asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed

ffffffffff oh man anon i'm SO SO SO sorry i'm still not done with this. i was distracted all through the world cup and couldn't bring myself to work on anything because i'm a loser. i PROMISE you will have this. and hopefully SOON.

It's not really fucking your boss if you're a double agent..

(Does this even need a kink?)

Captcha; Odorless and..

Or Antonio/Any good-looking thief that you can find
_{Amazing, innit?}

Thanks anon! No pressure about it.

fffffffff oh man ANOTHER EXCUSE I'M SORRY, but I was just so distracted by the world cup for a month that I couldn't do like anything else. SO DISTRACTED. have you seen the Spanish team? they are SUPER HOT. I blame Fernando Torres and Xabi Alonso and Iker Casillas entirely for my tardiness.

BUT I FINALLY GOT PAST THE DIFFICULT POINT I WAS CAUGHT ON SO HOPEFULLY I'LL BE ABLE TO POST THIS SOON (?!?!?!?!)

Dude. WORLD CUP WAS AWESOME, TOTALLY EXCUSABLE (OMFG CASILLAS + PIQUE- how could you forget Pique)

I cheered for Spain the entire time solely based on hotness of the team without actually knowing who plays well.

SO DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT :D
Come mourn the end of world cup with me... Or we could just watch like...pretty much the entire team play for Barca ;)

Yeah, I definitely haven't been updating as regularly as in the past, but I'm determined to finish this by the end if the summer!

Also world cup is over so that makes things easier.

captcha says "tiber found". That sounds really badass...
I hope I can do this justice since I’m new to the fandom and haven’t really played the game. Which of course means I’m way in over my head since I’m not very well acquainted with the 3rd Crusade. More familiar with Renaissance Italy.
Anyone else wants to fill this, feel free. I question my ability to complete the fic.

Still: faced as I am with the prospect of my end, what harm is there in one last look…

The bright, yellow glow faded behind his eyes.

“—as can be expected from my best of men.”

Al Mualim plucked the Apple from his outstretched hand. Altaïr immediately went for his dagger but there was Malik, young and whole in his assassin’s robe; there were scrapes and cuts but blood did not drip from Malik’s damaged arm to pool at the stone floor and Kadar, alive and standing tall after the success of a mission.

They were standing in the Masyaf library. Quiet sounds of the Brotherhood working, training filtered through the halls and from tall library windows, the courtyard held much more of their brothers than it had by the end of Al Mualim’s rule.

Was this the Apple’s doing? It had shown him many things, some horrible, some puzzling but all of them strange and alien. Not once had it given him visions of his own past and never ones so altered, never ones so real.
He stayed his hand but not without the notice of the other assassins.
Al Mualim placed the Eden piece down on the library desk with great care.

“An assassin is always prepared,” Al Mualim lectured.

“An assassin is always aware”, he finished stoically but underneath the show of calm his mind raced. Confusion warred with alarm, pain with hope, and underneath it all, deep within the recesses of his heart laid the tenuous foundations of joy. Malik was alive as was his brother, both unharmed and in their prime. Yet Al Mualim was alive with them.
He could not kill Al Mualim outright with Malik and Kadar present and within the walls of Masyaf. That would be the height of stupidity.

“With the treasure in the brotherhood’s hands and de Sable dead in one stroke, the Templars will be distracted with their power squabbles and their forces on the defensive for some time yet.”

There was a long pause.

“No questions, Altaïr?”

Altaïr froze.

“No, master. Your command is all the justification I need.”

“Is it not best to attack them while they are weak?” Malik asked.

“What is it the assassins fight for?"

“Peace.”

Al Mualim nodded.

“Peace. If we were to eliminate the Templars, we would be no better than the warmongers. Let them fight. Amongst themselves and against the Saracen until they grow weary while we wait in the shadows for the opportune moment to strike men of evil. No. I will call on you when need be.”

