s breath hitched. “--is none of your concern.”

“But isn’t it? I am your father, for better or for worse.”

This sort of sensitivity could surely only be achieved by one who’d never been touched before. Filing away that little tidbit of information, Haytham removed his hands and folded them behind his back; the smug smile he wore didn’t move an inch though. “I will ask you once more: get rid of this horrible outfit.

“The maid has prepared a number of other ones for you in the wardrobe.”

Connor seemed to regain some of his senses when he did not have warm hands pressed against his skin, and he huffed, face twisting into an angry expression. At last, he worked the sleeves of his coat off his arms; the robe fell to the ground with a soft thump. “And if I do not?”

“If you do not?” Haytham seemed to consider this for a moment, taking an idle step away from his son, before rounding quite suddenly on him, stepping right into his space. His hand swung low and grabbed at his groin--squeezed; Connor whined, teeth grit. He leaned in close, his breath hot against the boy’s ear. “Are you so sure you wish to find out?

“Don’t make me repeat myself any more than you have. Get dressed,” he muttered before stepping back and away from the boy. Haytham gave his son one last disapproving look before exiting the room, a warm shiver running down his spine.

I knew there would be a time skip, but 4 years! Trying and failing not to think of the other things Washington could have done to Connor's body during that time. Can't wait to see how the 'truce' is going between the Templars and Assassins who are probably leading some sort of resistance against Washington as well as searching for other pieces of Eden scattered through the land (like the Shard of Eden Faulkner and Connor found after all those Captain Kidd missions).

Not OP, but I still love you!

This is amazing and rather frightening, what with what Washington has done, I mean, 4 years?! I see the genius behind it, he has been able to build his kingdom in peace (well, depending on what Achilles, Kanen'tó:kon and Haytham has been up to) and no doubt all whom knew of Connor believes him dead, even if none one ever said anything.

The meeting between KING Washington and Connor was very well written, and one could easily feel Connor's frustration and anger during it.

I look forward to the next update like you wouldn't believe!

I love you writer!anon, this was perfect!

Hi there, OP anon, I hope you're still checking this. :D The story should be done before Christmas.

Yes, adorable dork Haytham!

"Why...are...you..speaking...so...slow?"

One of the best moments in the game XD

You got almost everything right! To me, Haytham is the type who doesn't care much for relationships and sex and suchlike. I think Ziio was an exception to that. He is willing to use his body to manipulate Connor (and maybe Connor will become an exception, too). In other words, both of them are more or less asexual to me. Sex is a means to an ends for Haytham, and something Connor neither craves or has much interest in, outside of making his partner/spouse happy.

Lee is totally gay for Haytham IMO. I don't tend to ship, or if I do just vaguely ship everything in a 'oh well they seem good together even if it's non canon' kind of way, but hell's bells. The funeral scene especially. But for the purposes of this story, I've left things like that slightly vague so I don't drown you all in my headcanons and ships, and stories are way more fun when the reader can come to their own conclusions on things.

Just curious, this takes place right after siege of Fort George right, so Connor wouldn't have his mohawk yet right?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 95 of 385

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Connor/Clipper Wilkinson

Re: Connor/Clipper Wilkinson

Re: We can rebuild him.

Re: Connor/Clipper Wilkinson

Re: Haytham/Tea

WriterAnon = My New Hero

Re: ASoIaF AU

Re: We can rebuild him.

Re: WriterAnon = My New Hero

Re: Fill: Every hour god sends part 11

Re: We can rebuild him.

Lacrosse!

Re: We can rebuild him.

no subject

Welcome to the New Age - Part 4/???

Re: Connor/Clipper Wilkinson

Re: WriterAnon = My New Hero

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 1 / ? ]

OP LOVES YOU!

Re: Welcome to the New Age - Part 4/???

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 1 / ? ]

Re: Altair/female!Malik

Re: Haytham/Ziio, courting

fillanon

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 1 / ? ]