#Haytham x reader

[demigoddessqueens]

Tokyo Tea with Haytham?? (I gotta see how he is drunk)

Of course! 😄

If anyone else is interested, Writing prompt(s) are found here

Masterlist 11

You’ve rarely seen him drunk but it’s so amusing watching Haytham unravel

for someone who is the main leader, feared bane of The Brotherhood, he is the farthest from being put together whenever he gets alcohol

Either mumbles incoherently or he talks loudly while sloshing his words

Oddly dropping compliments towards you sometimes

you saw him get too deep in his emotions one time but never brought it up unless he awkwardly does

If he ever remembers what he was talking about from being drunk, he’ll brush it off as nothing but is “*screaming internally*”

Bonus points if you and Shay are mildly drunk/sober but Haytham is just a disaster™️ letting his mouth run around you two

[bloodhaven99]

On Fields of Sorrow…

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Would you write a short story about Haytham reuniting with his childhood sweetheart. Maybe they both meet, in an old barn, for refuge from the redcoats?

Of course, I can! I will do my best at this, but I hope you enjoy this! Also, sorry it took me so long. Procrastination and other things just said hello to me and I invited them in, lol.

Here you are, again, being chased by the egotistical Redcoats. It was all so simple to you: You were walking along the streets of New York, minding your own business, when a four-group army of Redcoats decided you were in their way. One of them dared to push you aside, and, of course, you would not ignore their rude behavior. One thing led to another, and soon enough, more Redcoats came by, but you did not have the skills to take on all 13 of them. 

After a mere moment of blocking yourself from their attacks, and using other Redcoats as human shields from gunfire, you decided to make haste and, risked getting shot at as you quickly navigated your way through the big city, taking any shortcuts you could find. It felt like an hour passed as you kept running, your legs were aching and almost to the point of numbness if you did not stop soon. 

At last, you found yourself in the middle of an open field, and a red, empty barn with a big, white barn door open was up ahead. You made your way in without hesitation, and without a sudden thought, you quickly pushed on the door to shut it and lock it tight. From that moment on, you decided to lean your body against the barn door, letting out some deep breaths you held in for so long. Your eyes glanced around the barn, only to see it was all filled with hay and wooden crates that took up space in empty horse stalls. 

You also thought you were alone, completely and safely alone. You saw a shadow from the corner of your eye, from behind a pile of crates. Slowly the shadow started to disappear, your heart started to beat faster, and your mind was sending out fear signals, to the point where you had to, yet again, defend yourself from whoever or whatever was in this very barn with you. As you pulled out your gun, you could hear footsteps getting closer and closer to you. In the blink of an eye, your gun was pointing at the person who stepped once more in front of your view. 

For a moment, all you could see was red, another Redcoat it seemed. But, as your finger was close to the trigger, almost to the point of pressing it, you saw a face, a face from your past. The features of this person were of an attractive man, with eyes of a dark gray color, and eyebrows lowered to make him intimidating. His lips are steady, and his nose is the one thing that makes everything else attractive to you. However, it was what came out of his mouth that only confirmed your suspicions of who this man is.

“It is somewhat a rare coincidence that we introduce ourselves again, Y/N L/N.”

His voice is that of a noble British accent, only one man that you know has this voice. 

“Haytham Kenway.”

His name falls off your lips quite nicely, and with this, both his and your lips curl up into a small smile. Your hand is still raised with the gun in it pointed at his face. 

“Grand Master now, are you not? It is quite an honor to see you so… languorous.” 

“I think I should be the one to say such a word.”

He lets out a small laugh and with his left hand, he raises it to wrap it around the gun. You let your finger move away from the trigger, and you easily let him disarm you with a gentle touch. You feel your fingers brush against each other’s, something that you have missed for some time now, but you don’t act upon it for now. Your eyes watch as his hands hold your gun and his eyes inspect the color and design of it. 

“Not a bad firearm to have. Did you have someone buy it for you?”

“I stole it.”

His gaze on the gun disappears as he tilts his head up with his eyebrows raised to look at your serious face.

“I took it off a Redcoat a couple of days ago. Better looking than the other one I had.” You continued.

He only nods his head in understanding, not saying anything else as he gives the gun back to you. You place it back in its holster, looking at his face the entire time which goes back to the serious look he always has on.

“How has New York treated you?”

He questions as he starts to pace around the barn, glancing at you as you finally sit down on a bale of hay and rest your legs on another one next to you. From this, you can feel your feet relieved from the pain, but the aching is still there. 

“I have been managing myself. Though, it is not as easy as you think.”

You see Haytham makes his way over to you as you answer him, his soft stare starting to melt your heart. His eyes are now a bright gray with a hint of some blue in there too; he looks like a dream. 

He sits down beside you on another bale of hay and he gently and slowly moves your legs to rest on his. As he glances at your features, his voice also grows soft, and his large hands start to caress your legs, but you do not flinch or make a sound, actually liking the care he is giving you. Your body starts to relax, but your cheeks leave a tinted red there, a small blush that he cannot help but chuckle at. 

