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.

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So how about a friggen weird Protocreed prompt?

I was working today, minding my own business, when out of nowhere I got smacked upside the head with a beautiful crack ship: Taggart/Sibrand, or as I like to call it, "cowardly assholes".

Do with that what you will.

Sold! I'm gonna give this a try. I have some other prompts to do first but this will be done. Is there any kinks OP would like to see?

Well that makes sense. I was a little worried about poor Connors backside there for a moment |D

Might take a try at this. Would you be okay with Jacob not partcipating because you know, he's married and all? Annnd possibly Duncan what with him being a former priest and all.

I hope you don't mind some het thrown in because I adore Deborah and her crushing on Connor.

There was a period of time between 2002 and 2012, before Desmond was kidnapped, where, under one of his many identities, Desmond met Daniel Cross. And they got along really well, and they dated and they were happy together. For a time, things were good for both of them.

And then that time was over. Daniel was still losing what little of himself he had to the Bleeding Effect, and Desmond had to move again to stay under the radar.

Years later, during the events of AC3, Desmond and Daniel meet again, and while Desmond remembers Daniel and what they were together, Daniel doesn't remember any of it, having lost all of it to the Bleeding Effect and to the Templars (somehow).

Angst, hurt/comfort...maybe possibly hopefully a happy ending, or at least something a bit more uplifting than what we got for both of them in canon?

...yeah, I might have been listening to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKQrgv8NDoU and this ended up being formed as an idea as a result. Who knew Adventure Time and Assassin's Creed could go together so well?

OP here!

Dude, Deborah HAS to be in it. We can't just let the one lady recruit be out! :D She'd be the one to pop Connor's lady cherry if you catch my drift. ;D

And I don't mind that Jacob and Duncan aren't in it. It just means Stephene and...frick I forgot the other guy's name is...well, they'd pop Connor's literally cherry. XD

OP Here!

Hrm...um...I don't know...Uh...*sweats.* maybe...Shy Connor being shy? XD And then him really liking all the attention? I don't know...;v;

Can we have a three way with Desmond, Alex and Connor? Alex topping the hell out of the both of them? QvQb

The start of the noncon in this part so a warning to all you out there to go on and skip ahead. Thanks for the reviews and reading once again everyone! I’m so pleased to know everyone is interested in different aspects of the story. I’m sorry the last updates have been a bit fast-paced and full of typos.

***

Connor couldn’t accurately recall what happened after he bit down on finger that began probing inside his mouth. There was a sound of something cracking and a flash of light before blanking out for what seemed like a few minutes. When he had finally snapped out of it he was suddenly face to face with Washington, merely inches between them.

So very close.

He was on his lap, straddling the man’s waist with his legs, lying there against his chest. He made to move, but a hand on the small of his back held him there firmly, digging into his skin like talons. He groaned lightly as his head began to ache sharply, a bump forming somewhere upon his scalp no doubt.

“I’m sorry I had to do that Connor.” He was anything but sorry, the vicious glint in his eyes and wide smirk revealed that much, “But you should understand that you shall be punished accordingly when you misbehave like that, even if you are my favorite.” He stiffened as the hand on his lower back started move in small circles, threatening to go lower. Washington’s grin widened when Connor moved forward, into him, trying to escape the hand. He chuckled lightly and Connor wished he had a free hand so he could punch that grin right off of his face.

But that would get him nowhere. The only thing Connor could really do was watch and wait for the right moment to break free of this now madman’s grasp, escape then make a plan on when to punch him in the face for what he was doing, what he had done. He had to start slow and right now was a good enough time as any--what else was he supposed to do when constrained in heavy chains?--however he couldn’t think straight with the man touching him in such a perplexing manner. He didn’t know exactly what he was trying to achieve with such actions or if they were even working in the way he wanted them to.

Either way, he didn’t want to find out.

“Washington. . . . .King,” he added in quickly when the man’s expression soured momentarily, for now he needed to play on his good side. “Why are you keeping me here under such restraints? We are allies are we not? Friends even, what is your purpose keeping me here like this?”

“Well as delightful as you were when you were. . . . . .extremely compliant,” Connor felt his upper lip curl into a snarl as the man purred, “I missed seeing that lively spark in your eyes, speaking to you with that riveting naive tone your words always carried, the way you moved like a tense and powerful wolf. I missed you as you were consciously, however that’s not saying there were particular things that I liked about you when you were unaware.” Something dark glinted in the depths of his blue eyes, something dangerous.

“What could be better about me unaware?” He growled, glowering back up into those eyes, refusing to back down at his intimidation attempt.

“You weren’t able to talk back for one. As much as I like your feisty, biting voice there are sometimes that I could really go with out it. Secondly you weren’t able to fight back.” Now that leer spreading across his face was anything but good. Connor froze lightly, wishing he knew just what exactly he intended, uncomfortable he still didn't know

“What do you mean “not able to fight back?” He questioned lowly. The man chuckled loudly making Connor’s hair stand up on end in likeness to the moment before being struck by a bolt of lighting.

