#Assassin's Creed x Reader

[kiatheinsomniac]

. * ⋆  . · 　. ⋆ :₊ 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉-𝒖𝒑 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ♡ ‧⁺ . ♡ ⋆ . · 　. 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓆩♡𓆪 it's that time of year again! this is my blog's third consecutive year of valentine's match-ups, a chance for you to be set up on a date with one of your favs! but this year is even more special as there are two parts to the event: sugar and spice! If you are 18+ you can enter both sugar and spice once each! 𓆩♡𓆪 SUGAR is the SFW and majority part of this event, open to everyone. SPICE* is the NSFW and smaller part of this event, available only to followers aged 18+ *spice info under the cut 𓆩♡𓆪 SUGAR! engagement can be unpredictable so entries will be chosen either one of two ways: 14 entries or less will make this a first-come first-served event! 14+ entries will see 14 winners chosen at random via raffle! 𓆩♡𓆪 SPICE! will only have 5 slots available and entries will be chosen via raffle regardless of engagement

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓!

♡ start your message with "sugar!" and send me a description of yourself (sexuality, personality, hobbies, likes/dislikes, etc. any details to give a profile of yourself) and a fandom (or multiple fandoms!) of your choice from the list below. ♡ I'll tell you who would ask you to be their Valentine and why as well as the date they would take you on! ♡ you can enter by sending your information to my ask box! ♡ please keep in mind that entries for sugar are one per person and not one per blog. This is to make it fair.

♡ enter now for a Valentine's date!

・💌・꒰ CLOSES 10TH FEB. ꒱ ・💌・꒰ 4 LETTERS RECEIVED ꒱

. ♡ ⋆  . · 　. 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃:

✧ I will write for literally anyone

𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋:

✧Any of the Dimitrescus, Karl Heisenberg, Donna Beneviento, Carlos Oliveira, Jill Valentine

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐖 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘:

✧Elliott, Sebastian

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓:

✧Alhaitham, Arlecchino, Baizhu, Beidou, Clorinde, Cyno, Dehya, Diluc, Dottore, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Lisa, Navia, Neuvillette, Ningguang, Pantalone, Raiden Ei, Scaramouche, Thoma, Tighnari, Xiao, Yae Miko, Zhongli (more will be added as I progress in the game ♡)

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋:

✧Argenti, Aventurine, Black Swan, Boothill, Caelus, Dan Heng, Dr Ratio, Jioqiu, Jing Yuan, Mr. Reca, Stelle, Sunday(more will be added as I progress in the game ♡)

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊:

✧Sol

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑:

✧Mr, Crawling, Mr. Silver, Mr. Scarletella

𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐍:

✧Any of the ainur/ elves, Aragorn, Faramir, Haleth

𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀:

✧Alucard, Carmilla, Drolta, Hector, Striga

𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋'𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄:

✧Howl

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒:

✧Tomoe

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑:

✧Sebastian, Undertaker, Snake, Ash/Angela, Charles Grey

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒:

✧Dominique, Johann, Noé, Olivier, Vanitas

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓:

✧Sherlock Holmes, William James Moriarty

𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒:

✧Akiko Yosano, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Golgo. Osamu Dazai, Sigma, Yukichi Fukuzawa

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:

✧Brother Day

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒆!

♡ start your message with "spice!" and send me a description of yourself (sexuality, personality, etc. any details to give a profile of yourself), preferred descriptions for your anatomy/gender, your kinks, boundaries, and a fandom (or multiple fandoms!) of your choice from the list above. ♡ I'll tell you who'd be your valentine and the spicy surprises they have in store for you on valentine's day! ♡ you can enter by sending your information to my ask box! for the sake of keeping minors out of this side of the event, anon entries will be invalid as I'll need to see your age displayed on your blog but you can ask for me to make your entry anonymous when it is posted for the sake of privacy if you please ♡ please keep in mind that entries for spice are one per person and not one per blog. This is to make it fair.

♡ enter now for Valentine's sex!

・💌・꒰ CLOSES 10TH FEB. ꒱ ���💌・꒰ 0 LETTERS RECEIVED ꒱

☾ ⋆ ﾟlike my work? why not: ∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ comms. ∘ taglist ∘ follow/reblog

[multi-fandoms-posts]

X Men Masterlist:

X Men Masterlist 2

Update: 10/06/24:

Charles Xavier:

His Wife

Imagine

Sweet Moment

The Professor and the Stark Heiress

An Unexpected Encounter

Lesson in Obedience (SMUT)

Charles and His Girlfriend High School AU

A Seductive Chess Game (SMUT)

The Crossing of Worlds last part (X-Men x The Boys)

The Crossing of Worlds Part 3 (X-Men x The Boys)

The Crossing of Worlds Part 2 (X-Men x The Boys)

Beyond Control last Part

The Crossing of Worlds Part 1 (X-Men x The Boys)

Beyond Control Part 1

Hihgschool AU

A Nighttime Disruption

The Power of Thoughts

A Telepathic Connection

Read my mind (Logan x reader x Charles)

Drunk idea

Training

Just Friends huh?

I will always be by your side

Imagine

Charles If....

Update: 10/02/24:

Cherik:

Equal Power, Equal Passion SMUT

Driven to the Limit

Secrets in the Storm

POV Video

Annoying encounter in the bar

Gun and pressure

The Explosive Mission last part

In the Storm of Love and Rage

The Explosive Mission part 2

The Explosive Mission part 1

Logan's sister

Playful Distraction: A Day of Mission and Mischief

Trouble maker

Training Chaos

two men protect her girl

Between Mission and Seduction

Distractions and Dynamics

Seductive Power Part 2

Seductive Power Part 1

Unexpected Revelations last part

Through the Shadows of Danger

Twin Trouble

Unexpected Revelations Part 3

Unexpected Revelations Part 2

Unexpected Revelations Part 1

dirty mind

Horror movie

Cherik

Update: 10/08/24

Erik Lehnsherr:

Erik's Secret

Someday

Imagine

Little surprise SMUT

In His Arms: A Moment of Peace

A Night of Control and Desire (SMUT)

A Challenge, a Kiss, and a Surprise

Between Magnet and Mind

In the Ruins of Conflict

Hidden Tension

Update: 10/06/24

McFassy:

sick days

Chaos Before the Oscars

Waves of Passion

A Magical Moment at Comic-Con

Update: 10/06/24

James Mcavoy:

The Tie SMUT

A Magical Evening

Video call

Surprise at Comic-Con

Sunrise Moments

A Flirt in Focus

Update: 10/06/24

Paddy:

The Thrill of the hunt

Beg for me SMUT

role-playing game (SMUT)

Imagine

Possession and Desire

The Night of Deception and Passion 2/2(SMUT)

The Night of Deception and Passion 1/2

Control and Surrender (SMUT)

The Game of Control (Paddy and Cal)

I love my psychopath

Shackles of Desire (Paddy and The Killer)

The Heat of the Moment (SMUT)

Update:09/29/24

Lord Asriel:

Lost Time: The Return of Lord Asriel (SMUT)

Amidst the Battle

In the Light of the Morning

Update: 09/10/24:

Logan:

Mission with Temptation

Uninvited Guest

Unexpected Visitor(but somehow not)

Unexpected News

Inappropriate Comments

In the Shadows of Passion

Read my mind (Logan x reader x Charles)

Scott's sister

Game night

Midnight Conversation

The Bar

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Sɑνe ɱe ʄɾσɱ tɦe ɗɑɾƙ || Jacob Frye ||

A/n: Been thinking about this for a while 😩.

Warnings: descriptions of blood, loss life / child death

The night was still and cold, the only sound the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Jacob lay in bed beside you, the warmth of the covers wrapped around him, yet sleep refused to be peaceful. His body tensed, muscles tight with an anxiety he couldn’t escape. The shadows seemed to loom larger in the room, and his mind, despite his best efforts to quiet it, was restless.

Jacob’s breathing was shallow, his body soaked in cold sweat. The room, usually a haven, felt oppressive now.

His eyelids fluttered, but the sleep wouldn’t release him. The nightmare had come again. It always began this way, every so often it would creep back in from a place that he had buried so deep.The dream was always the same, always lingering in the back of his mind. But tonight, it felt more vivid more real.

The world around him blurred, and suddenly, he was no longer lying beside you in the cozy home. He was in the same cold, empty streets of London, the oppressive fog thick around him. His heart raced as he tried to move, but his legs felt like lead, each step dragging, each breath short and ragged.

he whispered your name into the mist, his voice lost in the wind. Panic rose in his chest, thick as the fog that clung to him.

He called again, louder this time. “Y/n! Where are you?”

His voice echoed in the streets, unanswered. A chill ran down his spine as he turned the corner, his eyes scanning the darkened alleyways. The familiar, haunting feeling of being watched prickled the back of his neck.

That’s when he saw it.

The shadow of a figure in the distance, familiar and terrifying. His stomach dropped. The silhouette of Jack, standing just beyond the lamplight, he could almost see twisted grin gleaming underneath the mask he wore.

“No!” Jacob’s voice trembled, his heart pounding in his chest. “Not again.”

Jack turned slowly, and for the first time, Jacob noticed something new: the blood. Dark streaks, fresh and glistening on Jack’s blade, the sharp edge reflecting the faint light from the streetlamp. But it wasn’t Jack that Jacob focused on.

"You couldn't save em Jacob...just like my mother...how useless you are."

Then the world shifted in and soon Jacob found himself standing in their cottage, the warmth of the fire long extinguished. The air was thick, suffocating with a sense of dread, the metallic scent filling the air. You weren't beside him, the bed empty, cold. Panic surged in his chest. His heart raced as he called your name, but his voice felt lost, swallowed by the dark silence.

He stumbled out of the room, his breath sharp in his throat. The floor creaked under his feet, the familiar sound now eerie, unsettling. He moved quickly, his eyes scanning the rooms. Nothing. No sign of you, no sign of the children.

And that's when he heard it.

A soft, eerie sound that froze him in his tracks,his blood running cold. A faint whimper, a cry. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He knew where it was coming from.

His children...

Jacob rushed forward, his legs heavy as if the ground itself was holding him back, refusing to let him go. He pushed open the door, and the sight before him nearly made his heart stop.

The room was bathed in darkness, the only light from the pale moon seeping through the curtains. But there, in the corner, stood a figure.

It was Jack.

The man he trained all those years ago, the disgrace to the Creed.

The Ripper.

His twisted grin was still there, that same cruel, terrifying smile that haunted Jacob’s thoughts. In his hand was the glint of a blade, red stained and gleaming in the moonlight.

He could almost feel the scars burning again, the blade in his eye.

��Jacob,” Jack’s voice was a low, mocking whisper. “Did you really think you could run away? That your little family would be safe?”

His could feel the file rise up from his throat, heart dropping.

“No!” Jacob cried, finally managing to move, to step forward. “Stay away from them!”

But it was too late.

In an instant, Jack was on them, the gleaming knife raised high. You and the children were already on the floor, the sound of the cries muffled by the overpowering vision of death that loomed above them. The knife flashed down, and Jacob’s stomach churned.