“I can see that.”

He pauses for a moment, the silence filling up the barn as you two glance at each other. In your mind, you are in heaven, living in a dream that has come true. 

“I do wonder though, how you have survived all this after leaving the Order.”

“I only learned from the best, Haytham.”

Your smile at his thoughtful statement has him smiling along with you. Just then, you feel his other hand touch your right cheek, caressing it so gently that you could cry. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment, as you can tell from how blue his eyes have become, but you do not mind it at all. He has always been such a gentleman, from all those years you two have been together. It only seems like it was yesterday that you left and that he came all this way just to meet you in this very spot, away from Redcoats nonetheless. Though he wears a Redcoat outfit himself, you do not question it, already knowing that it is probably a disguise mission gone wrong. 

The tension in the air is soft; just polite stares and sweet smiles on each other’s faces. You lean forward, along with him, looking into each other’s eyes, wondering, from each other’s point of view, who is going to do what first. A gentle brush of his lips against yours, a small kiss planted on your or his cheek, even something more like a gentle thumb brushing over your nose and his lips pressing against the tip of it in a loving, caring manner. Yet, that does not happen. Instead, he slowly and gently presses his forehead against yours, and a loving smile on his lips. 

“Bienvenido a casa, mi amor.”

That is all he whispers to you. Nothing else needed to be said. 

[rea-grimm]

Dragon Haytham Kenway

You thought you and Haytham would spend Halloween together. You didn't expect anything big from him. It occurred to you that you could wear costumes and just watch a movie, go see friends, or just have a quiet evening in the mood for a spooky holiday.

Unfortunately, Haytham had to meet with the other Templars at the last minute. You weren't one of them yourself, as you had a different view of things, but that didn't stop you from being together. You didn't want him to go, but he promised you it wouldn't be long and he'd be back soon.

He left you home alone with that. You lasted a while. You were actually counting the minutes, until the time he promised you he would come back. But as the evening wore on, you started to worry that something might happen to him.

Not that he couldn't take care of himself, but you were still worried. In addition, he did not pick up the phone or answer your messages. He mostly texted you that he would be late and the like.

To shorten the wait, you changed into your costume, handing out candy to the carolers, but constantly watching for the Templar's return.

It was already long past midnight and you still knew nothing about him. You waited another twenty minutes before you decided to check on him.

You knew they were supposed to meet at Charles' house. That was also your first destination, where you decided to go in search of him.

You had never been to Charles' house before, but you often waited for Haytham outside. You walked up to the house and knocked on the door. However, the house was completely dark and silent.

That's how it looked at first impression. however, when you took a few steps back, you noticed that the light was on in the basement. You tried knocking again and ringing the bell.

No response again. However, you didn't want to just go back, so you tried to grab the handle. It was unlocked. You walked in and called out to Haytham and Charles. Again no answer.

It was obvious that there was no one on the upper floors of the house, so you made your way to the basement. You found the stairs leading down and started up them.

You had the impression that they were endless and so was the basement. It's like you went to another world. You expected to find them in a small room at a small table, playing cards, discussing politics, or whatever they were doing there.

Instead, you kept walking down the stairs. You didn't even see the ceiling anymore, just pillars and flickering lights.

You finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Now you found yourself in a giant hall where you couldn't see the end. It seemed endless to you, full of columns.

You hesitated whether to go further, but when you got this far, you didn't want to go back down the long stairs empty-handed. That's why you moved on.

You passed pillar after pillar and the beams attached to the pillars gave you light.

"What are you doing here? This is sacred ground! Is it not enough for you that you are delaying our Master from his mission?!” Charles Lee's voice came familiarly from behind you. 

That person hated you from the first moment he found out you were in a relationship with Haytham. You had the impression that he was beaming at you.

“Hi Charles,” you greeted him. Even though he beat you, you wanted to prove to him that you were better. “I went for Haytham. He was late, he didn't answer my phone and I was worried,” you explained innocently.

“Maybe this is the opportunity I've been wanting,” he started talking to himself instead of answering you. "There's no one here to see me get rid of you!" he growled, pulling a knife from his belt and running towards you.

You screamed in shock and ran away. Although you had no idea where, but mainly away from the madman.

You were running when you tripped over your own foot and very soon you were on the ground. Charles was on your heels and before you could scramble to your feet he would be with you.

You were mad at yourself for it, but now wasn't the time to feel sorry for yourself. You rolled over, ready to kick him before he had a chance to stab you.

You had no idea how it happened or how it was possible, but before Charles could get to you, a giant, dark blue dragon flew towards you and got between you and Charles.

It was a stunning creature with beautifully coloured scales. What interested you even more, however, was how Charles spoke to the creature. He spoke to him with respect as he spoke to your Templar. As if the dragon was Haytham.