Nine men who need to die.

Kill them. In doing so, you sow the seeds of peace.

Al Mualim’s smile was sincere though thin.

“Go. Rest. You have all done well.”

Dismissed, the assassins bowed and headed down the steps to their rooms.
Kadar grinned, causing a cut on his cheek to reopen.

“The master was pleased. Robert de Sable has always been a thorn in our side and to think the luck we had to down him in one fell swoop. It is a great victory for us.”

Malik snorted and crossed his arms but remained silent.

“Come, brother. You must admit Altaïr’s plans were a success.”

“What plans do you speak of? I remember brashly charging in with blade held high.”

Malik glared at Altaïr in challenge.

Altaïr stared back, impassive. Malik always did have a temper.

“You were right, Malik. You both are,” Altaïr said, relishing the surprise evident on Malik’s face. “It was apparently luck that saved us.”

“Luck?” Kadar asked, confused. “What of skill?”

“Luck and skill,” Altaïr assented.

They reached the split in the east wing and if Altaïr remembered correctly, his room was two doors down on the left. Altaïr nodded at the brothers.

“Safety and peace, friends.”

“And to you,” Kadar returned.

Altaïr turned down the corridor and closed the door to his room with only a quiet creak of wood.

Malik’s eyes lingered on the door, a frown on his face.

writeranon: oooh. I know how to do italics now. *is stupid* hurhurdur.

ANON, I LOVE YOU FOR BEING AMAZING AT WRITING THE NASTY BITS AND THE SOMEWHAT-AWKWARD ANGST-FILLED MUSHY BITS. That takes a special set of skills that I admire. In not creepy ways.

Raving aside, I'm looking forward to your updates, obviously. How did I somehow not read this fic sooner? Poor Desmond, poor Shaun. Although I can't 100% relate/know what they're going through, the way you write the whole situation is very believable. It's not pretty, there's no dashing romantic saving, but it's real and I love that.

Also holy shit, an estimated forty parts?? Jesus Christ.

Ho f*** that's hot!!

Yesh!! I love you forever

so glad someone is filling this <3

Gah! This was awesome!
There isn't enough post-AC fics about their offspring

You know that feeling you get when your skin crawls and you just want to curl in a ball or get a hug? That's when you know a story's good.

Bravo Maestro *happy clap* :')

I am so very upset and yet so happy with this chapter. D':

Setting down that long road. And it only get harder after the first step. Poor baby's got someone good to take care of him though. ;^;

Ah and I have taken your advice. I have started writing a story of my own. Haha, it's aweful, but it's mine. (*//3//*)

And thank you...for what you said. *^*

oh no it's totally fine. i'm still shocked that someone picked up this idea :D and i completely understand about world cup. it was kind of super disappointing this year, but spain made a great show of it, and germany did really well. anyway, just do what you need to do :)

WANT THIS! I can so picture this happening maybe, could be Sixteen's way of coping with it all.

:) I thought I'd try and start this one out. So far, it's surprisingly fun. I don't know what that says about me. Critiques appreciated.

Ezio couldn't scream anymore.

He was past feeling the hard, cold stone under his knees, or the hot burn of the rope scraping away the skin of his wrists tied tight behind his back. He didn't feel how his shirt, torn down the front, was wet with sweat and come. Nor did he register the oil, slick and chilled, seeping out of him, running down his legs after each time it was applied to make it easier for the guards to ream him.

He no longer reacted to the heavy scent of the men's arousals, or the sharp tang of his own blood. He tuned out their grunting, their heavy breathing blowing hot across his face, or behind his ear, or over his back and shoulders depending on the man's position. There was no longer the taste of the men's fingers, the grime on their skin, or their semen that coated the inside of his mouth.

The only thing too difficult to ignore was the constant burning pain of being freshly torn apart after each new guard.