“Sometimes the sheer amount of obliviousness you possess Connor is too much for me. Never mind what I said, I will let you figure out what I meant for on your own later on.”

“What is that supposed to mean to me? Washington you are speaking in nothing but riddles, tell me it is why you keep me here chained like a dog when we are allies!” He snapped angrily. The man’s grin fell and a scowl broke out across his features, maybe not yelling in his face would have gotten him a gentler response. The hand that had been tracing light circles on his back stopped and dragged its self down before resting against his thigh, squeezing it tightly and digging his nails into it making Connor hiss.

“What did I tell you about speaking to me in such a way?” He cautioned nearly inaudibly, pulling the leash to move him closer. Connor glared back at him, tugging at the chains around his wrists once more in outrage. He noticed the soldiers who brought him there now stood behind the throne, raising the end of their muskets in warning along with their King's.

“Sorry my King.” He spat, the hand on his thigh gripped his leg hard for another moment before releasing it, the scowl falling from his lips and being replaced with that menacing grin once more.

“Better. I suppose I can answer your questions, although I don’t think you really deserve them over such a rude display of disobedience.” He mused thoughtfully, watching as Connor struggled at his bonds again. “The reason you are being held here in such a manner is because I didn’t want you running off.”

“Washington, you and I are allies, or we were. I do not understand why you are acting in the way that you do. If it is for my actions at Valley Forge and trying to stop your attack on my village I will not apologize for it. It was vile and wrong and twisted. I will not beg for forgiveness when you know, deep down inside you it was not right.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance making Connor bristle in anger, how dare he act so nonchalantly about the slaughter of his people? They didn’t deserve such violence!

“That isn’t the reason for why you are being held like this.” Confused, Connor opened his mouth to demand why but he was silenced when the other began speaking once more, “You are being held here because if I let you run around freely you would leave.”

“Of course I would leave! I need to make sure that my people are all right, that they are safe, that my friends are all safe as well. Why would you keep me from them?”

“Because then they would know that you are alive and come after you?” He stated simply.

“But why would they think that? I have been gone long yes, but it is not enough for them to believe me dead.”He was truly about to give up on speaking to Washington. A once intelligent man now rambled about his strange reasons for doing things a sane one would shake their head at. Had the Apple turned his mind into nothing but soup?

“Oh of course but when they saw your dead body, laying in front of them what more could they do?” The malicious grin was back and Connor gaped in anger.

“You tricked them? How could you do that?! Why would you do that?” He demanded furiously, this was past the point of ridiculous now.

“Because if they knew you were alive they would have come after you.” The hand on his thigh began to move up and down slowly, deliberately. “I cannot have them trying to take what is rightfully mine. It is easier for them to believe you are dead so they do not come after you in the first place.”

Connor’s mind spun, his friends could not have honestly thought him to be dead, it wasn’t possible, they were not so foolish. Washington was just ranting, there was no way they could have fallen for such a half-hearted attempt at a ruse. He must be trying to puzzle him, to trick him or something. But why? Why was he doing this? Why!

“ Why? How could you do this to me? To them?” It couldn’t really be the Apple could it? The artifact was to be used as a weapon or a key to unlimited knowledge, but it seemed to truly be drawing Washington insane. Making Connor’s friends believe him to be dead, keeping him here when they had been close allies before the power had fallen accidentally into his hands. And for what? To keep him here locked up for the rest of his life for no reason? No, there had to be a reason. Perhaps he was afraid he would interfere with his plans like with his attack on the village.

“You must understand Connor,” There were those words again, “Being King my possessions are highly valued to others. I cannot have someone coming after my most treasured one.

“I am not an object, Washington.”

The man ignored him as he moved his hand closer to his hip, making him draw in a sharp breath. The uneasiness that had been growing in the pit of his stomach since he had been delivered into the throne room was making his heart jump into his throat. “Get your hands off of me.”

“I quite like them where they are. “ He sneered back, playing with the rim of his breeches now. He went to shift but Washington’s hand went to his waist and held him there, pulling him closer and making him brush up against something that made his stomach drop.

Oh.

“Washington-” He started before the man suddenly moved forward, pressing their bodies together closely, whispering in his ear.

“Do you know exactly how enticing you are?” He nipped at his ear lightly, bile rising in his throat. “Ever since I laid eyes on you I’ve wanted you. Wanted you like this, to be all mine. But I held back, I resisted these feelings. No more, I’ve refused them long enough and I will not allow myself to be driven mad by having something that I can never truly experience.”

“Washington please think about this,” the man was slipping his hand up his shirt, humming softly in content as he ran his fingers over his abdomen, “it’s the Apple that’s making you do this. Just let go of the-” he choked on the rest as he dragged his nails down his skin, tearing deep scratches into it.

“Are you trying to steal the Apple from me Connor?” He questioned icily, pausing for a moment. “Is that why you want me to get rid of it? So you can take it’s power for yourself?”