“No!” Jacob screamed, his voice raw with panic and helplessness.

But Jack was already there, the blade raised. It was too late.

Jack’s twisted laugh echoed through the room, a chilling reminder of the pain that still haunted him. The blade drove deeper, and the world seemed to slow down, each second stretching out painfully. His chest felt tight as if the weight of everything—the loss, the fear, the guilt was crushing him.

Jacob’s vision blurred as he reached you, as he kneeling beside you. You were cold, lifeless, your body stretched unnaturally on the wooden, your once radiant face pale and twisted in a final expression of horror. And then, he saw the worst of it the blood. The blood that stained the ground beneath you, the blood that soaked your clothes, your stomach.The knife had pierced deep into you.The visceral sight of the gapping wound in your chest.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes moved to the children.

Margret and James his children, his little ones, lying beside you. They were motionless. Blood staining their small forms.

His throat burned as he screamed their names.

“No! No, no, no!” Jacob wailed, his body shaking uncontrollably as he reached for them, shaking them in a desperate attempt to wake them up. But they didn’t stir. They didn’t respond. The horror of their lifeless bodies,their cold, empty eyes staring back at him was more than he could bear.

Tears burned his eyes as he cradled your cold form in his arms. “Please,” he whispered, his voice a broken plea. “Please, wake up.”

But you didn’t wake up. Neither did the children.

And then, Jack was standing over him, his cold laughter filling the empty cold and darken home, his blade gleaming in the moonlight, blood slowly dripping. “You couldn’t save them, Jacob,” Jack sneered. “I always win. I always take everything from you.”

The world around Jacob collapsed in on itself, the scene blurring and distorting as the mocking laughter grew louder and louder until it swallowed him whole.

Suddenly, he was jerked awake, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat, his heart racing in his chest. His mind was spinning, the horror of the nightmare still clinging to him like a shadow. The room was still, quiet, but the echo of Jack’s laughter and the haunting image of you, the children, lifeless and cold, wouldn’t leave him.

“Jacob?” Your voice broke through the haze, your warm hand on his chest. He looked at you, startled, his body trembling as he took in your living, breathing form. You were there. You were safe.

He closed his eyes tightly, struggling to calm his racing heart. The nightmare had felt so real. So crushing. He could still feel the weight of it in his chest, the emptiness of losing you, losing them.

“I’m here, Jacob,” you whispered softly, your voice laced with concern. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”

But even as you spoke, Jacob could still hear Jack’s your echoing in his mind, and the image of you, the children, lying dead at his feet, haunted him.

“I couldn’t save you,” Jacob murmured, his voice hoarse. “Not again. I couldn’t save you.”

Your fingers gently cupped his face, lifting his gaze to meet yours. “You don’t have to save me, Jacob,” you said, your tone tender. “We’re in this together. Always.”

But Jacob wasn’t sure if he could ever escape the terror of that nightmare the terror that Jack’s shadow would always linger over them, even in the quietest moments.

His stomach tightened, then brought his your hand to his lips kissing the palm. "Rest...I just...need to see the children." His voice was still raw as you gave him a reluctant nod.

Quietly slipping out of the bed, Jacob then stood at the doorway of the bedroom, watching as you laid back against the pillows, your chest rising and falling steadily with each deep breath. He could tell you were already drifting back to sleep, the exhaustion of the past days finally catching up with you. Your face was peaceful now.

Jacob took a moment to gaze at you, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The weight of the world had always seemed to settle on your shoulders, but when you were asleep, you looked free from it. He moved quietly, careful not to disturb you as he slipped out of the room.

His steps were soft as he moved down the hallway, pausing outside the rooms where the children slept. The door to James’ room was slightly ajar, and Jacob pushed it open just enough to peek inside. James was curled up in bed, his small figure swaddled in blankets, his face relaxed in a peaceful sleep. Jacob’s heart warmed at the sight of him, his little boy so full of life. He quietly stepped in and placed a hand on his son’s head, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

“Sweet dreams, lad,” he whispered, his voice barely a murmur, then he pulled the covers up over him just a little more.

Next, he moved to Margaret’s room. The door creaked open, but it didn’t disturb her. Margaret, unlike her brother, was sprawled out, arms above her head, her tiny mouth slightly open as she slept. She looked so much like you, even in her sleep serene, gentle. Jacob stood there for a moment, watching her with a quiet affection.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, just as he had with James. “Good night, my little one,” he whispered, then made sure she was tucked in comfortably before stepping back out of the room.

Jacob lingered for a moment in the hallway, taking in the stillness of the house. It was a peaceful night, one that he didn’t take for granted, especially after everything that had happened. He glanced back toward the bedroom, knowing that you were there, resting after all the stress and worry. He let out a quiet sigh, relief settling over him as he walked back down the hall toward you.

When he returned to the room, you were still asleep, your hand resting on your growing belly, the light of a candle casting a soft glow on you. He paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of you, the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the love he felt for you growing stronger with every passing day.

He quietly closed the door behind him, moving over to your side of the bed. He could hear the faint sound of your breathing, steady and calm. He sat down beside you and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. You shifted slightly but didn’t wake, your features still soft and relaxed. He could see the exhaustion on your face the toll the pregnancy was taking on you but there was something in your expression that reassured him. You were strong. And you were home. You were here.

Jacob leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” he whispered softly, not wanting to disturb your slumber but needing you to know. “We’re all safe. I promise.”

He settled in beside you, slipping under the covers and wrapping his arm carefully around you. The weight of the day seemed to fall away as he held you close, his heart at ease for the first time in days. You stirred slightly, shifting into his embrace, and Jacob pulled you closer, keeping you safe in his arms as you fell deeper into sleep.

He lay there for a while, listening to the peaceful sounds of the house, the quiet of the children’s slumber, the crackling of the fire, and the steady rhythm of your breath. In this moment, he felt as though they could face anything together, as a family. And for the first time in a long while, he let himself relax, knowing they had each other, and that was enough.

Jack was gone and he was never coming back and you.

You and the children were here to stay.

[reemonna]

HI! Love ur blog. Can I req some nsfw headcanons for Connor Kenway? ;)

Oh dear, this is the first time for me to write a whole nsfw blog and I'm so anxious about it, especially if it's about Connor. I hope I won't disappoint and thank you so much!

!!! (Warning: NSFW / not for minors / +18 content) !!!

NSFW Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor Kenway headcanons

(During the events of AC3)

In spite of his terrifying physique and alarming gazes when he's hunting down an enemy, he can be the softest and most caring creature you'll ever get to know when it comes to him having a physical contact with you

He's so strong and able-bodied, so he can pin you to the wall with both his arms easily and you're here squirming before his huge body

When you're giving him head for the first time he'd be really concerned and anxious the whole time that you might choke. He's fully aware he is that huge

Him having kinks? I don't think so. He's an innocent boy, it's even possible for him not knowing what does the word 'kink' stand for in the first place. He could even ask you about it

"Nó:ronhkwe (love), what does the word 'kink' mean?"

"Where did you hear that from?"

But if he did have kinks, they would be the least risky and hurtful ones. Which means BDSM is a conclusive no for him

Connor is a busy man, he doesn't really have the time to have sexual and romantic relationships, he was once afraid he couldn't give his woman what she deserves. So having you would be his first. Yes, that means he is a virgin

Thus explain why he's shy and probably doesn't know what he's doing in your first time together. But he's a fast learner, with very observant eyes and sharp senses, he will take some mental notes of how to improve and get better by the time. And he definitely does

He's pretty skilled with his hands, according to training and using different weapons and managing them perfectly, so he really knows how to use them well, and he's ready to show you that in other ways than fighting, to play you like a violin, turning you into a sobbing mess

During the whole thing he will ask you some questions from time to time like 'Are you okay with this?', 'Am I doing good?', 'Do you want me to stop?' to let you know that he's wary and willing to make it as comfortable and pleasurable for you as possible

You wouldn't imagine what it's like to do it with him when he's mad about something. He turns into one brutal beast you won't be able to feel your body for a week at least

Once he's done and returns back to his senses, he will regret it immediately and keep on apologising (even if you're not really protesting), making sure you weren't badly hurt

When you're both close enough, he likes to play chasing games with you, tag for an example. He likes watching you from afar, determining your location with his secondary vision, licking his lips and eyeing you in a predatory way, closing the distance between you slowly like a vulture hunting down its prey. That's until he surprises you with a full-of-happiness giggle and hugs you. Holding you tight in a teddy bear way as if he's won his prize, whispering promises of a long blissful night to your ears

He looks like a sculpted statue of a greek god after reaching his climax. With his tired handsome face, pumped lips (more than they actually are), sleepy beautiful half-closed eyes, flushed tanned skin, tiny whines escaping his lips from time to time, sculpted flawless body and a rising and lowering sweaty chest. If he's conscious enough he would have a little wanton smirk on his lips with his eyes fixed upon you

He's the sweetest boy when it comes to the aftercare. He gives away lots of kisses and cuddles, asking you if he did well enough, could even prepare a bath for you to get cleaned up. He doesn't let you make the least effort possible. He takes care of everything himself until he finally lays beside you in bed, pulling you into his lap, fondling your hair tresses and kissing your forehead softly, wishing you sweet dreams

[s0larine]

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐄 [𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐂 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑]

summary ☩ The reader, an undercover Assassin, goes at a high-society masquerade ball to gather information about Templars and unexpectedly meet her former friend, Shay, now fully allied with the enemy. Neither can afford to reveal their true identities in such a public place, but they are drawn to each other through the anonymity of the masks.

[a/n] ☩ [y/f/n] means your fake name because baby we’re playing undercover tonight~ reminder that english is not my mother tongue. UNEDITED

word count ☩ 3,979

pairing ☩ shay cormac x f! reader

content warnings ☩ slight sexual tension, female reader, enemies to lovers, mentions of shay's deflection, fluff, assassin! reader, templar! shay, reader in a gown, shay being a man, shay having a long time crush on reader, mutual pining, ...

　　　New-York, June 1756

“Everything is in order. You can enter, Lady [y/f/n].”

The red coat handed you your invitation. As you entered the huge place, your eyes wandered around you, detailing every nook and cranny, taking in and memorising the layout of the area. The grand hall was indeed a spectacle of opulence. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, casting a golden glow over the sea of masks that danced and mingled below. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of violins filled the air, creating a scene that was far removed from the dangerous world you were familiar with.

Your mission tonight was simple: gather information, and your mentor was clear about your purpose here; not to engage at any costs. The Templars were holding this extravagant masquerade in the hopes of attracting allies from high society, and you had been sent by the Assassin Brotherhood with—of course, a fake name—to blend in, to listen, to learn. The gown you wore tonight was unlike anything you were used to—luxurious, intricate, and adorned with a mask that glittered in the candlelight. Your hair was gathered in a half bun and some golden hair clips adorned them. In order to pass for a member of high society, you even took the time to put on a jewellery set; a necklace, dangling earrings and a few bracelets and rings. But beneath the facade of wealth and elegance, your blade was hidden, strapped to your left thigh under your luxurious gown, ever ready. If I'd been born as a man, hiding it and having simple access to it would have been easier, but there's nothing more I can do in this puffy dress… you thought. 