Charles made the excuse that you were just delaying Haytham and distracting him from his goal. The dragon didn't like that though, and before you knew it, he breathed a fire out of its mouth, narrowly missing Charles, who must have felt its heat. The dragon roared at him some more, causing the room to shake, before turning in your direction.

You were still on the ground and even though your mind was telling you to "RUN!" you were paralyzed and couldn't move. You watched with horror in your eyes as the dragon's head bowed down to you before the entire lizard was engulfed in dim light.

As the light faded, Haytham stood before you, dragon wings, horns sticking out of his forehead, and a long scaly tail. He didn't look at all excited to see you there.

He was the first to tell you that you had no business being there. You almost got yourself killed. However, when he saw your guilty expression mixed with confusion and fear, he just sighed. Haytham bent down and took you in his arms.

"Sorry to keep you waiting so long," he apologized. You shook your head that he had nothing to apologize for. You should have trusted him, but you also confessed your fears.

With that, he carried you back to your home, where he intended to relieve you of all worries.

Assassin's Creed Masterlist

[helpyourselfwithcherrywine]

Haytham X Reader

The Beginning of the End

A/N: This is part of the last fic, it is where Y/N passes and is based off that one scene from HBO John Adams where Mrs. Adams passes. Not gonna lie that scene made me cry like a baby. Like and Reblog if you like.

Warnings: angst, death, no happy end, Haytham can’t get a break

Also, NO ONE HAS ANY PERMISSION TO STEAL, COPY OR TRANSLATE THIS AND TAKE THIS AS YOUR OWN.

March 1786

Y/N had been sick for a while and didn’t seem to get any better. Haytham had called upon every doctor in the colonies and none had been able to find out the cause of her sickness. As each day passed, Haytham grew more frustrated and worried. Y/N couldn’t be dying, she was too young, it was too soon. They had only just reconciled and rekindle their love for each other. Her breathing was labored and her face had been drained of all color. She was drenched in sweat even with her thin nightgown and the cool spring air blowing through the windows.

Haytham walked in and saw her looking at the vase of flowers by the windows. Her labored breathing was a stab in the heart for him. He missed her laugh, her smile, her cheeky jokes. The sound of his cane hit the floor, unintentionally startling her from her brief peace. Behind his hand, Haytham held a bundle of crocuses and put them in the vase. He brought one of the flowers to her. “Look here my dearest, I brought you flowers” Haytham brought the flower to Y/N and laid right beside her. “Yeah, the pretty flowers, they’re beautiful just like you, yeah” He leaned down and planted kisses on her forehead. Y/N mumbled incoherently as Haytham wiped the sweat from her face.

Weakly she touched the flower, “ You know, I always knew you were a romantic at heart” she said faintly. Haytham slightly chuckled, "Only to you, you are the only one who has made me do crazy things in the name of love, my dear” Sighing, “ I just want to tell you that I love you Haytham, I’m sorry that we couldn’t spend more than five measly years together” her breathing became labored, tears began to fill her eyes. “I’m sorry that I was not there when you needed me the most I ---” Y/Ns eyes closed as struggled to find air. Haytham shushed her and tried to calm her down. “Shush, don’t work yourself up over nothing, If anything It’s me that should be sorry, I was never worthy of you. You gave me the truth, your heart and patience and I threw it away like if it was yesterday’s paper. You are an angel who let someone like myself love you and take you for his selfish reasons.”

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. “You are going to fight whatever this is and we are going to be fine. You are a fighter my love, you just fight” Y/N’s wheezing grew stronger and she shook her head. “Not this time my love, I’m sorry Haytham, I love you I---” gasping for air, she froze with tears falling from her face. Haytham shook his head , he opened his mouth to speak but realized that Y/N was as still as can be. He brought his hand to her chin and looked in to her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and their was no sign of life in her. Her hand went limp on the bed. Haytham began to call out her name, but she did not respond. He began to shake her from her shoulders and checked if her heart was still beating, but was met with silence. He begin to wail and sob calling her name over and over, begging her to come back, screaming at the sky above why he had taken her from him. He scooped her up into his arms and began to cradle her face onto his chest. Her eyes void of any life staringback into him. He shut his eyes and continued to cry until the moonlight and cry of crickets woke him up.

Here's the last fic:

[gwen-the-assassin]

Anytime I read Haytham X Reader.

A/n: whoops seems my hand slipped- also look at this smug prick i love him

✧･ﾟ: Masterlist :･ﾟ✧

Pairing: Haytham Kenway x Reader

Summary: One passionate kiss in the heat of the moment between you and your Grand Master leads him to ponder on the authenticity of it for the rest of the night.

It was all a blur really, an unexpected turn of events.

Haytham Kenway doesn't run with an entire unit of Redcoats after him. He's not reckless enough to strike without thought, to command his own to seek out trouble where it might get them killed.