“I do not want to take it! Do you hear yourself? You have become obsessed with it, you are not acting like yourself, Washington. It is changing you into a completely different man! The real Washington would not let himself be manipulated like this. You must let me go, hide the Apple away from yourself so it does not continue to control you.” He pleaded, watching as the man moved away from him for a moment, looking conflicted. He held his breath for a moment as Washington glanced back at him, for a moment his eyes were as unreadable as the soldiers who guarded him. He reached a hand up and cradled his cheek, making Connor sigh in relief. He had managed to talk him out of what he'd planned, the only thing left was to have him undo the chains-

Eyes widening in surprise as the former commander undid his ponytail, grinning lightly as he watched his hair fall down to frame his face.

“Quite lovely hair you have Connor, it makes you look all the more seductive.” Connor’s face fell in surprise before lighting up angrily, tugging fiercely at the chains around his wrists he shouted at the man.

“You monster! You are a beast of a man with no heart and no conscience! How could you think, even in your changed mind, that this is right? Why are you letting yourself continue to be taken and transformed by this evil influence in your palm? Why do you let yourself hurt those who are your friends? Why would you do-” The harsh slap upon his cheek snapped him out of his tirade.

Connor was really tired of getting hit in the face.

He froze when he saw the glint of a knife as it was drawn from it’s sheath on Washington’s side. The jewels glittered in the light, almost like a predator when it bares it’s teeth, as he brought it up to Connor’s face. He tapped the point against his cheek before laying it against his skin, not yet pressing hard enough to draw blood.

“Perhaps now you will mind your tongue when speaking to me in such a way again.” Lowering the knife lightly to his chest, remaining still as Washington looked him over in wicked glee. “Where should I start first?” Tapping the blade against the layer of his outer robes, moving it up to the hollow of Connor’s neck he stuck it in, making him flinch in response, stopping however when the blade grazed skin. Dragging it down leisurely, deliberately, he sliced through the clothes as if they were butter, stopping where his breeches began. He then used his free hand to push the clothes back, stopping when he met chain. “You’ll have to forgive me for destroying your clothes, I had always thought about undoing them myself you see. It would be like the equivalent to a game, for every layer discarded the closer I get to my prize, making the end result all the more wonderful.” He licked his lips, tongue sliding over one of his canines when his lips curled into a smirk. “But that would be too tedious and time consuming, and easy to make one grow frustrated when in the middle of intense passion.” He stated fondly, as if he were addressing a lover and not a restrained, unwilling captive.

“Stop.” Connor pleaded, trying desperately to slip his hands out of the chains without the man noticing his efforts.

“Stop what?” He asked innocently. “We haven’t even begun our session of foreplay yet and you request me to stop all ready? You’ll change your mind when we get to the main event I assure you. It will not take long before you are telling me not to stop.” He looked away from the man as swept his gaze hungrily over his chest, seeing if there was something, anything he could use to his advantage. His search only ended in failure when he saw that the room was completely bare and the eyes of the soldiers who stood guard, staring at him, even more so.

Without warning Washington completely tore off his breeches, making him shout in surprise and rage, his shout turning into a squeak when a cold hand was suddenly grabbing him below. The man seemed to revel in his shock as he grinned up at him.

“Well that was a very interesting noise.” He purred, squeezing him firmly.

“S-Stop, please.” He stuttered out as he tried to back away and off his lap, onto the floor. Away from Washington, away from his groping hands, away from this. The hand griping his cock tightened painfully, making him whimper lightly in misery as the man started to work him.

“What? You didn’t think I was so cruel as to make sure you didn’t experience pleasure too, did you?” Washington smirked, working him into arousal. No, no, no. His body shouldn’t be doing this, his body shouldn’t be taking pleasure in this man’s torture. He nearly cried out in anguish, first it was his father then his friend and ally, and now his own body was betraying him. Letting itself get hard from the man’s cruel grip on him, not being able to fight back against the man’s sloppy movements to arouse him with unwanted pleasure. He squeezed his eyes shut in agony as warm blood dripped down his wrists from tearing the skin during his struggling, feeling a mouth latch onto his neck and bite down. He bit back a gasp as his body shuddered, the hand teasing the head and the mouth starting to suck harshly.

Get off me, get off me, get off me, get off me! He screamed mentally as he bit down hard on his lip, for he knew that if he tried to demand the former Commander to do so a very different sound would escape his lips.

The mouth parted from his neck, giving a light kiss to the now tender skin before moving away. A hand wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer to where his chin now rested upon the clothed shoulder of Washington. Opening his eyes he allowed himself to stare back into those of the mindless soldiers behind the throne, wishing in that moment he could be as removed from the world as they.

The hand on his cock released him before grabbing thighs, lifting him up for a moment. He heard the rustling of fabric as the man squirmed below him before setting him back down on his lap, skin to skin now. Feeling his insides turn to ice as the man pulled him closer, whispering lewdly into his ear, “Now you can beg me to stop.”