As you walked amongst the other attendees, getting as close as possible to people whose clothes meant something to you, such as high-ranked Templars, you noticed a very particular group of men at the other side of the hall. Among them were Colonel George Monro and Sir William Johnson, both members of the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order. Your eyes fell on their silhouettes with their recognisable clothes from beneath your own mask but quickly continued their search. And who else…

What you hadn't expected was to find him here.

Shay Cormac stood with the group of men, dressed sharply in a black tailcoat with accents of silver and red. His mask, a sleek black piece that covered half his face, did little to hide the sharpness of his features or the air of authority he carried. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The same stormy brown eyes that had haunted your thoughts since the day he defected from the Brotherhood.

You hadn't seen him in years, but the memories were fresh, the betrayal still raw.

But there was one detail that made your blood run cold: the young man's eyes were already riveted on you. When has he ever noticed you before? Your heartbeat quickened and you finally looked away, turning to a passing servant. You picked up a glass of champagne as he passed by you and began to sip the golden liquid, your eyes frantically searching for a place to rest in order to pass for an innocent. Maybe it was just a coincidence... No, no, he's far too clever to think that I'm just a random young woman...

You risked looking back up at the group of men he was with, but he had already disappeared. Your breathing quickened and you turned away from his previous location towards a random group of people, just to pass for a guest sympathising with others. Your heart raced as you opened your senses; you knew he was coming for you and you couldn’t do anything but pray he hadn’t recognised you yet. This was supposed to be just another mission, a simple infiltration, but now everything felt different. Could you approach him without giving yourself away?

A voice behind you jolted you from your thoughts, soon followed by a delicate 

"Would you care to dance?"

You freezed. A delicate palm soon rested on the small of your back and another one entered your field of vision from the right, at the level of your own right hand. Closing your eyes, you inhaled sharply before turning; you found Shay standing before you, his right hand still extended and a dangerous smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat once again at your inattentiveness. You needed to be more careful around him… The recognition in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. He definitely knew. He had seen through your disguise, just as you had seen through his.

But you couldn't afford to let him know the depth of your awareness, not here, not now.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension that coiled in your chest, giving away your champagne glass to a passing servant. You placed your right hand in his left, feeling the warmth of his grip, and he led you onto the dance floor.

The music swelled around you as Shay pulled you close, one hand resting firmly on your waist, the other holding your gloved hand in his. His touch was confident, and his movements were smooth as he guided you effortlessly through the steps of the waltz. The crowd around you faded into the background, your focus narrowing to the man before you.

"You've been watching me, [y/n]," Shay said softly, his lips barely moving as he leaned in. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hidden challenge.

You met his gaze, your mask hiding the flash of defiance in your eyes. "I could say the same about you, Shay."

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough," you whispered with clenched teeth, your voice sharp despite the graceful steps of the dance.

Shay's grip on your waist tightened slightly, which made you tense, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between you. "You always did have a way with words. Tell me, are you here for pleasure, or are you working tonight?" You did not fail to notice his gaze sliding down your neck to the start of your cleavage, checking you out shamelessly. 

Your cheeks flushed, feeling like a lamb trapped in the fangs of a wolf. You felt the heat of his breath as he spoke, the proximity making it difficult to keep your composure. Every instinct told you to draw your blade, to end this now, but the crowd was thick, and the consequences of a public confrontation were too great.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" you replied, your lips curving into a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

He twirled you effortlessly, the skirts of your gown swirling around you as you spun, and when you came back to him, his hand was lower, lingering just above the hidden blade at your thigh. He didn't touch it, but the threat was clear. He knew exactly where it was. Your blood ran cold at the thought that he had found your dagger.

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, his voice a soft warning. "This is a delicate dance we're doing. One misstep and it could get… messy."

From being riveted on his chest, your eyes looked back up into his own, the familiar storm clouds swirling with something darker, something more dangerous. "You think I'm afraid of a little mess?"

Shay's lips quivered into a smirk, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the man you once knew, the Assassin and friend who had fought beside you. But that man was gone, replaced by the Templar before you.

"You should be," he whispered, pulling you closer as the music slowed.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the crowd, the mission, the masks—all of it dissolved as the tension between you reached a boiling point. The weight of your shared history hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. You had fought side by side once, and had trusted him with your life. And then he had betrayed everything.

But here, in this moment, with his hand on your waist and your bodies moving in sync, the lines between enemy and ally blurred. You hated him, you were sure of that, but the way your heart pounded in your chest told a different story. There was something more, something you had never fully understood.

"Tell me, Shay," you said, your voice barely more than a breath as the music began to wind down. "Why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on us?"

Shay's expression darkened, the playful smirk fading as his eyes grew hard. "You wouldn't understand, [y/n]."

"Try me," you insisted, your grip on his hand tightening.

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours. And then, just as the final note of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong."

With those words, the music ended, and Shay released you, stepping back with a final, piercing look. He bowed slightly, a mockery of the formal dance, and then turned, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there in the middle of the dance floor, watching him go back to his Templar associates. You were unable to move, your heart racing, and your mind spinning. His words echoed in your ears, and for the first time, you weren't sure where your loyalties truly lay.

As the night wore on, you realised that this masquerade was more than just a mission—it was the beginning of a far more dangerous game. One that you and Shay Cormac were destined to play, whether you liked it or not.

The evening continued around you, but it felt as though you were standing still. The swirling skirts, the clinking of glasses, the murmurs of conversation—they all faded into background noise as your mind raced with Shay’s parting words.

“Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong.”

Your hand unconsciously grazed the hidden blade at your thigh, the familiar weight suddenly feeling heavy. Shay had betrayed everything you once stood for. He had walked away, abandoned the Creed, and joined the very enemies you had sworn to fight. And yet… there was a flicker of doubt creeping into your thoughts, a doubt you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

The Brotherhood had given you purpose, structure, a cause greater than yourself. But now, for the first time, you wondered if Shay’s defection wasn’t just a selfish act of betrayal. His eyes when he spoke had held something you hadn’t expected: conviction.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No. I won’t question the Brotherhood. Not now, not because of him.

But that resolve felt brittle.

You caught a glimpse of Shay again through the crowd. He had made his way toward the far end of the ballroom, mingling with Templar officials, exchanging pleasantries. But his eyes kept darting back to you, just as yours did to him.

What was his game?

Your mission was still clear. Gather information. You weren’t here for personal matters. You couldn’t afford to let Shay’s presence distract you. But despite your attempts to stay focused, your thoughts kept wandering back to that dance, to his touch, to the way his breath had brushed against your ear when he whispered those final words.

Suddenly, a hand landed lightly on your shoulder, jolting you from your reverie.

“Care to join me for a drink, my lady?” The voice belonged to a man in a silver mask, a high-ranking Templar based on the insignia on his sleeve. His eyes were sharp, watching you with interest. It was clear he had noticed your distraction.

Forcing a smile, you nodded, reminding yourself of your mission. “Of course.”

As you followed him to a quieter corner of the room where the drinks were principally gathered, you could feel Shay’s gaze burning into your back, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The Templar was speaking now, sharing something about the recent victories they’d secured in the colonies, but you weren’t really listening despite the purpose of your mission tonight. Your mind was still with Shay, turning over everything he had said—and everything he hadn’t in a way. After a few minutes of absent-mindedly drinking champagne and listening to the man recount his false prowess, you finally excused yourself from the conversation, your head buzzing with alcohol and of course the weight of your conflicting emotions. You were a little hot and needed air, away from all those rich folks.

You headed for the balcony overlooking the formal gardens of the period building. Stepping out onto the balcony, you took a deep breath of the cool night air, leaning against the marble railing.

It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Opening your senses once again, you closed your eyes and you instantly knew who it was.

“You always did like your quiet moments,” came a familiar voice.

You didn’t turn around immediately, your hands tightening on the railing as Shay approached. You could feel his eyes boring into your back, or even your bum, and the tension rolling off him.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” you said, still facing the darkened city beyond. “You’ve made your point. Or was there something else you wanted to say?”

Shay didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped beside you, his presence warm and solid in the cool night air. You could feel him watching you, studying you, but you refused to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “do you truly believe in everything the Brotherhood teaches? Or do you just follow because that’s all you’ve ever known?”

The question hit harder than you expected. You had spent years training under the Creed, living by its rules, carrying out its missions without question. But standing here now, with Shay beside you, that certainty felt… shaky. He wasn’t just talking about betrayal; he was challenging everything you had built your life around.

“Why are you asking me this?” you shot back, turning towards him and leaning against the fence that was now behind you. The action made the dark-haired man's eyes slide towards your protruding chest, and they stopped there for a few seconds before returning to rest in your eyes. You frowned slightly, licking your lower lip, you decided to ignore his gaze and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. “You’re the one who abandoned us. Who betrayed your brothers and sisters. You walked away, Shay. And now you want to question my loyalty?”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes never wavered. “I didn’t betray the Brotherhood. I saw the truth. The Assassins… they’re not as righteous as you think. They preach freedom, but they’re willing to sacrifice anyone who gets in their way.”

You inhaled sharply, your chest suddenly pressed against the corset of your dress. You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips. There was a certain fire in his eyes, a depth to his conviction that shook you. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t manipulating you. He believed what he was saying.

“I followed the Creed because I believed in it, just like you do, [y/n],” seeing that you didn’t speak, Shay continued, his voice steady. “But I couldn’t ignore what I saw—the innocents we put at risk, the people we hurt for the sake of an ideal. The Brotherhood is supposed to protect people, not destroy them.”

You felt a pang of anger, but also of confusion. Shay wasn’t wrong about some of the darker sides of the Assassins’ work. You had seen it yourself—the collateral damage, the grey areas where right and wrong blurred.

But you had always trusted the Creed to guide you, to show you the path forward.

“And what about the Templars?” you countered. “They’re no saints either, Shay. You think they’re any better?”

“I don’t think they’re perfect,” Shay admitted. “But they offer something the Assassins never could—order, stability. A chance to build a world where people don’t have to live in fear of chaos.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away again, staring out at the city while shaking your head, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Part of you wanted to reject everything he was saying, to cling to the teachings of the Brotherhood. But another part of you—a part that had been growing ever since Shay’s defection—couldn’t ignore the doubts.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” you asked quietly, your lips quivering with sadness.

Shay’s silence was heavy before he finally spoke. “Because you deserve to know the truth. And because I don’t want to lose you to the same blindness that I was caught in for so long.”

His words were raw, unguarded. For a moment, you weren’t an Assassin and he wasn’t a Templar. You were just two people standing on the edge of something far bigger than either of you.

Your heart ached with the weight of it all—your history with Shay, your loyalty to the Brotherhood, and the undeniable pull you felt toward him. The night had begun as a mission, but it had become something far more dangerous. The real question was: what would you do now?

Slowly, you turned to face him a second time since you stepped on the balcony, the air between you charged with everything unsaid.