Never would he retreat into an alleyway, accomplice dragging him along as they shove him into the safety of the shadows.

Shouting is heard all throughout the streets, like a pack of dogs barking and chasing after a cat. There's confusion spread everywhere among civilians who appear terrified, their clothes dull beneath the vivid reds frantically searching through the crowd.

Your lips stretch out into a grin, and your eyes gleam with mischief at the chaos unfolding despite your huffing. Your Grand Master on the other hand seethes in silence, partly because you caused the trouble that you two were in now, but also because he allowed it to happen.

Some of the soldiers draw near the entrance of the alleyway, clutching their muskets to their chests as they stalk towards the gap with suspicion. You can only think of one thing that would have them turning away but you're not sure Haytham would like it.

Still, it's the difference between being thrown in a cell or suffering minor embarrassment and getting back to the tavern.

Haytham is about to open his mouth until you plant your palms against his chest, shove his back against the brick wall and fix your lips over his. You hear the stiffled groan in his throat, feel the way his muscles turn stiff beneath your fingers, notice how his anger simmers into uncertainty, hesitation and then finally, acceptance.

You feel his hands take your waist, inching to go lower but he keeps them firm and fixed - a true gentleman. You smile a little at his cooperation, grabbing his hat from his head so you can wrap your arms around his neck a little better, your bodies taut and compact against each other.

The both of you try to make it like a passionate moment between two lovers instead of a desperate attempt to scare off the apprehending soldiers but it works regardless.

One curious Redcoat sticks his head into the alleyway from the corner. There's a moment where his eyes try to adjust to the scene before him, of you having your Grand Master against the wall, and him rubbing his palms up and down your waist in a continuous motion.

The Redcoat shakes his head and mutters something beneath his breath that you manage to catch before he leaves.

"Bloody lovers."

He signals his fellow soldiers that it's nothing interesting before they all march off. More sounds of shouting and boots hitting the pavement rotate around the city before they disappear into the distance.

You withdraw from Haytham, huffing once more as he does the same. You ignore the way he looks at you with so much emotion behind his eyes, one part bewilderment, another intrigue and something else like...disappointment.

"We should probably get back to the Green Dragon," you tell him and he nods in approval.

"Indeed."

He sits at his desk now, fingers occupied with the amulet and his mind boggled with the events prior that took place in the city.

He ponders the brief moment, recalling how soft your lips were, how perfect you fit into his embrace. Then he shakes his head of the thought, doubts that there was something more than a distraction in that kiss.

It was meaningless, he thinks in his mind. It was nothing but...he wants it to be something.

He is interrupted when you disturb him. You come unannounced, leaning against his doorframe like you own it, but you've done that so many times at this point Haytham thinks you already do.

"Need you to come down soon, Sir - dinner is nearly ready."

Haytham nods once and watches you go to leave, but his voice has you pausing in your step, pulling you back to face him.

"A moment, if you will."

That would usually be meant as an order from your Grand Master, his authority seeping into his voice and cutting sharply through the air. Except, this time it sounds more like a genuine request. His face is calm, eyes sincere and gentle.

Even you can see how quiet and different he's been since you both made it back to the tavern.

Without questioning him, your hands clutch the backrest of a chair facing him and drag it by your side to sit on.

"What is it?"

"I was wondering about what happened before, in the city..."

You sigh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Okay, yes I get it. You're still mad that I lead a group of Redcoats after us-"

"After that."

To be honest he wasn't really angry about your reckless actions anymore. His fingers no longer fiddled with the amulet, instead they're now closed into a loose fist on his desk. Haytham gazes at you with nothing but seriousness, expression intense but not intimidating.

You try to refuse the memories suddenly flooding through your mind, of the chase, of the alleyway, and...the kiss, how his lips were so tantalising on your skin and his grip so firm on your waist.

You want to brush it off as nothing, in fact you did when you arrived back at the tavern. But with how intently he's looking at you now, with how he's expecting you to give an explanation, you just can't pass it off as a distraction.

It wasn't just nothing, you realise. You don't want it to be. You didn't think that it would haunt him all this time.

Despite his obvious feelings, you decided to approach him safely.

"You mean the kiss?" Your voice trails off softly, and you curse yourself for your sudden lack of confidence.

He nods simply in response. Your Grand Master has never liked wasting time, and you always admired that particular trait about him but when in the direct face of it, you've never felt so confronted.

"What did it mean to you? And please, no lies."

"What did you want it to mean, sir?" you counter.

You watch him raise his brow but it's not the first time you've answered him in such a way.

He says nothing but continues to stare, the emotion behind his eyes unreadable but so full of racing thoughts and silent confessions.

The amulet in his fist is placed alongside his hat in favour of taking your hands instead. The action startles you, almost prompting you to recoil if it weren't for how confident his grip was.

"Are you comfortable with this?"

Your mouth, although slightly agape, responds with a quiet yes.