The scream that tore from his throat echoed through the empty halls.

After her break-up with Boy!Ziio, Fem!Haytham (Hannah ?) discovers her pregnancy and the Order has to take care of her. All in their way *coughCharlescough* and maybe even help her in labour.

Bonus for baby Connor crying everytime Charles is around.

Wow... I know I should feel bad for Connor, but I can't help but love King Washington, and how he admitted to wanting Connor the first time they met and saying he wouldn't be driven insane from his unrequited love/lust (when the Apple has already done that). The ending killed me with Washington's line "Now you can beg me to stop" followed by Connor's scream... please... please let there be a part 2!

Yes, yes please someone fill this, oooooh god!

Oh no! Poor Connor! //pets Connor//

Loving how evil Washington is in this though. That said, I do hope he gets his comeuppance at some point.

It's so tragic that his childhood friend thinks he betrayed him when Connor has gone through betrayal so many times...And so sad that Haytham never really got that chance with his son. Here's hoping that the dynamic duo finds out just what is in Washington's "secret room" and rescues Connor soon.

Seconded! I don't even like Daniel that much and I still think he deserved a better ending.

First time here, but want to give it a try. Do you have any preferences? Heavy smut or just innocent love? Location their village or Davenport? Or somewhere else? I am up for anything, just want to give you what you want :p

Maria is forever a cutie in my mind. She looked about 12/13 when we saw her begging Connor in Boston/New York (can't remember where they came from). And Connor plays with all the kids when he gets the chance. It would be the most awesome game of tag ever.

"It's too unsafe!"

"I'm going!"

"No!"

"I need to know how to to use them."

Silence. Checkmate. They'd been arguing over this for hours, and had finally come to a more civil volume.

"It'll be a waste of time. Don't get upset if it doesn't prove fruitful."

A warning that wouldn't be taken lightly.

"I won't. I'll see you soon, old man!"

A promise and the sound of hooves dashing the ground. Achilles could only hope that Connor wouldn't return to them in worse condition than last time.

***

Water was dripping down his collar again. Connor supposed it was because he had the first few buttons of his waistcoat and shirt undone, allowing a small glimpse of his chest, his necklace sitting like a possessive claw above it. Despite Ellen's best efforts, they hadn't managed to fasten them, even after she'd let out the seams. He resisted the urge to squirm as the cool droplets slid over his stomach and soaked the waistband of his trousers. It was only a mild discomfort. He could stand it.

His wings were tightly tucked against his body, a heavy cape pinned to his shoulders disguising them as a hump in his back and keeping them dry. Connor yanked on it to cover his chest, the textured black fabric helping him melt into the shadows as a crippled beggar, damaged by the war and begging for alms. Putting on a false limp, Connor ignored the jeers and insults as he passed by the door of a tavern, and circled the building to arrive at the temporary encampment on the other side. A certain figure caught his eyes, tucked away to the side.

He snarled. Haytham. Father. Why was he at such an insignificant camp? The tall, enigmatic figure of his father was partially hidden by shadow, sheltering under the ledge of a nearby building as he spoke to whom Connor assumed was the captain. A glimpse of matching rings told Connor all he needed to know. The Templars were attempting to seize control of the district once more. Connor had to warn his brethren to deal with it before it got out of hand. Dobby would be up for it - she always had enjoyed knocking a few heads together, especially idiotic men.

He ducked his own head to shake some of the water from his hood and was about to leave when the ledge shadow moved. Connor froze, staring, realising that if he was currently sitting in the gloom then the weak sun couldn't possibly be casting shade over Haytham as well. The angle was completely wrong.

He stared longer, thinking it could have been his imagination, and suddenly it moved again, twitching in a very familiar manner. The outline of the shape became clearer as it folded into an arch, disturbing the thick wool of Haytham's coat, and the light caught the edge of one of the shapes and the black exploded into jewel-like colours, reflecting the sun into emeralds and sapphires with flecks of amber. It wasn't a pure black - more grey, now that he looked at it closely, maybe natural, maybe from age - and the undersides were mottled with cream and brown stripes. Connor reluctantly admitted to himself that it was rather beautiful.

It was also obvious. Connor had to find out how Haytham was hiding it - there was a small chance that the captain was aware of the extra limbs extending from Haytham's body, however that chance evaporated as soon as one considered the few citizens that had braved the seasonal downpour went past without a second glance. (Well, there were second glances, but it wasn't for the wings. Connor couldn't deny that his father was a handsome man.) Neither they nor the captain seemed to notice.

Shifting his wings under his cape, Connor could only watch on in envy as Haytham stretched and flexed his wings, letting them fluff and move and generally be comfortable. Connor had learned the hard way that his wings had come with an ingrained instinct to express his emotions, sometimes spreading to their full span if he was invested in the topic at hand. They also ached if he had to keep them perfectly still for long periods of time.

Haytham turned to leave the captain with one wing carelessly brushing his subordinate's face. The man shivered.