“What happens now, Shay?” you breathed, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Shay’s eyes held yours, the storm of emotions mirrored in his gaze. He stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Now, we decide what side of history we’re on. Together.”

The weight of Shay’s words lingered in the cool night air, settling between the two of you like an invisible barrier. His eyes held yours, intense and searching yet soft, as if he was trying to read the turmoil inside you, to understand the emotions you weren’t sure you could admit to yourself.

“Together?” you echoed, your voice softer than you intended.

Shay stepped even closer, his tall frame casting a shadow in the moonlight, towering over your gentle but firm and well-trained one. The tension between you shifted, no longer just the push and pull of conflicting loyalties. There was something else—something that had always been there, beneath the surface, but never acknowledged.

The air around you seemed to thicken as he closed the distance. His gloved hand reached up slowly, hesitating for a moment, before gently lifting your mask. The gesture made you swallow your saliva in order to get rid of the lump that was starting to form in your throat. The intricate piece slid off, exposing your face to the night’s cool breeze. His gaze softened as he studied you, no longer the dangerous man who had left the Brotherhood, but someone familiar—someone who had once meant more to you than just a fellow Assassin.

“I never wanted to lose you,” Shay murmured, his voice lower now, more intimate as his eyes gazed at your opened lips. “Even after everything, I never stopped thinking about you.”

His confession sent a jolt through you, and you had to look away, your heart pounding in your chest. The years of anger and betrayal clashed with the warmth that was blooming inside you now, a warmth you hadn’t felt since before Shay had turned his back on everything you believed in.

“Shay, we’re on opposite sides now,” you whispered, though even as you said it, the words felt hollow.

He didn’t back away. Instead, his hand moved to your chin, gently guiding your face back to meet his eyes. “Does it matter? Here, right now, do sides really matter?”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was dangerous—not just because of who he was, but because of what you felt for him, what you had always felt. His hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so dangerous, so conflicted.

“I couldn’t let you go then, [y/n],” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I can’t now.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his gaze, disarmed you completely. All the questions, the doubt, the anger—it melted away in the warmth of his touch. For so long, you had convinced yourself that you hated him, that what he had done was unforgivable. But now, standing here, feeling the heat radiating from him, you realised the truth: you had never stopped caring for him.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours. You could feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your heart pounded in rhythm with his, the magnetic pull between you undeniable.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you either,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath as your gentle eyes switched from one to another of his and sometimes stopped on his chapped lips for no more than half a second to switch back to his eyes.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Shay closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second. His hand on your cheek slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, sent a shiver down your spine. The world around you disappeared—the masquerade, the mission, the war between Assassins and Templars. None of it mattered. Not now.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath the fabric of his coat, and absent-mindedly stroked the Templar sigil on his torso. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. The kiss deepened, the slow burn of passion igniting into something more urgent, more desperate. Years of unspoken tension, of denied feelings, seemed to pour into that kiss, both of you trying to make up for the time you had lost.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb gently stroked the side of your neck, a soft, intimate gesture that made your heart race even faster.

“I don’t care about the sides anymore,” Shay whispered against your lips, his breath warm. “I care about you.”

His words sent a wave of emotion crashing through you. You knew it wasn’t that simple—nothing ever was in your world—but for this moment, it felt like it could be. Like the war, the betrayal, everything else could fall away, leaving just the two of you.

“I don’t know if we can ever go back,” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. “After everything that’s happened…”

Shay’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer. “Maybe we don’t need to go back. Maybe we can start something new.”

You directed your gaze to meet his own eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his eyes—the pull of duty against the pull of his heart. But there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way forward together.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted, chuckling softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his collar.

Shay leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself savour the moment, the feel of him against you, the warmth of his embrace. For now, that was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, it could be enough for whatever came next.

　　　PART 2 in writing...

© solarine. i do not allow my works to be copied, translated, modified, adapted or published on other platforms without my permission. thank you for your attention.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[defectivevillain]

a fateful encounter

pairing: Ratonhnake:ton/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: There’s a sound behind you—a startled inhale of breath. You whip around, only to find a man staring at Lee’s corpse in disbelief. His eyes are shining with some complex emotion as he scrutinizes the body, evidently looking for signs of life. “He’s dead.” You say, your voice sounding a bit raspy. The man takes a step closer and the dim light illuminates his form, revealing brown skin splattered with blood, warm brown eyes, and a hulking form with unnaturally broad shoulders.

Ratonhnhaké:ton finally corners Charles Lee, only to realize someone else has found him first.

word count: 2k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, death

author's notes: The reader’s race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

Huge shoutout to @connorhasabigtip, who was nice enough to beta read the fic I wanted to surprise her with. LOLL. Love u <3333 Any remaining mistakes are mine — I've only skimmed playthroughs of this game.

Charles Lee is a difficult man to track down. You’ve been pursuing him for at least a year now—watching him from the shadows, learning of his whereabouts through hushed conversations in the dead of night. Despite his reputation, he is exceedingly slippery. But, finally, after all this time, you’ve finally found him. 

You’ve prided yourself on your abilities and, while Lee is a Templar himself, his skills are no match for yours—not when your stealth gives you the first blow. From there, it’s an increasingly desperate fight: as Lee fights for his life and you fight to spill his blood across the ground. When you finally get him down to the ground, you are quick to stab him through the heart. He has tried to speak several times now throughout your fight, but you haven't given him so much as a moment of your attention. There is nothing worthwhile for him to say, after all. His words are about as valuable to you as the gravel scattered across the ground. 

You crouch over him now, watching the life leave his eyes. He twitches and attempts to grab your knife, which only spurs you to lodge it even deeper in his chest. Blood splatters across his chest and marks your knife, your skin. There is nothing except a hollow satisfaction running through your veins as he promptly slumps on the ground. 

You push yourself to your feet and stare down at him, several different emotions running through you all at once. Your knife is still lodged in his chest; after a moment’s contemplation, you yank it out and hold it in a tight grip. Lee’s blood drips down the glittering blade, coloring the ground below a muted crimson. 

There’s a sound behind you—a startled inhale of breath. You whip around, only to find a man staring at Lee’s corpse in disbelief. His eyes are shining with some complex emotion as he scrutinizes the body, evidently looking for signs of life. 

“He’s dead.” You say, your voice sounding a bit raspy. The man takes a step closer and the dim light illuminates his form, revealing brown skin splattered with blood, warm brown eyes, and a hulking form with unnaturally broad shoulders. You feel yourself taking a small step back before you can stop yourself. He’s wearing the uniform of an Assassin. 

“How?” He asks. He’s staring right at the wound in Lee’s chest, yet it’s as if he isn’t really seeing it at all. 

You stare at the man for a moment. “I killed him.” You thought that would be obvious by now, given the bloody knife in your hand and your proximity to his corpse. Then again, this man doesn’t look to be in the best condition: he’s staggering on his feet and bleeding in several different places. It seems to take him several moments to process your answer; once he does, he’s kneeling down and checking Lee’s pulse. It’s a futile effort: the vacant gloss over his eyes is enough of an indicator. 

“He’s dead.” The man restates, as if needing to utter it aloud. You watch in worried bewilderment as he blinks dazedly, before falling to the ground. He manages to catch himself from completely colliding with the floor, but he looks almost entirely out of it. There’s a sheen of sweat over his skin and you have to wonder if one of his wounds is infected. You swear under your breath. You can’t just leave this guy here, next to Charles Lee’s dead body. 

Huffing in annoyance, you crouch down to get a closer look at the guy. He’s huge —with broad shoulders and a figure that must be at least halfway past six feet tall. How in the hell are you going to get him out of here? You have a small safehouse nearby, fortunately—but it’ll be difficult to get him there. Taking a slow breath, you manage to pull the guy up and get him into an awkward position where his arm’s slung around your shoulders. He seems a little delirious, but conscious enough to not drag his feet and at least attempt to walk with you. 

Indeed, the walk to your safehouse takes twice as long as normal. By the time you’re safely behind closed doors, you can just barely get the guy onto your bed before you’re grasping at your sides and breathing heavily. You’re not sure how long you spend attempting to stabilize your breathing before the man lets out a pained groan and breaks you out of your thoughts. 

Now that he’s still, you can see the sheer amount of damage that’s been done to him. There are scratches and scrapes all over his face, and several worrying bloodstains scattered across his tattered clothing. You bite the inside of your cheek, once again second-guessing your actions. You could’ve left this man where you found him, and no one would have been any wiser. What compelled you to help him? 

You shake your head before focusing on the task at hand: cleaning his wounds. After quickly treating the minor ones, you decide to concentrate on the wound at his side. It’s abundantly clear that he’ll need stitches. You can only hope he’s unconscious enough not to notice the pain. And that must be the case—either that or he’s just exhausted —because he doesn’t so much as flinch when you begin to stitch the rather nasty gash. 

By the time you’re finished, the sun has almost come up on the horizon. What should you do now? You have things to do—you can’t spend your day watching over this guy and abandoning your duties. You contemplate the thought for several moments. Honestly, you can only hope he isn’t a malicious or overly curious person, and that you won’t return to your safehouse to find it torn apart or on fire. After far too many minutes spent in deliberation, you decide to leave him to heal. With any luck, he’ll still be unconscious when you get back. You can decide what to do with him then.  

Fortunately, when you return in the late evening, your safehouse appears unharmed. Unfortunately, you’ve sustained some wounds from your mission—leaving you to walk somewhat unsteadily towards your inconspicuous cabin on the outskirts of the woods. Is the man from last night awake yet? You think you see light peeking from the curtains, but that could easily be your imagination. Your hands trembling, you manage to unlock the door and close it behind you—only for your heart to jump out of your chest as you nearly crash into the man from earlier. 

He appears a lot better, his clothing miraculously (and mysteriously) clean and his posture unburdened by injury. “You healed me. Why?” He cuts right to the chase, staring at you as if trying to discern your motivations from your facial expression. He seems slightly frustrated when you just blink at him. After a few seconds, he must sense that you’re unwilling to answer, because he sighs and abandons the question. There’s a beat of silence as he studies you, evidently noticing the tension written across your shoulders, the blood splattered across your clothes, and the dazed wariness of your gaze. 

“You seem to be doing better.” You remark, not bothering to answer his question. Maybe if you can just slip past him- 

“You healed me.” He repeats himself, making no indication that he’s even heard your prior remark. Is kindness such a foreign concept to him? You don’t have time to contemplate the question before he’s continuing to speak. “Allow me to return the favor.” 

You sigh, knowing you don’t really have a choice. You point him to your medical supplies and take a seat on your bed; meanwhile, the man grabs the supplies and returns to your side, looking at you hesitantly. His hands are extended mid-air, as if he was going to pull up your shirt before thinking better of it. Then he takes a step backwards and averts his eyes, embarrassed. 

Feeling both amused and strangely self-conscious, you tug your shirt up enough to reveal the gash stretching across your side. Your guest seems to relax, crouching down and beginning to clean it off. There’s an uncomfortable tension that settles in the air, filling the cabin with nothing but an awkward silence. 