There were eight of them. Eight of them had taken Ezio ever which way: on his back, his knees, his stomach. They took him two at once, which was what was going on at the moment. But he could no longer scream. Not even when the guard behind him grabbed his hair, damp and sticky with various bodily liquids, and yanked. His back arched, knees spread, as he was pulled down sharply, the guard using the momentum to rise up and ram himself deeper into his teenage body. Ezio could only groan brokenly, his mouth stretched around another guard's cock, the skin soft and hot and heavy against his tongue.

But the man in front of him was barely hard. Most of them had been like that, clearly uncomfortable about being ordered to rape a teenage boy. They were only going through with it because disobeying orders was unthinkable. When a man was a guard for the Pazzi family, he fucking learned to obey. Most of them could barely get it up at all, but a few of them had their fill, enjoying the hell out of it. They took the time to draw out his suffering. Those were the ones that played with him through the whole ordeal, throughout their entire turn. They mocked his looks, taunted him with crude remarks. Their hands jacked his length roughly, trying to make him beg for it, before tearing into him.

As hard as he tried, after going through the motions so many times, he probably ended up begging.

For more.

To stop.

Please, anything.

He didn't know by then. He didn't know what he was yelling. After awhile, he simply stopped caring.

All movement ceased at the voice ringing out across the walls of the catacombs.

“That's enough, you two.”

Ezio felt a tiny flare of anger rise up in his chest. He was completely out of it, and so sore and drained of everything, but nothing could stop him from remembering the man who ordered he be dragged down here to this. Francesco de' Pazzi. That sick, psychotic fuck. Another thing that Ezio could not block out, was Francesco's stare. From the very start, his dark eyes were on him, watching as he struggled, thrashed, and finally, after how long, lay still. That calculating gaze never left him once, unlike Francesco's son, who kept his eyes on the wall almost the entire time. Vieri was quiet, his arms crossed as he stood next to his father.

Francesco de' Pazzi continued to speak harshly. “You're getting nothing out of him anymore. He's no longer entertaining.”

Ezio choked on the thick mass when it was wrenched out of his throat, the guard giving a quiet sigh of relief, now that his own ordeal was over. The guard behind him, however, quietly swore, not wanting to pull out, not wanting to leave his plaything. His hot, hard cock still filled Ezio to the brim. Tightly stretched, Ezio could feel it throb rapidly against his nerves. But he slumped forward, nauseated and numb, his trembling thighs barely holding him up. The possessive hands on his hips made him want to vomit, but they disappeared in the next moment. The man wrenched himself out of him. It felt like his insides were shredded out as well, and his body jerked out of reflex to the abrupt pull.

Without the guard holding him up, Ezio collapsed to the ground. His eyes rolled back, on the verge of passing out, when the toe of a a boot slammed into his ribs, kicking him onto his back. His body hardly flinched, mouth working around pained breaths. His eyes blinked into focus, and they landed on Vieri, who was kneeling between his legs.

There were eight men. It looked like Vieri would be the ninth.

“Going last?” Ezio 's voice was soft and raspy. The look he threw in Vieri's general direction was blank and dead. “What ever happened to ladies first?”

Vieri scoffed, looking disgusted at how messed up he was.

“Ironic choice of words, considering you're the one who has been taking it like a woman.”

His eyes narrowed at Ezio's uncaring shrug, his gaze not even on him, but on the dark ceiling. It was like he couldn't even be bothered with acknowledging him. Vieri had to watch Ezio through the whole disgusting exchange with the guards. He felt pissed to be brushed off so easily compared to them, like it didn't matter that he would be hurting him.

He jerked his knee forward, hitting Ezio solidly between his vulnerable, open legs. Ezio was so far gone, that his face didn't scrunch up from the pain. He felt it. He felt all of it. But his body couldn't react. Too exhausted, only his eyes moved, widening immensely. His lungs drew in so much air, filling his chest with so much pressure, that his heart slammed hard against it.