His grey eyes flicker over your face, reading your body language and confirming your answer, then they drop down to your lips where they linger for a moment, giving you time to pull away.

But when you don't, his lips gently close the distance, warmth and an unexpected affection meet your skin.

The sounds from the tavern are drowned out, nothing but muffled noise in your ears as Haytham slides his free hand up to tilt your jaw. Both of you sink in peaceful bliss but as he withdraws, you miss the feeling immediately, and you're left with his thumb stroking your bottom lip with admiration.

"I'd like to have you closer by my side from now on," he whispers. It sounds like a demand, but you know it's more of a plea.

"Closer than I already am?" You reply, a teasing smile growing as you fiddle with one of his coat buttons, "I don't know how much closer I could be beyond your personal bodyguard or in this moment."

You catch a glimpse of a reciprocated playfulness in his behaviour, slight but most definitely there.

"Then how about as something more?"

"Why, do you mean to court me, Grand Master?" You respond, still playing with his coat.

As Haytham's face nears again, his voice becomes sincere.

"If you would have me."

[howtotrainabraincell]

Head cannons bc I can - Assassin’s body parts preferences (and extras...)

AN: I would just like to say that ALL of the Assassin's will protect their love with their lives, not standing for any disrespect or rudeness toward her in any way shape or form. I may not have put it in the description of every Assassin, but it goes without saying. ALSO, plz don't @ me bc this is my first ever spicy post lol

Altair Ibn La’Ahad - loves burying his face in her neck and grabbing her backside cheekily lol, loves bathing with her but won’t deny that’s it’s hard to control himself around her naked body. Comes to her after a mission (if they didn't go on it together that is or if she's not an assassin) to hold her and just melts against her, grateful to have her and be back in her arms alive. Pulls her away ever so often to a corner where he'll kiss her breathless and then just walk off like nothing happened (this man-), loves to chase lol if she runs from him, it sets something deep and primal off in him, and when he eventually catches her? 😳😳😳

Shay Patrick Cormac - definitely breasts lol and has a thing for waists, also loves thighs & has a thing for kissing from the top of her foot to the inside of her thighs, this man can pick up grown soldiers, flip them over his shoulder and then just toss them to the ground like it nothing so he’s strong - tell.me he doesn’t pick up his love and carry her off for some alone time. She won't have to worry about anyone on the Morrigan getting any ideas because Shay has made it VERY clear that she's his and his only. He'll legit fight for her if someone makes her uncomfortable or harasses her and make them regret the day they were born (that is if they can even think afterward bc they'll probably be dead). It - depending on the mood he's in - makes him feel very loved and cared for or very turned on and ready to pin her down, when she kisses the scar over his eye. Don't even get me started on how naughty this fricken man is in Irish Gaelic. (Sir! Control thyself!)

Edward Kenway - an ass man for sure and he loves the thighs too, stands behind her and glares at anyone who checks her out from his spot behind her where he’ll press a possessive kiss to her shoulder while glaring at them. Why do I have feeling that this man has a thing for women who can shoot guns? If she shoots a gun in front of him all pirate-esque he'll literally beg her to step on him haha. Loves him a mouthy feisty woman because not only does it turn.him.on, he gets a kick out of a lovely woman being able to blow someone out of the water with her insults & statements of self-defense. Will also waylay anyone who disrespects her, he'll actually feed them their teeth (don't test him with her)

Jacob Ethan Frye - both the man’s bi lol he can have both if he wants, he for sure does playful butt pats and grabs occasionally but usually when they’re alone (USUALLY & if a Rook bore witness? THEY SAW NOTHING), definitely into holding his love on his lap and whispering dirty things in her ear to fluster her. Will fight to protect her and God help them because they'll have him and the Rooks to deal with (that is if Jacob doesn't crush them and turn them into dust that blows away in the wind lol). Also loves him a feisty and mouthy woman, if she's sarcastic, witty and goofy on top of that? This man is more whipped than whipped cream. Total gentleman even if she can hand his ass to him on a silver platter, he still treats her with utmost respect. Enjoys lying in bed with her and cuddling (give the man all the cuddles STAT) lazily playing with her hair and believe it not - not all kissing with the amorous assassin leads to *wink wink*. He genuinely enjoys laying there with her on a slow day and kissing her sweetly, over and over again. Man is a genuine romantic sweetheart (and nothing will change my mind). It's not an odd occurrence for Evie to wonder where her younger brother is, only to find him conked out on his love's chest just peacefully snoozing away as she holds him reading a book or some files. Totally see him tracing his fingers down her sternum until he reaches her breasts and tracing the insides of them to get her riled up (if he's feeling mean he'll even give a cheeky kiss haha). Also loves to chase her across rooftops and make bets of a spicier nature...