Finally, after what feels like far too long, the man speaks. “Why did you kill Lee?” He asks, his attention honed in on your wound. Even so, it’s hard not to notice the furrow to his brows. 

“Why were you after him?” You ask instead. Neither of you seem willing to disclose too much, and this conversation is only becoming more circular by the moment. The man seems to recognize this, as his nose scrunches and he looks momentarily bothered. Then he shakes his head and begins to place some ointment on your side. 

“He was a threat to freedom,” he responds ambiguously. 

You study him for a long moment, attempting to discern his intentions. Something about his unapologetic honesty compels you to show him the same. “A spirit guided me to him.” You admit, remembering how the Isu came to you in a dream and implored you to neutralize the threat. 

“... A spirit spoke to me as well,” he admits after a beat. You watch him swallow and reach for the bandages, wrapping them around your waist and securing them tightly. His eyes wander across your form once more—as if searching for more injuries—before he finally stands up again. You didn’t realize how much his proximity was affecting you; now that there’s some distance between you, you feel as if you can breathe again. 

Still, despite your initial skepticism, this man went so far as to help you. He could’ve easily slipped out while you were away, never to be seen again. But something compelled him to stay—to heal you from your injuries, just like you helped him. “Thank you.” You say begrudgingly. He nods and you feel your curiosity returning. “What’s your name?” You blurt out before you can help yourself. 

“...Connor.” He volunteers eventually, after an inexplicable few seconds of silence. You raise a brow and he takes a slow breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “That is the name my mentor gave me.” He explains. There’s a lingering trace of frustration pulling his lips firm. 

“What’s your real name, then?” You ask. The man seems genuinely surprised that you’ve asked, as his eyes momentarily widen before he’s hiding his emotions behind a calm mask. 

He studies you for a moment. “Ratonhnhaké:ton yónkyats.” He then responds, the slightest hint of a quirk to his lips. “My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton.” He supplements. 

Somehow, you feel as if he is showing you a tremendous amount of trust by giving you his true name. “Ratonhnhaké:ton.” You repeat, mimicking his pronunciation. He nods and you feel a smile growing on your own face. You introduce yourself in response, copying the Kanien'kehá:ka greeting he used. 

His gaze is intense as he stares at you. You can only begin to wonder just what he’s thinking. 

“Thank you.” Ratonhnhaké:ton then says sincerely, after several moments of silence. He shifts his balance and crosses his arms again. 

“We’re even now.” You respond with a hesitant smile, gesturing to the bandages around your side. Ratonhnhaké:ton smiles ever so slightly in response. He turns his back, as if ready to depart. You hear yourself speaking before you can think any better of it. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry?” He asks, turning around to look at you imploringly. 

For your village, for your mother. For killing Lee before you could get to him. You settle for staring at him helplessly. Ratonhnhaké:ton seems to sense your thoughts, because he nods knowingly. 

“Charles Lee is dead.” He says, with a finality in his voice that he hadn’t possessed last night. “That is all I could have hoped for.” With that parting remark, the man leaves you to your conflicted thoughts. Even as days pass and your wounds begin to fade, the memory of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s touch remains.

thanks for reading! <3

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[acc--deactivated]

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨

„Sweet cunt and a sharp tongue, you're a dangerous combo, love.“

featuring: edward kenway

cw: praise, vaginal sex, semi-public i guess

synopsis: owning a tavern in havana means being used to pirates in your every day life, their crude words and behaviour. but you've never met a pirate going this far in attempt to apologize for a crewmate's bad actions.

note: „fy nghariad“ is a welsh phrase meaning „my love“ or „my sweetheart“ which i thought would be nice to include, but please tell me if i used it incorrectly, that would be kinda embarassing lol

18+ content - MDNI

───────────────────

Havana is always warm, always welcoming and soft, with sunlight flooding through streets of beige and gold, full of laughter and peaceful existence.

Even at night, it feels like the warmth wraps around people like a soft coat, summer air resting between the buildings and mingling with the scent of the sea, darkness enlightened by warm lanterns and candles. The sound of joyful music, shanties and drunken laughter has become the soundtrack of your nights as bartender in the tavern and restaurant which are owned by your father, and you like to say that Havana is a place of joy, no matter the time of day.

You've done this job since your teenage years, are used to bar fights and lusting gazes resting on you, know how to handle men who try to let their hands wander, think they can whistle at you or spit out crude and naughty things.

Most of them know that it will only get them a ban from the house, or in worst case, a beating from your main visitors or an arrest by the guards, but sometimes, there still are idiots who try it, out of pure stupidity and falsely placed ego.

Citizens of Havana adore your tavern as a centre of the city, they know how to behave and have their fun in peace, but the pirates docking on the shore are a different story.

You can see it in their gazes, in the way they talk, the way they stride through the streets like they own them and the houses forming them, that they're looking for provocation, hungry for a fight.

Thankfully, most of them are more of an inconvience and not an actual threat, and you know how to handle them, know that a tavern is a pirate's favourite place, which gives you a slight advantage against them, even if it's just out of their sympathy for the rum you pour them.

It doesn't diminish your dislike for them, despite them being your costumers.

Pirates are a disease, you've always been told. And yet, you can't help but feel a thrill in your veins, feel your heart leap and your legs trembling when a strong hand grabs your chin from behind, gently, sensually lifts your head.

The soft light filling the dim walls of the empty, closed tavern flickers in your vision, soft tears of passion melting it to a blur along with the dark of the late night and a breathed, blissful sigh leaves your lips, forced out of you by the way the body of the man behind you rocks once more against you.

Pirates are the worst of the worst, you learned early in your life. And Edward Kenway is so good at being a pirate, at getting what he wants, that he might be something even worse, armed with those mischievous eyes, his charming smirk and skilled fingers.

You did not question the leathern bracers wrapped around his lower arms, the hidden blades you saw shimmering in the dim light when you served him and his men, and you didn't question the hooded robe hanging over the back of his chair, could only focus on the white lace-up shirt on his body, the cleavage that slightly revealed the tattoos spreading over his chest.

It was no surprise and nothing new when one of his men hit on you, spitting rude words from a drunk tongue in an attempt to seduce you. What did surprise you was how fast Adéwalé grabbed him by the scruff like a puppy to kick him out of the tavern, and the way Edward apologized to you, genuinely and gentle.

Most men did not act like this when they came to drink in your tavern, only laughed when their comrades harrassed a girl. It did not fit your world view, disturbed the evil picture you carried of pirates all these years of your life.

You couldn't help but smile at the way Edward looked at you, a mixture of apologetic and enthrilled, felt your breath hitch when he asked you what he could offer to beg your forgiveness.

The way his hands are now roaming your body, his husked breaths against your ear and his body pressed against yours is not what you had in mind at first, but you'll gladly take it as a form of apology.

He lets out a groan as he fills you, slides into you like you are made for him, slicked walls hugging his cock, clenching around his girth.

He fills you just right, hits spots you have never felt, makes you see stars despite the roof above both of your heads.

„What do you say, sweetheart? Think this'll make up for the inconvience?“ he husks against your ear, sends a new shiver down your spine that ends up right inside the heat pooling in your lower stomach, and you lightly lean your head back, feel the stubble of his beard brushing your ear.

Just when you're about to answer, he hits you with another thrust from behind, knocks the air out of you with the sheer depth of his movements.

You need a second to catch your breath, collect yourself, before a little smirk spreads on your lips.

„Thought a world-class-pirate would have more to offer“, you respond, with a low, seducing voice, a tone that lures him in, makes his breath hitch lightly, bearly hearable if he wasn't so close to your ear.

He's so close even that you think you can feel the way an amused smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and you shudder again when his breath fans your cheek.

„Sly little thing, aren't ya?“

Before you can answer in an even brattier tone than before, you feel how he slightly pushes you down, makes you lean further forward until you're forced to hold onto the bar, driven further and further into the wood by his harsh thrusts.

He quickens his pace, makes you whine and moan with the way he fills you, tip kissing your womb, his slight curve brushing your sweet spots just right.

„Sweet cunt and a sharp tongue, you're a dangerous combo, love.“

His words and the deep tone of his voice only make you arch more in his grasp, make you hold onto the bar with one hand, while the other carries your balance on its wooden surface.

You feel your own arousal run down your thighs, feel yourself getting higher and higher on the wet sounds echoing through the room whenever he enters your aching cunt, your brain spinning around mixed feelings of confusion and arousal.

He's a pirate, a well wanted one as well, and yet you can not help but love the way he grabs you, the way he fucks you, the way he makes you feel.

When he leans over your back, one hand placed next to your body, the other one on your hip to hold you steady, you somehow forget how much his head is worth, how dangerous his hands should feel on your body.

It feels strange, but a spark of sympathy arises within you when he leans in further, buries you in his shadow as he pushes a soft kiss against the back of your neck, drowns you in the illusion of intimacy when he gently closes his teeth around the shell of your ear.

Edward doesn't seem like other pirates, doesn't initiate fights he can not win, doesn't harrass others, doesn't cause unnecessary ruckus to prove his ego. He smells better than most of them, covered in the scent of the sea, of salt and a hint of rum, but with an underlying note of herbs, probably because of salves that are used to treat wounds lingering his body.

And above all, he looks so handsome, a dark angel within a bunch of dirty, fattened and drunk pigs, his cheeky smirk more intoxicating than alcohol or money.

A smirk that is directed at you, resting on you as he observes you, watches you writher and shake beneath his movements. When you catch it from the corner of your eye, it fuels new fire inside of you, and your lips curl sweet and mischievously when you slightly raise your head to respond.

„Maybe you shouldn't provoke my sharp tongue too much then, captain.“

The word does something to him, you can feel it, notice the way he gasps for a second, slows his thrusts for the shortest bit. Then he suddenly slips out of you, both hands grabbing your hips and pulling you up, your back straightening for the shortest second before he turns you around, pulls you in by the waist and leans forward to push his lips against yours, catching you in a heated kiss that steals your breath, makes your knees weak.

You bury your right hand in his blonde hair, hold him close, while your other hand rests on the textile of his shirt, trying to hold onto soft linen while you sigh and feel your legs tremble.

As if he's feeling it, he lightly bends his knees, slides his hands from your hips to the back of your thighs to pick you up, makes you wrap your legs around his waist while your hands cradle his face and you sink further into his kiss, melt against his lips. You hear the rustling of clothes, feel how he picks up your discarded dress from the edge of the bar and spreads it on the counter, adjusting the textile before he sets you down on the wood, just to break from your mouth a few seconds later.

He smirks at your little gasp, licks his lower lip before raising his voice.

„Captain, huh? That a hidden request to join my crew?“

You gasp when you feel his fingers dig into the softness of your thighs, need a second to collect yourself before you scoff at his words, look at him through a glimmer of competition before you breathe out an „In your dreams, pirate.“

He only grins at that, eyes slightly narrowing as they slide down to his hands on your thighs, watches them when he spreads your legs to get new access to your leaking centre, his eyes staring shamelessly at it.