"Are you cold?" asked Haytham, his deep tone clear as the wind changed direction.

"No, sir. Someone walked over my grave, sir."

'Interesting,' thought Connor, 'I wonder if all of the "grave-shivers" are caused by wings?'

Haytham slipped down the alleyway opposite, and Connor took to the rooves. He would find out how Haytham deflected the attention. When Connor had seen Haytham before, Connor certainly hadn't spotted any wings. Maybe it was different now that he had his own? The trick that Haytham used might not be effective on other winged beings. Whatever it was, it was good, and Connor desperately needed to know so he could continue his work.

***

As expected, it would be quite unlike Haytham to give up the secret so easily. Connor dropped from the rooftop, slamming his hand into the vulnerable flesh at the base of the wing in hopes that he might daze Haytham for a moment, if not dislocate the socket entirely (and hadn't that been a delightful education in pain when Achilles had discovered the weak spot, exploited it, then popped Connor's wing back in.) However the muscled cords that wove around the base were thick and strong with age, and the wing wasn't shifting quite as easily, despite a promising pop. Given a few more moments and Connor was sure he would have had it from it's socket.

But he didn't have that long with Haytham and Connor found himself thrown into the wall, then delivered to the ground with a sweeping kick under his feet. He cursed inwardly - his balance was off, but he didn't want to reveal his secret to Haytham yet. He felt too heavy at the back. Connor rolled and narrowly dodged the knife that embedded itself into the mud where his head had been. He lunged, knocking the second knife from Haytham's hand, and landed a square punch before being tossed to the ground again.

"This had better not be about Charles. My dear boy, you are in very poor fighting condition - were you sick? Or have you simply lost your nerve? I can't say that I've seen worse balance than on the greenest soldiers."

Haytham tilted his head in an avian manner. His eyes swept over Connor's body, taking in the cloak, the slightly hollow face, and the awkward back arch Connor was trying to keep.

"It is not about Charles," spat Connor. "It's about an inheritance."

"I deal in many, keeping them safe, so unless you're a little more specific -" replied Haytham, trailing off.

He planted his foot on Connor's chest and pushed down. With that sort of force, it was impossible for Connor to keep his wings tucked up as they were, instead splaying enough so he was lying flat. Connor gasped, feeling them shift, and tried to pull them back but with his father's foot still firmly on him there was no room to do so. A smirk appeared on Haytham's lips.

"Of course. Your inheritance. Your only inheritance, mind you, the rest belongs to the Templars or a distant cousin. Not entirely my choosing, but then again you don't exist on paper."

Flipping the cloak's hem from Connor's body, the wings were revealed, and the pleasure at this development was clear upon Haytham's face.

"You are so much like your mother, yet these," he gestured to the wings, "These are the mark of a true Kenway child."

Kenway. He was nothing but Kenway. Connor was doubtful that Haytham even remembered Kaniehtí:io's face after this many years. The attempt Haytham was making to soothe Connor was disgusting, implying that he could barely be physically recognised as kin, insulting the memory of a dead woman. A diversionary tactic.

Connor snarled, trying to get up, but Haytham kept firm, his patterned wings flapping to maintain the pressure and stay balanced. Mud was soaking into his feathers, through his clothes, and not only was it cold, but it reeked of human and animal waste. Carefully, avoiding the wild fists Connor was throwing at him, Haytham pulled at a wing, stretching it as far sideways as he could. Those dark hazel eyes never left Connor's body, judging every thought and expression, calculating and extrapolating upon the variables his mind presented. He followed the sharp snapping motion Connor's wing made as his son finally found the strength to pull away.

"They're not much more than two months old," Haytham murmured, "Core strength is still building, span is broad but short feathers, reminiscent of a migratory raptor, capable of above average speed, although your strength lies in the endurance of flight. Curious."

As Haytham removed his foot, Connor lurched up to face his father standing, raising a hand to block an incoming blow. Now that he wasn't concerned about keeping them hidden, his wings spread, lifting the cloak up. Clutching at the fastening with his other hand, Connor tore the fabric off to let it fall in the mud.

"And what exactly are you?" he snarled.

"Falcon. Peregrine," replied Haytham. "I thought it would have been clear from the markings."

Ah, another white man's name for some poor bird.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Haytham took a step back, bending his knees as if ready to pounce, immediately putting Connor on the defence.

"It means that if I were inclined to leave you behind - " His wings stroked the air with power Connor hadn't quite expected, launching Haytham into the air, " - you would not be able to catch up."

His cloak was whipped this way and that by the wind his wings generated, and Connor swore as Haytham caught an updraft and glided over several streets before dropping of of sight entirely. The man had the advantage in crowded landscapes, not to mention a superb vertical take-off, years of experience, and probably proper guidance from other Kenways. Connor slammed his fist against the lumber of a solid cottage squeezed in between two brick buildings. Begrudgingly he collected his cape, made even more unpleasant by the mud soaked into the heavy fabric.