Evie Frye - loves to kiss her loves hands & jaw (particularly that one little spot…) and trace kisses down her sternum, has a habit of cornering her and making out with her lol then she just goes on about her day like nothing happened, plays footsies underneath table surfaces (CHANGE MY MIND). Loves all of her and honestly don't think she would have a preference, Evie's just grateful to have her at all and be with her. Woman was dedicated to being alone as a result of being in the Brotherhood. Think she would get a kick out of witty and playful banter, the more her love speaks the more in love she falls and the more she desires her. She's good with her hands. I said it. Sue me. She.has.good.hands. The woman tis skilled (in more ways than one...) This also pertains to corsets and buttons whether it be doing them or undoing them... Kind think she would like chasing her love through the city too and if it ends up in a garden? The woman internally swoons.

Kassandra of Sparta - breasts she likes pulling her love against her and then looking down to see them pressed against her armor being gorgeous as usual and she loves to grab hips, she will CUT Alcibiades if he looks at her love lol bc she KNOWS what he's thinking about, only lets her hair down around her love and adores laying in between her thighs while her fingers give her a head a very relaxing massage (seriously they can put the woman to sleep lol)

Ratonhnhake:ton/Connor Kenway - I think we can all agree that this sweet man isn't very sexual BUT once he settles down, he does have an appreciation for his loves figure. Loves to hover over her from behind and kiss the top of her head, and when things get more intimate between them, he loves to give her kisses all over her face. Flowers with him would be a common occurrence, often times she wakes up to beautiful wildflowers on her bedside table or on the pillow beside her. This man is a good provider. And if she takes an interest in hunting with him, more than a few times he'll briefly lose interest in hunting the animal and playfully hunting her instead... Feel like he strokes her legs lovingly and takes his time exploring the sexual feelings he has for her. He would love her breasts because they're beautiful, soft and full of life.

Alexios of Sparta - ass for sure he seems like a butt smacker haha she’ll be minding her own business when he comes out of nowhere and gives her a light loving smack. He comes up behind her and literally sweeps her off her feet - no pleasantries, just "you're mine now" lol

Haytham Kenway - breasts has a thing for tracing the tops of them when she wears dresses to get her riled up all while delivering an “innocent” kiss to her flaming red cheek, will randomly stoop to her level to whisper something 😳 in her ear. Get a vibe that he would spoil her with beautiful jewelry and then woo her until it's the only thing she has on, before taking her to bed... Morning sex seems like the norm for him because he's not always there when she falls asleep arriving home late, but when he sees her in the morning, he more than makes it up to her and greets her in very steamy manner. He reminds her to remain neutral when she stands next to him during a meeting as he sits down with his hand hidden by her dress on her backside gently squeezing and acting completely casual about it the cheeky -

Desmond Miles - breasts & when Shaun stresses him out, he presses his head into them lol it’s stress relieving, comes up behind her and hugs her tightly, definitely into spooning he likes the physical contact, and he melts when she kisses his forehead. Before everything he screwed, but now with the woman he loves? He makes love and thoroughly enjoys every second of it with her. Having her by his side through everything means more to him than he can express.

Arno Victor Dorian - this man feels like a worshipper he would love all of her body and take his time with her, but he does tend to go for breasts more coming out of nowhere and kissing the tops of them reverently throughout the day, definitely takes her hand in his and kisses it with full eye contact to the point where it makes her blush, earning a chuckle from him. Tell me that this man doesn't pull her away to corners throughout the day or on a mission and kiss her before walking away casually like nothing happened lol. Got a feeling he's very into whisking his love away just getting her attention and pulling her away to wherever they can have a few moments alone together. Good kisser. I refuse to believe anything else. He swoops in gives a sweet kiss that leaves her flustered, and he stands there watching her with a smile on his face. For some reason I think he's into the whole secret lover rendezvous thing, aka coming in through his love's window or meeting her secretly (it's exciting and he gets her all alone...)

Ezio Auditore Da Firenze - also feels like a worshipping type of man except everywhere, everything, all the time lol, but he does have a preference for breasts often times hugging his love around the waist and burying his face in them. We've all seen how this man has thing for pinning his lady to the wall...do with it what you will. But he does it to her and OFTEN lol. A little more promiscuous in public - stopping of course if she gets uncomfortable - than others and is not afraid to show how he feels about her. Also, a good kisser. I mean COME ON.

Bayek of Siwa - he loves her breasts because beneath them lies her heart and he cherishes the fact that she has given it to him, loves to star gaze with her - they lay there together peacefully as he tells her about the constellations and their meaning. Loves bathing with her just laying back and relaxing, eyes roving her form as she cleans him and gives him a shave (he refuses to shave unless she does it for him bc he loves her touch and how great her handiwork is). Gives the kinds of kisses that melt her like a stick of butter lol, a kiss from him has a lot of emotion poured into it telling without words how much he loves her.