And just when you think to finally have the air to add another snarky comment, he suddenly thrusts back into you, one switft motion with which he fills you to the brim, makes you throw your head back as he falls back into a relentless rhythm, his cock slicking in and out of your warm wetness.

He leans over you again, holding you by the waist as he pounds into you, forcing high pitched moans and whimpers out of your throat that you simply can not hold back.

His thrusts feel so deep, hit you so perfectly and when he grabs one of your legs to raise it to his shoulder, you almost choke on the air in your throat, bliss filling you at the pleasure washing through you by his deepening movements.

You curse out an „Oh god-“ as you throw your head back, hear a breathed laugh from Edward when he grabs you by the hips again, adjusts your body on the textile of your dress, pulls you in to take his hard thrusts.

Another whimper leaves you as he partially folds you in half, sass and mockery leaving your body with each new thrust, slowly melting in the heat of a building orgasm within your body.

It doesn't help how he reaches out with his hand to search for your clit, forcing a loud moan from your throat when his finger presses against it.

„That it, darling? That the spot?“

Through your panting and heavy breathing, the dizziness in your vision, you see how he smirks at you, pure confidence written in his attractive features and you can only nod, breathe out a „Please-“, a word that only makes his smile widen.

Your lower body tenses, a coil clenching deep within your core, tight enough that it almost hurts.

„Don't hold back. Let me feel you come, fy nghariad.“

His voice slightly falters, breathless because of his own arousal, the tension with which he holds himself back, and his words only add fuel to the fire in your body, make the flames lap higher, reaching your chest, making your heart race.

Whimpers and gasps leave your throat, you tense, feel your thighs shiver, your entire body short-circuiting until eventually, you feel yourself breaking apart, tension and arousal reaching their peak, knocking you into an abyss of white noise, making you cry out in pleasure, your head falling back as arousal floods your veins.

His thrusts never waver, seem to get even harder, fucking you through your orgasm, almost making you pass out with the sheer overstimulation. Your brain turns to mush, simply melts away and when you look up at him, with tear-filled, flickering eyes and your tongue slightly peaking over your lower lip, he takes in a sharp, hissing breath, slipping dangerously close to an orgasm just by your gaze and your walls spasming, clenching and relaxing around him.

His hand trembles a little as he trails it further up your body, fondling your chest for a second and making you whine out at the soft feeling, before his fingers graze your neck, eventually rest on your cheek.

He spreads his thumb, runs it over the corner of your mouth, doesn't expect the way you push out your tongue to taste salt, gunpowder and rum on his skin. Not a second later, you allow his finger to slip into your mouth, relish in the way he draws a sharp breath when you lazily swirl your tongue around it.

The facade in front of his face cracks the slightest bit, and you see how he bites his lower lip, how his brows furrow a little in what seems to be despair, before he breathes out a „Shit, you're gonna make me cum, sweetheart.“

It's the cue you need and while you whine, shudder beneath each of his thrusts, you at some point slightly bite down into his finger, hard enough to make him jolt, hard enough to break his facade.

He gasps for air, lets out short „Fuck-“, before he holds onto your hip, digging the fingers of his free hand into the skin when he forces himself to pull out, holding you in place as warm, white seed spurts over the skin of your abdomen.

For a few moments, you only look at each other, breathe into the space between both of you, wallowing in the heat of each other's body. Your head is still spinning when Edward slightly leans forward, gently rests his forehead against yours before he lets out a heavy breath.

His eyes are dark and dominant when they dig into yours, captivate you with the slight glimmer within them.

„Aren't you just something else... Maybe I'll pick you up and simply take you with me. Wanna know what else that sweet mouth of yours can do.“

It doesn't matter what you learned your entire life, his words make you giddy and thoughtless, make your heart leap in joy and your lips curl to a smile.

„Careful, Kenway. My lips may seem sweet, but they come with a pair of teeth.“

He lets out a little groan, a sound of playful despair and frustration, before he leans further against your forehead, gently nudges his nose against yours.

„Fucking heavens, you're perfect.“

You smile when he kisses you, wrap your arms around him and become a mess of sweet nothingness beneath his hands when they start roaming your body again, not taking long until you throw your head back once more, sending sighed versions of his name into the warm night.

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Just imagine telling Malik you have a feeling for Altaïr and Maliks just:

[ridingtorohan]

𓇻 ft. ezio auditore x civilian gn reader

𓇻 summary. There's just you, Ezio, and a slow, sleepy morning on a rooftop.

𓇻 content. platonic or pre-relationship. pre-Brotherhood.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎read on ao3! - masterlist - join the taglist!

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Soft strands of sunlight crests over the city walls, dusting over the roof slates in a golden sheen. It’s beautiful and tranquil, the starlight fading overhead into hues of gentle light. Early dawn has you feeling cold, a little uncomfortable under the brisk air. Monteriggioni feels quiet beneath the sway of your feet, the small city silent with sleep. Ezio barely breathes - and when he does, it’s relaxed, the motion slow. He’s, somehow, not quite what you imagined and yet everything all at once. Quiet. For all the charismatic clamor you see him with, he watches over the city with a sense of calm that Claudia has never spoken of.

Aristocratic nose, fine cheekbones and firm jawline, Ezio was without a doubt a cut of the finest cloth. Boisterous. Loud. Everything you’ve heard spoken about him - and even seen him act. This is a tender side you didn’t know existed, hidden beneath swaths of fine armour and silky fabric. Looking at him as you do now, his presence almost muted beside you on the rooftop, he seems more man than myth. Gentler, almost, even with the garment of metal strapped to his wrists.

Despite all the armour he typically wears, the imposing and broad figure he cuts, he’s everything but. You’ve seen him out and about, moving along the rooftops and city walls, scrounging for feathers - you still didn’t quite understand that— and tending to mundane jobs. He’s even swept out an arm to guide children back to their feet after a tumble to the street. Which happens a fair bit, even to a young child from your extended family.

Thing is, while it happens a fair amount - Ezio is there to stop it. Always visiting, moving between houses and tending to the people with a spirit and jubilance that you haven’t even seen the Lord cherish the town with. He loves it like his own, a home far from his birthright.

You don’t know much about Ezio’s past, only gleaned some of it from gossip and from Claudia. Even that isn’t enough. Enough would be to hear it from his own lips, to have the man himself explain. But, the strange thing is, despite all the good tidings he gives to the town, when he’s alone with you like this, he grows somber. A million miles away, lost in a world you can’t comprehend.

Other days it’s good. He tends to you like every other townsperson in Monteriggioni, making sure you have everything you need. You’re not even sure how spending time with Ezio like this even happened - what you did to make him choose you. There are many ladies who express an interest in him, many soldiers who want privy into his skills. But he chooses you, takes you for strolls and stops first thing at your market stall when new produce is brought in.

Today is not one of those days.

“I am sorry,” he says then, voice hard in the growing daylight. Not because he’s harsh - never is— but because that’s just how his words sound. “My mind is … quite occupied today.”

“It’s okay,” you breathe out, because it is. It’s okay. You don’t question where his mind goes.

There’s a long moment of silence before Ezio quietly elaborates, “It is close to my Christening day.”

“Oh-” You pause and consider his tone. “I’m sorry.”

His expression twitches then, mirth dancing in his eyes, dark eyebrows knitting together. A small smile plays across his handsome face, fingers spreading across his thigh. “Thank you.” He laughs, an unused sound that rests deep in his throat. “Ah, I’m sure you’ve already heard of Claudia arranging a party, no?” Your pinched expression gives you away and his laugh deepens, eyes turning away.

“She wanted it to be a secret-” You stop yourself there by instinct. But Ezio doesn’t interrupt, he never has. He’s attentive that way, always listening to what you have to say, even if it’s about the soil or the worms in your garden. “You weren’t supposed to know about it.” “She always tries to make it a surprise,” Ezio responds, eyes tender as he looks at you.

“And yet you know of it anyway.” There’s a twitch of his scarred mouth when you speak.

“Mm.” He gives a slow nod of his head, leaning back, brown hair moving from his shoulder to spill over his back instead. Ezio closes his eyes, the hazy sunlight moving across his face as it climbs into the sky. “Has anyone invited you?”

“The whole town is going.”

“Yes, I imagine.” Ezio laughs slightly then. “I’m inviting you as my guest.” It feels like it should be a profound statement - something awe inspiring or an utterance to make you gasp. It doesn’t. Instead, all you feel is a low seeping warmth that touches the tip of your toes. You look down, swaying you feet over the edge of the roof. Ezio isn’t saying it to be polite - there’s something about the way he speaks and acts with you that makes you feel like he’s genuine.

“Thank you,” you say after a moment. “That’d be great.”

Ezio says nothing to that, though you can feel his eyes turn from you back towards the city at your feet. An emotional eclipse washes over you and you’re left feeling cold. Every moment with Ezio is like this - inviting, like summer days and fireflies. Like he sees who you are and accepts it.

There’s nothing for a long moment, just you and Ezio and the slow march of time. Dew glistens on the lower tiles, the rough texture cold beneath your palms. “Thank you for going,” he says - and the way he says it makes it feel more profound than it originally sounds. Like it matters to him, like your presence is something he basks in.

You look at him, at his battle worn features, weary lines smoothing into something almost peaceful. He needs moments like this, you realize. Needs it like you do - the companionship, the ease from everyday life. The slow, quiet mornings, the yawning pull of life. An insurmountable, insignificant second of life - every second that amounts to something more. Because he exists, you exist, and this moment exists.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” you promise, meaning every word of it. You enjoy these mornings with him just as much as he does.

[rea-grimm]

Weapon Jacob

You've known Jacob and Evie almost since you were little. Your families were very close, and you belonged to the same brotherhood. 

You were so close that you and Jacob started dating. You knew he was a weapon he knew you were a master. But you didn't have a weapon and he didn't have a master and moreover he wasn't looking for one. 

He was best with you and didn't care if you were his master or not and somehow he didn't want to find out or rather he always had something else on his mind at the time. 

Jacob was, of course, thrilled when Evie and Henry got together. Plus, they belonged together as a master and a weapon. Since that you could see something started bothering him. 

What was bothering him he confided in you one evening as he lay in bed after a mission, his wounds bandaged and under the influence of powerful pain killers. 

"Evie's with Henry now... it's only a matter of time before she moves away... I-I'll be left alone, without a master..." he rumbled, some of the words almost unintelligible, how much the drugs were affecting him. 

You were about to reply that he definitely wouldn't stay alone, but before you could open your mouth, he was fast asleep with his head folded in your lap. 

You found Jacob in his own club, where you found him at the bar. This was happening more and more often. The bartender sent for you to take him home. 

Asasin had obviously had more to drink than he needed. He was still clutching the pint in his hand, and it looked like he was about to drown himself in it.

When he noticed you, his eyes lit up for a moment before the alcohol haze covered them again. This seemed even worse than usual. 

Finally, you managed to peel him away from the bar, paid for his tab, and slowly dragged him back to the train. 

You wanted to eat your way through the old balls, plus it was better for Jacob not to be seen like this by anyone from Templar or any other hostile club. 