Achilles had been right - this trip had been a waste of time and he was still no closer to getting back into the field. There wasn't even the slightest chance that Connor would be able to find his father now. On alert, the man didn't allow people to follow him. Those who did tended to end up at the bottom of a river or bled out in a dark corner behind a fence. Haytham's mind screamed "Templar", but his body ignored it, revealing his Assassin origin. Connor didn't place too much on Haytham returning. The older man did have a knack for running away from confrontation - he was never there when you needed him and always there when you didn't. Stupid man.

Author note: This was much faster than I thought it would be. So, here,
have some intense prologue, because I am apparently incapable of writing
PWP 8| Much smut will forrow once I sate my need to write EVERYTHING.

--------------------

Appreciation

Prologue

Hares eating in the bushes would sit up on their haunches and then irritably hop away from the approaching soft thump of hooves on the trail. Their movement barely caused a rustle in the undergrowth, yet still each and every one of the little creatures were spotted. A stroke of luck in the ruthless wilderness perhaps – the usually attentive dark eyes watching them were glazed over and unfocused.

Connor didn't feel well. He was so exhausted his shoulders were slumping and his seat was anything but light and easy on the Indian pony that stubbornly carried him through anything asked. The spotty little horse was also a very wise animal and there was no doubt that it knew that the human was ill.

”Connor, are you really feeling well?” It wasn't the first time Stephane had spoken that very same question during their ride to the Homestead. Every time Connor had given him the same reply, and as the good recruit he was, Stephane had quieted down. Until he repeated the question again.

Connor looked over to the French man riding next to him, realizing the light frown and narrow eyes for the sign of worry they were. He was right to question Connor, but the worry was not needed. The pain and fatigue would pass, just like every other time.

”I am fine.” His reply was short and clipped, and Connor tried to hurry his mount on so that he didn't need to see the looks that his recruit was giving him. He had no luck, truly the old man had been right when he had called the pony a 'stubborn mule' and right then and there had named the little stallion Terco.

Now ridden and trained, Terco was showing signs of what was the cause of his name. He refused to even acknowledge the careful squeeze of legs around his flank, much like he had done earlier when he suddenly had dropped from the rocking canter to a slow trot and refused to lope again.

Connor sighed and gave up. Any further movement sent pain shooting from his side down his stiff leg and sore abdomen. And then he was experiencing another kind of pain as well – the kind that would cause tenseness and nausea the very moment he remembered that his mentor was gone and that no one would harp at him about muddy boots once he arrived at the mansion.

”Well, I am not intending to offend, but you look a little pale.” Stephane had no problems with keeping up with them – the buckskin mare he rode was eagerly trotting along as usual.

”Perhaps I am turning white.” There was no humour in his tone even though it was an attempt at a joke. Connor had never really been good at entertaining others with jokes, nor did he pick up on them himself. It showed. The slumped riding and labored breathing definitely didn't help. Still - out of politeness or just thanks to his own detail rich imagination – Stephane grinned widely.

”I do not think that is possible.”

Connor hoped the conversation would end there. He was attempting to fight the waves of nausea that came over him as he rocked in the saddle. Excellent balance was important for an assassin. Connor rode without stirrups because he needed none and they were troublesome. Now he found himself wishing for something to keep him from slipping from side to side. It made him uneasy, surely staying in the saddle had never been this difficult. It was as if everything around him was shifting along with the slow gait they moved in. The greenery had turned into a messy colorful blur and the skilled hunter would only manage to catch glimpses of fleeing wildlife.

A mess, that is what he was, and what their mission had been. Stephane had showed up in Lexington no questions asked when Connor sent for him. He would have gone alone, but the condition of his leg and his side had made him rethink the decision. The wound from the shattered wood splinter had closed up, but the scarring remained irritably red and warm to touch. Doctor White had told him to spend weeks resting, that he must take care of his health. There was no time for rest, not while there was still work to be done. The war came to an end, but the troubled remains of struggle still existed. The band of redcoats camping near the small spring on the Great Piece hills was proof of that. They had turned raiders, killing locals around the hunting shack and attacking carts on the road just outside of Lexington.

There had been no other choice but to end their raiding then and there. Connor had tracked them to their camp easily, then sent for reinforcements in form of his first recruit. Stephane had been cheerful and happy to see him, it seemed. Together they defeated the group of military-turned-bandits. Connor had found himself slow and in pain, the battle went on around him in a flurry of colors. The magical ring from the treasure had protected him from the volley of bullets that nearly took him down. He had made mistakes in battle before, but none like this. Moving felt like swimming against the river stream, and the constant ache spreading from his side made him stiff and slow.

He let Stephane take the lead as they rode up on the narrow path that ran beside a steep edge. Soon they would be back on Homestead land. Then Connor could finally go down to the river and get his painful scar cooled down. The chilly running water numbed the pain slightly, and then he could continue with the chores before he would need to sit down. Perhaps he would have to stay in the water for a longer swim than usual this time – his outfit had became uncomfortably hot on one side and he could feel how sweat made the fabric cling to his skin and causing a horrible feeling of chafing.