Vieri didn't even bother with the lubrication, wanting to get his part in this done as quickly as possible. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be going anywhere near Ezio's torn, bloodied mess that eight men had emptied themselves in. But one look from his father pushed away his hesitancy, and he shoved himself forward.

The air in Ezio's chest left him in one harsh exhale. His over sensitive torn tissues were being mercilessly stretched again. It was all happening again. It felt like fire searing him, like a burning iron rod held inside him that he couldn't get away from, one that stayed there, shoving deeper inside him with every second.

And he couldn't make it stop.

OMG YES PIQUE. ALSO SERGIO RAMOS AND DAVID VILLA. BASICALLY THAT WHOLE TEAM. I totally know what you mean. although it's okay to cheer for them because they are a totally badass team. AND DEM HOTTIES.

I will gladly mourn with you. Because I never want it to be over. And I know right? if it's not Barca it's Real or Liverpool. Which I'm fine with, since if I can't watch them all on one team then THE FEWER TEAMS THE BETTER AMIRITE?!

He almost made to struggle. His body tensed for a second, knees almost drawing up, shoulders almost pulling against his bonds, until he felt Vieri push hard, filling him completely.

He knew then, that nothing was going to stop. It would never stop.

A horrendous pressure filled his chest, vision blurring, his jaw going slack.

Ezio shut down.

He didn't hear Francesco's next words.

“Once you're finished with him, kill him. Then he'll be delivered to the Auditore's front step.” A sick smile twisted on his face. “ And Giovanni will get to see his son as the miserable whore that he is. I wonder how long he'll mourn his death?”

He held his chin in his hand, a thoughtful look on his face. It made sense to have his own son rape his enemy's son. Not only was it humiliating and an easy form of torture, there was this delicious sense of superiority gained indirectly through his son. From one son to another. It was like attacking Giovanni without lifting a single finger.

Also, through Francesco's twisted thinking, what made this better was how clearly unwilling Vieri was with this. He knew his son had no problem with raping others, but they were always women. Never men. But his son had to learn that torture was torture. He was sure Vieri didn't want to do this, just like most of his guards didn't want to. That much was obvious, but he could easily make them.

Francesco knew what power was. He could force others to do what he wanted through words alone. He pressed a gloved finger to his son's temple, enjoying the wary look he got in return. His own son was scared of him, but at the same time, oddly eager to please.

“Go faster,” he said, taking advantage of those traits. “Make him bleed more.”

And just like the guards from earlier, Vieri knew enough to obey his father's commands.

Francesco smiled cruelly at the soft, pained noises forced from Ezio's bruised, bloody mouth. He wished he could personally deliver his damaged gift straight to Giovanni himself. He wanted Giovanni to suffer. It would only be too nice to see that bastard's face when he discovered his pathetic fuck up of a son, broken, beaten, and throughly violated. To know his son suffered through so much, and he wasn't there to protect him. It filled Francesco with sick satisfaction, but he knew Giovanni's sadness wouldn't last. He had other sons. If he were smart like Francesco, he wouldn't be bothered with the death of one single offspring. More could be made. Better ones that were disciplined, and didn't flit around being a waste of life. The death of one could easily be brushed off.

No, if Francesco wanted Giovanni to truly suffer, the boy should not be killed. That way, Giovanni would forever have to wonder if his son were alive. Every waking moment would be torment, thinking that his son could be somewhere within reach, but unable to do anything about it. He would not be able to forget. Sending Giovanni bits and pieces of his son would only make it that much sweeter.

MOST DEFINITELY. ;D

I realllllly crave some Giovanni x Lorenzo(in that order). It can contain some really sweet romantic sex or hot kinky fucking.

Wow. This is amazing! The details are so nice, I can easily imagine what's happening.

I love this pairing, and I love their snark. Thank you for sharing this.

And, lol, captcha. "Cruising Florence"

Oh man, F5ing like a motherfucker.

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed

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