You could see the slow sobriety on him as you walked past the fight club. It wasn't until it was too late that you realized what a mistake it was to go that way. 

At the muffled sound of the fight, Jacob instantly brightened up as if he had been given new energy and immediately started pulling you towards the door. He wanted to fight and get all the energy and stress that had been pouring out of him lately. 

He immediately went to the booker to sign him up for the next match. The catch was that this club was open to masters with weapons. Jacob immediately turned on you and started pleading with his biggest puppy eyes. You had no idea how he did it, but you couldn't say no to that. 

You stripped down to your pants and left your tank top on. You walked into the ring with Jacob and two other couples walked in across from you. The masters had already switched weapons and now it was just the two of you's turn. Once all the weapons were changed, the match could begin. 

Asasin didn't blink and changed to a weapon, which you grasped lightly. You've never seen him as a complete weapon before. Always in a partial transformation. 

To your surprise, it was a kukri. You grasped it firmly and the fight was on. To your surprise, it ends sooner than you expected with you and Jacob as the winners. With the asasin in your hand, it was as if everything slowed down and you knew when and how to intervene. 

After the fight, you picked up your bounty from the bookmaker, which asasin had planned to drink it all. But since he had almost more alcohol in him than blood, you dragged him all the way to the train. He was so intoxicated with alcohol, you thought you wouldn't even get there. 

In the safety of the train, you were about to throw him on the couch when he pushed you off. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head against your shoulder. You tried to say something to him, but it was no use. He was already breathing quietly and contentedly. 

He was still holding you, so you just turned to the other side so you wouldn't have to smell the drunken fumes coming from him. Instead, you raised your hand and looked at your tattoo, which had changed drastically since the fight. 

Before, all you knew was that it was some sort of slashing weapon, but now you could clearly make out a kukri with a damascus blade gleaming in the mark. The hilt of the weapon was dark with an eagle motif. You could clearly recognize Jacob in it. 

But now you were wondering what to do next. Should you tell him or not? The worst part was that he could be quite childish, and more importantly, you had no idea if he'd even remember after his hangover. You decided you'd see in the morning what kind of mood he was in and if he'd talk about it himself. 

The next morning, you woke up alone on the couch. You expected to find an asasin snoring next to you, perhaps with drool on his pillow, but to your surprise he was nowhere to be found. 

You walked the entire train, but the asasin was gone. The train was empty because Evie was off with Henry and there were no Rooks in the last car to tell you where Jacob had gone. 

Finally, you went back to the couch and grabbed a glass of water to soothe your parched throat. When you picked it up, you noticed a small piece of paper with a single word on it. You could tell by the handwriting that it was Jacob's. 

But what was he trying to tell you? You knew it was Henry's flower shop, but what would Jacob want there while the Indian was away? Anyway, you got dressed and went to check it out. 

You found another piece of paper tucked away at the shop that led you somewhere else. When you found two more pieces of paper, you realized it was a game the assassin had set up for you. 

You followed these clues to the fountain where Jacob first confessed his feelings for you. You remembered that moment until now, and the memory brought a smile to your face. 

Actually, now that you thought about it, almost all the places the asasin had directed you to today had some significance to the two of you and weren't just some memory. 

You reached the square where the fountain was located. Even from a distance, you could see the figure of the assassin stomping from foot to foot there. You've never seen him so nervous. 

When you walked over to him, he was holding a bouquet of flowers that had seen better days. Some were bruised and broken, but you didn't mind. This was the first time you'd ever gotten flowers from him, and you knew from the language of them that he'd gone to great lengths to choose. 

"Y/N," he began and paused. He looked like he'd rehearsed the whole speech but forgotten. "I want you to keep me as a weapon and fight alongside me. I love you and I couldn't ask for a better master. I know it's not easy with me, but I want you to stay..." he said, holding your hand as if it were a solid point to lean on and to. 

You were completely moved by his words and for a moment you were speechless. Finally you pulled him into your arms, and in that moment you forgot even the flowers you were holding. 

"I love you too... And I wouldn't dream of leaving you," you admitted. Jacob got all teary-eyed at that before he put his hand behind your head and pulled you into a kiss.

Assassin's Creed Masterlist

[weirdest-lights]

Shay and Haytham aren't having a good time with the new stray.

[elfven-blog]

Milking Session

Summary: You work at 'The Aquila Bovine Sanctuary' and it's milking day for the Italian Bull Ezio. BullHybrid!Ezio Auditore x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ only, blowjob, handjob, he is a hybrid (cannot stress this enough). Word Count: 1.8K

Working at ‘The Aquila Bovine Sanctuary’ had been a weird experience to say the least, when you had applied to be a farmhand you had expected your duties to be cleaning the stalls, feeding the hybrids and maybe helping with the calves. Originally they had put you with the heifers’ and cows’ which had led to you blushing and shifting awkwardly the first time you had helped with a ‘milking’ session. The more experienced cows had started doting on you, stroking your hair and crowing about how sweet you were and gentle too. Over the past year or so you had become more calm about your job and had no worries anymore, especially when you made friends with some of the cows and heifers.

Unfortunately you had to be moved to the Bull area, which was far less peaceful. Some of the bulls did not care for fighting or dominance or any of that, but then some of them seemed to do nothing but fight or ramp each other up. It was a very different experience compared to what you had become used to. That’s not to say the women didn’t fight, they did. Often. But then they seemed to go back to being kind with each other very swiftly, a bull fight seemed to be able to last for days.

To make it all worse, today was a milking day. Milking day with the bulls was ever so slightly different, after all they didn’t produce milk…what they did produce however was seed.

The thought had you almost scowling, you didn’t hate it. It was a job and that’s all you thought about it as, you were sure in the same way many escorts and dominatrix’s thought of their own jobs. 

It’s just that, quite often, it was messy. One time a Bull’s cum had gotten inside your glove, one of your colleagues had underestimated the amount and had dumped what would have been half a bucket more on the floor.

Today would most likely be just the same, at least the stories you swapped with your fellow handlers were funny. No one else seemed to understand your work and your nose scrunched as you remembered when you started working here, you had told one of your friends about a shift and that friend had a rather harsh reaction.

The wind grazed across the back of your neck and your body tensed for a moment before you shook your head and continued walking towards the bull field. Your hands immediately rested on the wood to help as you pushed yourself up to try and find the bull you were after.

A loud moo rang through and then the slam of horns against horns attracted your attention, and there he was. Ezio. He wasn’t the largest bull in the field but he was one of them, originally he had been kept in Italy but a few months ago they’d shipped him over to Aquila Bovine’s when he’d gotten into a rather messy situation and lost half a horn.

He seemed to have settled in quite nicely, none of the bulls were particularly aggravated with each other and most fights were really just them playing.

You yelled to the Italian bull, watching as his head shot up from the bull he was fighting and his mouth stretched into a grin before he was practically bolting over to you. His hands either side of yours as he panted down at you, his long tail flicking behind him and sweat dripped down his tanned skin.

“Tesoro!” he chimed at you, bending down to huff at your hair, seemingly taking rather long deep breaths “Where have you been?” Your body freezes at the feeling of pressure from his nose practically huffing you like glue, your hand moving to pat his arm until he decides he’s had enough and pulls away.

“I have other duties to attend to Ezio” you answer with a shrug but it doesn’t seem enough for the bull as he shakes his head and stamps his hoof “But don’t worry, I’m all yours for the moment.”

The gate is, surprisingly, easy to unlock so you make a mental note to get it checked by maintenance. You wouldn’t want the bulls escaping.

The gate itself is nearly pulled off its hinges as Ezio all but rags it open so that he can be on the same side as you, he closes it and gives you an awkward smile as he does so. The look on your face makes him bend his head and nudge you with it, he is careful of his horns but rather insistent on getting your touch so he knows you are not mad at him.

When your hand finally reaches up to stroke his hair and then at the base of his horns where you know he struggles to itch himself, his weight starts to lean on you as his eyes close and that rumbling purr sounds from him. It’s more like a groan to you, but the other handlers say it’s a purr so you go with it. 

“Ezio! Ezio!” You panic slightly until his eyes open and he stands up again with that charming half-smile he has, one of his hands awkwardly resting on his neck as he pulls away and you simply shake your head as you make sure the gate is completely locked before gesturing for the Bull to follow you.

Technically you’re meant to put him in a harness or halter but Ezio’s always good. Following after you like a lost puppy rather than a bull, it’s only when you go past the cows and heifers that he seems to struggle. His head turning to their field and his nostrils flaring as he halts in his tracks, eyes searching for someone but you’re quick to tug his tail and he happily follows after you again. The distraction forgotten as you make your way to the milking room.

You can see his nose scrunch as you enter the room that had been booked out for his milking session, the Italian unhappy with the scents surrounding him. “Sorry, bud” You said as your hand patted him on the arm before slipping down and curling your hand in his to pull him over towards the milk stand. 

It wasn’t a machine, just a bench where he would kneel and his hands would be slotted in and secured so that he couldn’t grab hold of you. The metal creaked under his weight as he leant on the plush pillow provided for his knees while you secured the straps around his wrists.

Once he was secured you grabbed the bucket and placed it just below him. When you looked up to speak to him, you found the bull already looking down at you. His pupils blown wide and his chest heaving with each breath he took as his eyes trained on you.

“You look so pretty like this” Ezio murmured to you in that rumble, his voice deeper from the arousal coursing through his veins which was made even more evident when your gloved hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the Italian pulling at his straps already with a hiss “So so pretty” he mumbled.

Your hand moves up the length of his prick, making him whine and buck his hips at the feeling. His head thrown back as he lets himself fall into that pleasure you’re offering him, ezio’s thighs tense as you tease the head of his cock with your thumb and it draws a low moan from the bull, the precum starts to drool from the slit which you use as lube to make it easier to pump your hand up and down him. You can hear his tail swaying behind him in excitement and it makes you smile more than it should.

His hips buck again as your hand slides down and squeezes the base of him, your eyes fall to the heavy set of balls to watch as they draw up to his body before relaxing again. Even though he’s now oozing precum, he’s not close enough to release yet which makes the corners of your mouth turn down as your pace increases. The bull’s eyes roll as his breathing quickens, his cock twitching in your palm but it’s still not enough even as his hips chase your hand every time.

Your eyes jump to the clock and you realise you’ve been in here for a good few minutes already with nothing to show for it. Which is why you lean forward and press a kiss to the head of his cock, Ezio’s mouth falls open with a loud groan and he mutters praises above you as your tongue flattens against his tip, swirling once, twice before you sink down on to him.

This is against the rules, something you’re definitely not meant to do but the poor bull was having trouble. Your hand moves to cup his balls, gently rolling them in your hand while the other one continues to pump around him. Your eyes close as you focus on tasting him, but it’s difficult to focus on making sure you do your job when his hips buck and force you to take more of him into your mouth.