[bookworm-with-coffee]

Just a Kiss This Christmas. . . 🎄☃️

(Christmas Eve with Your Faves - Assassin's Creed III, Rogue and Syndicate Edition)

Plot; Little Christmas themed comfort imagines

Pairings;

Haytham Kenway x Reader (Romantic)

Connor Kenway (Ratonhnhaké:ton) x Reader (Romantic)

Shay Cormac x Reader (Romantic)

Liam O'Brien x Reader (Romantic)

Jacob Frye x Reader (Romantic)

Evie Frye x Reader (Romantic)

Lydia Frye x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; mature themes, tooth-rotting fluff, a pinch of angst here and there, implied smut, mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption, mentions of war/warzones and violence

_______________________________________

Haytham Kenway

Outside the fogged windows, gentle snowfall was on display. Winds rustled the trees and laughter echoed in the streets.

Houses lined the roads, warmed with crackling fires and the mirth of togetherness and peace. Taverns bustled with those celebrating the coming of what was considered the best holiday of the year, cheerful music floating in the chill of the winter air.

The perfect Christmas Eve.

Your heart was soaring, not sparing a care to the coldness of the floorboards and tiling beneath your feet; finding yourself warmed by the fires of the oven.

The smell of spices floated through the halls of your home, your freshly baked gingerbread now cooling on a rack. It was an effort not to pull the scalding biscuits from the metal, to devour them immediately; but your focus on your brewing hot chocolate stole any chance of impulse.

Your lips curled up at the lightly thickened milk, stirring at your homemade concoction. Now having the desired consistency, you poured the rich beverage into two mugs, sparing a look over your shoulder.

A sigh passed through your nostrils, spying the time displayed on the wall clock. Thirty minutes past the ninth hour. With a soft loneliness tugging at your heart, you pondered how much longer it would be until Haytham retreated from his office.

Templar affairs had kept him occupied for many days and hours throughout the holiday season, as to be expected when being the Grandmaster of the Colonial. But, you knew that Christmas was one of the few occasions Haytham liked, also aware of how easily time got away from him when occupied with work. He had already missed the Templar Christmas Eve party over in the local tavern, but he would not miss an evening with you. Christmas Eve, especially.

Templar business be damned. It was up to you to save him from his undoubtedly large workload.

The hot chocolate would undoubtedly be a convincing point. Aside from yourself, of course.

Already in your nightdress, you discarded your apron and threw on your winter robes for your journey upstairs, baring an almost giddy smile whilst you climbed them.

You spied the dim lights from under the wooden door, moving to open it without knocking. "Grandmaster", you announced yourself, his head raising from the piles of parchment littered on his desk. His piercing blues were on you in an instant, already tracing over your approaching form with a cocked brow.

"You have not called me by that title since the days before our courtship", Haytham remarked with some amusement, the corners of his lips faintly curling upward. "And even then, you had little regard for it".

"What makes you think that has changed?", you quipped with a laugh. "I had to get your attention somehow. My baking clearly wasn't enough".

His smile grew at your ploy of feigning hurt, your eyes drifting to the words upon the papers. Correspondences from all corners of the world, all of them bearing the seal of the Templars. Did no one in the Order celebrate Christmas??

"My deepest apologies", Haytham crooned with the licks of playful sarcasm dancing in his velvet voice. "However will I make up for such an indiscretion?".

With mischief twinkling in your keen eyes, you grinned, lifting the hem of your nightdress to allow yourself to be seated upon and stradling his larger thighs.

Haytham's quill and papers were long forgotten as his warm hands moved to hold your waist, fingers tracing imaginary patterns into the thin materials separating you both and heating the skin beneath.

Admiration glittered in the depths of his gaze as it trailed over the cascading waves of your hair and the supple skin left exposed by your strappy nightdress and robes, those eyes no longer harsh or commanding. No longer the eyes of the Grandmaster everyone else knew.

There was a softness and vulnerability to Haytham's hues now, clearly displaying his contentment in being trapped within your embrace. A deep sigh expelled from him, relishing in the way your delicate fingers spindled into his silken locks and drew lines over his chest. "Can you think of nothing?", your words were a murmur over his skin, setting it alight with goosebumps.

With his tired eyes now closed, your lips pressed featherlight kisses to his heavy eyelids, his arms pulling you flush against his chest. Descending the curviture of his face, your lips finally met with his own in soft and lazy caresses.

Haytham's hands moved to cradle your face, his tongue drawing along the seam of your lips before they parted eagerly. Your hips shifted against his own in your attempt to get closer, a soft grunt heaving from the Grandmaster's throat and sparking his next course of action.

A small yelp passed through your interlocked lips when the Master Templar heaved you from his lap and onto his desk, the piling letters now sweeping to the floor to accommodate your presence.

Your body arched into his frame, his lips tearing from your own to start leaving a searing trail along your jaw.

"I can think of something ", he mused, pressing his hips into your own.

"Haytham!", you giggled, his skillful touches never failing to leave you weak and at his mercy. "What about the hot chocolate??".