”Ey Connor, do you think we could spend the evening at the inn? I hear they serve good spirits here!”

Stephane's voice had a strange muffled quality to it. It did not make much sense to Connor, but he started to recognize the surroundings again through the blur. There was Dave's smithy and stable building. They would soon pass the inn. As hard as he tried to remember Connor had no memory of even entering the valley. They were much further along than he had thought. And everything was wrong and crooked.

Terco came to a gentle halt. Annoyed Connor reached out to gently bring the reins against the pony and realized he was sitting halfway out of the saddle, leaning heavily to the left. He was going to fall and there was nothing that could help him-

”Connor?”

He grabbed hold of the pommel at the last moment and heaved himself back into the saddle with the little strength he had left. The movement sent such intense pain exploding from his side that Connor had to bite his lip to not yelp out loud. He couldn't make Stephane any more suspicious. The former cook was already turning the buckskin mare back around to figure out what was keeping his mentor.

”Terco...” Connor's breath escaped like a hiss between his teeth. A turned dark ear was all the attention he received from the pony.

”Terco? Is that the name of your horse?” Stephane had returned to them now, curiously looking at the colorful pony that was all too wise for its own good. Connor took the moment to steady himself and breathe deeply for a little while.

”Yes. Achillies named him. He said it means 'stubborn animal'.”

Stephane grinned at him again, this time chuckling a little even as he patted the mare he was riding.

”It is fitting. Did the old man name the other horses too?”

Connor felt a stab of sadness in his abdomen added in with the dull ache from his side. Yes, Achillies had named his horse. The chestnut roan Duchess he would always tend to every morning as if a sacred rite. She had been one of the few things the old man held precious still. He would talk to the horses, grumble and swat at them with his walking stick when they got too affectionate, and then sigh softly and run his old, crooked fingers through their silken manes.

”He named his horse, yes. The mare you are riding was purchased solely to be a carriage horse. Her name is Little Miss Fortuna.”

”Really? Merde, whoever named you my lady, had poor taste.”

Just then Terco finally relented and took a few steps. Walk was the only pace the little stallion would give. Connor did not have the energy to fight him; he knew he was powerless. Stephane did not seem to mind the change to a slower gait as he busied his hands in the dark mane of his mount and muttered something to her in French. As usual she listened well, her ears curiously flickering back and forth.

Connor did not let go of the saddle pommel. He feared he would slip again. Falling off the pony would certainly rouse the worry of his companion, so he held on as well as he could. The sticky moisture was getting worse under his coat, and now he was feeling sweat bead on his brow as well, even though he wasn't very warm anywhere but his side. In fact he was feeling slightly chilly.

They followed the path down through the settlement, passing the inn and the carpenter workshop. Someone greeted them loudly from the little bowls game square, and Connor heard Stephane reply through the haze. The sounds from the settlement were hollow and muffled. The only sound Connor could really focus on was the soft, heavy thumps coming from under him as Terco walked, and even the sound of hooves against ground would echo oddly. The sound of the river and the sawmill blended together much like the colors around them. Connor tried to catch the scent of fresh woodwork, but it was as if his chest was weighed down and all he managed to do was taking small shallow breaths that made him feel dizzy.

And then the enormous bell atop of the church started ringing. The sound struck Connor like the heavy boarding axe of a scot and he tried to wince away from the intense pain it caused. All movement stopped and Connor watched as his faithful pony turned its head towards him and clamped its teeth around his pant leg to slow his fall. He was sitting badly again, leaning to one side. The warm, wet feeling had bloomed all over his side, exactly where his coat had turned bright red. That bloodstain had not been there after the battle.

The last thing he saw was the blue sky as he slowly started to slip despite Terco attempting to keep him in the saddle. Connor fell. The bell kept ringing above him, and now the terrified voice of Stephane had joined in.

”Connor!”

--------------------

Connor, for the love of all that is holy, please listen to Doctor White next time. Though I'm pretty sure his recruits will now be keeping tabs on him.

I really, really enjoyed the prologue, Anon, and am looking forward to more!! :D

Oh man, anon, please don't apologize for this prologue and don't feel obligated to rush to get to the smut, because I could read reams and reams about Connor being too darn stubborn for his own good and those around him trying to get him to slow down and take care of himself. I looooove where this is going.

I cannot wait for more, anon! I get the feeling they're going to be very protective of Connor, and I can't wait to see all his recruits fussing over him. :D

Smut is always appreciated but I'll take something chaste as well. Just so you know, I'm a real sucker for romance.
As for the location, idk, I don't have a particular scenario in mind so I'll leave it to you.

Romance it will have then, lots and lots of it :), will probably get posted before the world ends ;)

Just in case, right?
Thanks! :D

I was just thinking of making this prompt!
ooooh yes please!