You try not to gag from the sudden stretch of your jaw, his cock making you ache as he loses himself in the feeling of your warm throat around him. He tugs at the bindings on his wrists, groaning as his eyes roll and flutter, his mouth slack at the feeling of a wet mouth pleasing him. Your tongue tracing at the prominent veins on the underside of his cock as he fucks into your mouth until you are gagging around him.

There’s not much you can do as your hand slips from the base of his cock, his pace speeding up as he keeps humping into you and you can feel his balls drawing up again as he mumbles and moans above you “So so good”, “What a pretty girl” and “Feels so good dolcezza” all fall as praise from his mouth. His tail swaying more and more as the bench creaks from his movements, the bull chasing his high with the feeling of your mouth consuming him.

Your eyes widen as you feel him tense, his thighs shaking and his cock twitching in your mouth as he pulls at the bindings again and you’re barely able to pull off to grab the bucket before there’s white ropes of cum spurting from his cock, oozing down into the bucket as he moans. His head lolling back as he goes almost limp from his orgasm, cock twitching with the last few bits drooling from him as his eyes flutter. And you can’t stop your mind from wandering at the sight of him like this, you’ve never been so affected by your job before but there’s something about seeing the Italian so blissed out on the bench, or maybe it’s the spit covered cock that’s still hard between his thighs.

But either way, you’re really starting to enjoy working with the bulls at the sanctuary.

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Caught in Longing

X Men Masterlist

X Men Masterlist 2

Y/N lies on the large bed, snuggled up in soft blankets. Something is missing. Her fingers nervously trace the fabric, and a quiet sigh escapes her lips. She pulls the blanket closer, but it doesn’t help. Her thoughts are consumed by Paddy and Cal. The thought of their closeness, of their touches, makes her restless.

“Paddy? Cal?” she calls softly, her voice slightly trembling. She can’t hide her longing.

A few seconds later, the door opens. Paddy enters first. His dark eyes immediately rest on Y/N. He always remains calm and in control in their relationship. He instantly understands what she wants. Cal follows him, moving silently, but his presence is strong. His eyes briefly scan Y/N and then move to Paddy, as if waiting for a signal.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Paddy asks with his deep voice as he approaches the bed. “You sound restless.”

Y/N sits up and looks at him with wide eyes. “I... I need you both,” she says softly, almost whispering, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

Cal smirks as he leans against the doorframe. “Needy today, huh?” His voice is playful, but his gaze reveals that he wants her too.

Paddy sits on the edge of the bed and gently strokes Y/N’s cheek. “You need us? Or do you need us to tell you what you need?” His voice remains calm and firm, yet it gives Y/N a sense of security.

“Both,” she admits, her voice trembling slightly.

Paddy smiles and pulls Y/N closer to him while looking at Cal. “Cal, I think she wants more than just a little attention today.”

Cal pushes himself off the doorframe and grins. “Oh, I see that too.” He walks slowly toward them, never taking his eyes off Y/N. “How much more, Y/N?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Paddy leans down and kisses her roughly, almost demandingly. His lips are firm, and Y/N instantly molds herself against him. Her hands glide over his chest, and she sighs into the kiss. When Paddy pulls back, Y/N is breathless, her gaze hazy with desire.

Cal watches them both with a hungry look. Before Y/N can collect herself, he grabs her hand and pulls her toward him. He kisses her with the same intensity as Paddy, firm and demanding. Y/N softly moans into his mouth as she tries to get closer to him. But Cal, too, pulls away after a while, his eyes burning with desire.

“She’s so hungry for us,” Cal whispers before looking at Paddy. “What do you think, Paddy? Maybe we share a little more today?”

Paddy says nothing, but his eyes sparkle. Then he pulls Cal to him and kisses him hard. Their lips collide, the kiss rough and full of energy. Y/N’s heart races as she watches her two men. They fight for control, yet they are equal. Both are strong, both lead, but both also belong to each other and to Y/N.

As Paddy and Cal pull away from each other, Y/N trembles with desire. She needs them both, now. “Please...” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Paddy and Cal exchange a brief glance, and then Paddy smiles. “Today, you’ll get exactly what you want.”

[emzysimagines]

NOT THE TIME FOR SILENCE

I refuse to stand aside while this happens...

All telecommunications and internet has been cut off in Gaza for almost an hour. The bombing got worse than it had been this week. Two hospitals have been threatened - that's what we knew BEFORE they lost connection.

Israel's isolated Gaza and is striking them from the sea, air and ground NOW. Ethnic cleansing/genocide is taking place NOW.

To all bloggers here on Tumblr, don't be on the side of genocide with your silence.

[reemonna]

Spending the night with Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor Kenway

The man is hopelessly in love with your voice and the way you talk, he's totally ready for listening to you talking for hours

Doing some fast hunting challenges for dinner

He takes you with him to some quiet, relaxing spot, where you both can merge with each other and with the calming nature around you without being interrupted

Laying down on your backs, counting sporadic stars like little kids

It pleases him when you call him by his real name, Ratonhnhaké:ton, he loves how it sounds, coming from your mouth

He passionately talks about his childhood memories, and the time he spent with his mom and friends, telling you how much they would've loved you if you were introduced to them

He's very allergic to the simple touch from anyone, indeed. But you're definitely an exception

This means you're able to cuddle, trying to console him -and showing him how ready you're to fully support him and stay by his side- without him protesting or feeling uncomfortable at all

A little sculpt massage would be nice to him, it would have a great effect on him especially when his head is resting on your lap

(NSFW (slight or obvious) / +18)

Even if he's an amateur and probably does it for the first time, he gets to have deep -French- kisses with you

Oh, to see this big boy defending you and getting into fights with animals or bandits with his half naked body is something else. Seeing his shiny bronze skin and his oh-so-appetizing body muscles ripple with every move, the fearful shivers your body make get replased by aroused ones soon enough

Making love among the bushy trees and under the numerous stars? YES. Teaching him how to do it right 'cause he's an innocent baby boy with a heart as pure as an angel's? VERY MUCH YES

[alessiathepirate]

Assassin's Creed: Mirage

THE ART OF PICKPOCKETING: Basim Ibn Ishaq x fem!reader

Summary: Basim Ibn Ishaq really liked to think of himself as someone, who's impossible to pickpocket -- and she finally found the opportunity to prove him wrong.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: none

•••

Basim Ibn Ishaq really liked to think of himself as someone, who's impossible to pickpocket.

And whenever he said that thought out loud, she wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong.

She sometimes liked to include the children too, who were free to do whatever they wanted after finishing the task Dervis had given them. They liked to be the distraction, while she did her best to sneak up on him and take the little blue charm from his scarf. When she failed Basim chuckled while the children laughed. Nehal just stood not far away, shaking her head as she tried to hide a smile.

All her attempts had failed. None of them worked.

Basim always seemed to expect all her ideas and tries, and he was holding a firm grip on her wrist the moment her fingertips were touching his clothes.

She almost gave up, accepting defeat. Almost.

Because soon the right moment presented itself.

She just came back from an errand Dervis had given her -- an easy task; just a go in - grab the small chest of dirhams - then get out without getting caught. She was on her way to give Dervis the chest when she ran into Basim - or rather: Basim jumped her in a tight alleyway.

She was startled and almost dropped the dirhams, what would've gotten her a long, endless, angry speech from Dervis himself. She playfully hit Basim on the shoulder as he laughed.

"You're such a child sometimes, I swear." she shook her head disapprovingly, hiding a smile.

"Oh, come on! You left me all alone today with nothing to do!"

"Wasn't Nehal around?" she asked with a raised eyebrow as she continued to walk toward Dervis' place.

Basim followed her closely.

"Nehal isn't you." he complained and she felt a blush threatening to appear on her cheeks. "Besides, she never wants to come with me to see what the Hidden Ones are up to!"

"Because you annoy her a bit too much with that." she chuckled as Basim pouted at her teasing tone. "And it's not a bad thing that at least one of us isn't suicidal."

"Do you have any other errands to do after this one?" Basim asked.

"No. Why? Is there something you'd like to do?"

"I was thinking, maybe we could go and practice."

"Practice what?" confusion was the only visible emotion on her face.

"Pickpocketing."

She stopped so suddenly that Basim almost bumped into her. It was Basim's turn to look confused and hers to pout.

She looked at him as if he just hurt her feelings. Her eyebrows were raised as if challenging him to continue. When he didn't, she decided to voice her anger.

"Pickpocketing? You think I need to practice pickpocketing?" her voice was higher than usual and Basim just scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not really knowing what to say.

"Well, everyone needs to practice..."

"Basim!" she could imagine his heart jumping at her tone. "Do you think I need to practice?"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and did his very best to look confident, but he couldn't really fool her. She knew him too well. And she knew he wasn't feeling overly confident at all.

"Well, I did follow you and you didn't even notice me until I jumped you. And you still can't pickpocket me."

If looks could kill...

"So you're telling me that no one could possibly surprise you? Not like you suprised me?"

A quiet understanding ran through Basim's eyes, as if he finally realized that he set up a trap for himself. Her eyes were shining with mischief as she was waiting for an answer, and his body became more rigid, feeling a storm coming.

"That's exactly what I'm saying..."

Always acting so confident, always hiding the side of him she loved the most - the side that loved poetry, and softness, and the thought of love itself...

"If that's what you think, Basim..."

She put the chest between her left arm and her side to keep her right hand free. Then, she took a step or two toward Dervis' place to let Basim feel safe and give him the false feeling of relief.

The moment she heard him take the first step, she turned around, grabbed his scarf and pulled him down into a kiss.

She closed her eyes, but she could imagine the surprised look on his face. She could imagine him blushing and she could imagine his eyes being wide open. And those thoughts made her grin.

She made sure to kiss him with passion. To show him the feelings she has been having for him since the beginning of time. She made sure to kiss him roughly, she made sure it made him lose all his senses. She made sure it was a great distraction.

By the time Basim collected himself and found the courage in himself to kiss back, she already let go of his scarf and pulled away.

His flushed face made her smile widely.

"So this wasn't surprising... At all..."

"No, I--"

She grinned.

"It's alright Basim. It happens to the best of us."

She started to walk again and after a few long seconds Basim began to follow her.

Some of the children noticed them and ran toward them to greet them. She just giggled and raised her left hand high, showing them the blue charm what she was holding in a tight grip.

"I finally did it!"

The cheering was almost comical. So was the laughter what came after Basim touched his scarf with a confused expression, not believing that the charm was gone.

"Oh, don't worry Basim, we all need our practice!" she teased and the children laughed harder.

"That's cheating!" Basim argued with a blush. "Give it back!"

"Get it back!" she shouted as she began to run, dropping the chest of dirhams not caring if Dervis gets his money or not; or if he gets angry or not.

Victory just felt too good. So did Basim's lips on hers.

Their game of cat and mouse didn't last long. After a few minutes Basim managed to tackle her on one of the rooftops - and she gladly let him turn her around and kiss her with so much passion, she had to whimper.

Yet the minute Basim's fingertips touched the charm, she grabbed his wrist, pulling him away from her prize.

"Don't you dare." she warned.

Basim grinned. She did too. Then his lips were on hers again as her free hand held onto his shoulder tight.