He doesn't like working with his "father," and he says that with hesitance because he knows that blood bonds are not the same as familial bonds. Still, he'll help him, because that's what he does, and he wants some sort of guidance, someone to help him through and his shipmates at the camp since they decided they had to come with for one reason or another. They came with him, two of them, for some reason--he doesn't know--but he's grateful, because they've kept Haytham off his back, even though they insist they haven't even talked to the man. He's tired and perhaps he doesn't agree with his father, and his father has him by his toes, but that's fine for right now, because right now he's relaxing.

So he turns back to the Pinto mare, Rain (his father picked the name out), who is nipping at his clothes and demanding his attention. He laughs, something that sounds thoroughly strange to his ears, and makes a swipe at her snout, dancing back a distance when she snorts, paws the ground, and charges at him a little bit. He rolls out of her way, popping back up to his feet and dashing away, leading her on a chase over the grounds of what will undoubtedly be a battlefield. She whinnies and chases him around, and when she does catch him, he does a partial roll, landing on his back and sprawling out in the grass, closing his eyes to the beautiful blue sky and white clouds.

He tries not to laugh when he feels Rain's nose prodding him in the stomach, tries not to let his lips curl into a smile, tries not to breath in too deeply and let her know that he's not actually asleep or dead. So he tries his damnedest, feeling the sun on his face and Rain poking his chest now, nudging his legs, and he laughs a little, causing her to snort, tug hard on his pant leg, and then trot around him in a circle. He opens his eyes and takes her face in his hands when he feels her lean in close, blocking the sun, and kisses her nose. A breeze catches his hair and her mane, and he presses his forehead against hers, stroking gently. It's been a long time since he's been able to have a little bit of time to himself.

He knows his crew is doing everything they can to keep Haytham away. They're good about that. At first, he thought that they were just fussing too much, over-worrying for his sake, but then that dog had appeared aboard the ship, and he had too much restless energy that night, and they had caught him sleeping with the pup the next morning after playing with it all night. They also started sending someone with him everywhere, regardless of his orders, and while at first it was annoying, he was grateful now because there was nothing like a sailor to keep people away. He always had things to do, but his crew was looking after him. He would argue he didn't need it, but perhaps he enjoyed the alone time, the "play time," a little more than he should with so much to do. Although his crew seemed too willing to indulge him, or force him, to have a little bit of fun (and he says "force" because he never went into it willingly when he should be doing something else).

Rain knickers softly, pulling away, and he tugs gently at her mane before flopping back in the grass, watching her prance around him and pull up mouthfuls of grass to fling onto him. He growls softly, listening to her teasing whinny in return before he gets up, shakes off like a wolf, and gives chase again, catching her when she slows down and hopping on her back before she tries to buck him off.

It's all a part of their game together.

He's a lucky man to have a crew so willing to take care of him and keep his father away if not just for a few brief moments.

However, in the exciting shimmer of his playtime, he doesn't see his father standing at the edge of the camp with one of the soldiers beside him. He doesn't see the tense posture, the frown that tells him he should be doing something more worthwhile than playing. He doesn't see the hands clenching and unclenching behind his father's back or how much he wants to yell to summon him over. He doesn't see his crew a few feet away, getting ready to intervene.

"Shouldn't you call him over now, sir?" the soldier says.

Haytham continues to watch him play with the mare, acting every bit like the wild child the Indians were perceived to be. He frowns again, not bothering to look at the man beside him.

"Of everything I will take from him," he starts, biting his tongue briefly to keep from yelling out when Connor gets bucked off Rain, laughing, and then continues, "I will not take this from him."

"That is hardly age-appropriate," the soldier says.

And Haytham looks away from the scene, like something out of a story book for children, turns away from the scene, as if he can't stand to watch it happen, and moves away from the edge, as if he never saw it happen.

"Quite the contrary, soldier," he mutters, brushing past the insufferable crew of Connor's. "It's quite age appropriate for a teenage boy to be an idiot."

----------------
Okay, shameful secret time: I haven't played the game yet. So, anything you have to say will be heard and mulled over thoroughly. Thank you.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Haven't seen a Protocreed prompt in a while

Re: OP here!

Re: OP here!

Desmond/Daniel: when I don't remember you.

Re: OP here!

Re: OP here!

Protocreed DesmondxAlexxConnor

Welcome to the New Age - Part 6/???

Fem!Haytham, The Templars Order

OP LOVES YOU!

Re: Double Agent

Re: Welcome to the New Age - Part 6/???

Re: Desmond/Daniel: when I don't remember you.

Re: (Adults) Kanen'tó:kon/Connor

Re: Fill: Anatomy of an Assassin 5.2/?

Fill: Anatomy of an Assassin 6/?

"Appreciation" - Prologue

Appreciation

Prologue

Re: "Appreciation" - Prologue

Re: "Appreciation" - Prologue

Re: "Appreciation" - Prologue

Op here

Re: Op here

Re: Op here

Re: Charles catches and turns Connor as Haytham substitute

Love is a Game of Give and Take