Haytham's low chuckle was a breath against the skin of your neck. "I think you'll find that I have other priorities", his voice remained a sultry whisper, slowly working affectionate pecks towards your naval. "Starting with you ".

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Connor Kenway / Ratonhnhaké:ton

"Connor, my friend!", Norris greeted the young Assassin, tipsy with the few drinks he'd had. But, he was a merry man, deep in the high spirits of the holiday season. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

"Norris", he nodded in acknowledgement, sparing the hints of a smile for his friend, the latter having spied the direction in which the younger man's almond hues had fixated.

With a cheerful smile that reached his eyes, the miner brushed his elbow against Connor's, "Your eyes bore into a beautiful woman, and yet you waste the night lingering here in the shadows instead of talking to her".

Connor's cheeks grew hot at the accusation, his lashes fluttering and ripping his gaze from where you stood amongst the crowds of the party. "I don't know what you are implying".

Norris' gaze turned knowingly to the younger man, his brows raised, "You do not? Then perhaps, you will not mind it if I tell her—".

"Norris", Connor warned, an underlying threat sitting in his brown hues. The older man sighed, his smile refusing to dissipate even in the wake of his counterpart's intimidation.

"Why not talk to her?? Mingle with the party!", he insisted, waving his arms to gesture to the warm atmosphere of the gathering.

"I am not one for celebrations", the young Assassin replied with a tug to his shoulders. "I would much rather watch others making merry".

"And miss all the fun? An opportunity to speak to (Y/n)??", Norris gaped. "Inacceptable!".

"What would you have me do?", Connor asked with a sense of hopelessness. "I have nothing to offer her but an absent partner and a broken heart! I have not the time to court a woman as wonderful as her". He spared a glance to where you stood once more with Miriam, his heart squeezing at the beauty of your laugh. The placement of your dimples and the way the light of your happiness always met with the warmth of your eyes, his own returning to Norris. "Even if I wanted to, with every fibre of my heart".

The Frenchman nodded, understanding the feathersoft yearning that twinkled in Connor's deep gaze. Alike to the one he used to have for Miriam before their marriage.

"Connor", he sighed. "I am certain a woman like (Y/n) would have considered all of these things beforehand! She is headstrong". His smile grew when adding, "The way I hear it from Miriam, (Y/n) hardly ceases singing praise about you".

Connor's heart stilled, his brows drawing together amidst his surprise. "She speaks about me??".

" 'Gushing', is probably a proper word for it, my friend. Women do that when they are en transe by a man, no??".

"I believe so??", Connor's reply came out more like a question than a statement.

"Then why wait in the shadows any longer?", Norris pressed. "Eventually, another man will seize the opportunity to sweep (Y/n) off her feet!". The young Assassin felt a short sting of envy in his chest, his eyes drifting downward. "Do not let yourself feel the regret by not acting now. She is the woman of your dreams, Connor. You deserve that much".

Norris gently clapped Connor's larger shoulder whilst the latter mulled over his friend's wise words, not realising the truth of them until now.

If he were to wait any longer, another man would surely take the opportunity to win your heart. Any sane man would. You were truly a beautiful individual.

You have a selfless heart and a ready mind, encompassing all in your warmth and compassion, inclusive of Connor himself.

Every soft touch of your hands brushing his or holding his arm, every embrace shared after returning from his months away had ensnared his heart, melting away the hardened exterior he often wore. You'd broken through it all with patience, listening to his inner expressions without judgement.

He knew then, that he needed to give your relationship a chance. Even if the price was hurt.

"Connor", your melodic voice snapped him from his daze, a friendly smile shining from your expression despite your concern. "What are you doing back here all by yourself??".

In alarm, Connor's eyes frantically searched for Norris, finding the space beside him now vacant. The older man was finally spotted beside his wife, raising both thumbs in encouragement at the Assassin.

"I just wished to be alone", he offered a quick excuse.

"Alone?", your brows creased. "On Christmas Eve??".

"I am not one for parties", Connor elaborated, his lips subconsciously quirking upwards to match your lighthearted expression.

"I understand", you conceded with a short laugh. "Neither am I, if I'm honest. I'm glad to be away from the bustle".

Leaning against the wall beside him, your bright hues spared him a fond glance whilst you added, "That's why I came to see you". Connor's brows rose,

"Really??". You nodded.

"I hope you don't mind, but I find your company soothing, Connor".

"The feeling is mutual", he assured. "Your words and presence are both a comfort to me, and welcome at any time".

For a moment, you seemed in thought, your eyes finally flickering back to his own. "I want to thank you", you confessed, irking a confused tilt of his head.

"What for??".

"For saving me", you whispered. "For offering me a better life here, away from oppression and struggle. Those things are now a fading memory. Thanks to you".

Connor's heart warmed within his chest, humbled entirely by your words. His lips parted to utter an insistence that his efforts were minimal and knowing this, your hand raised to halt the words about to tumble out.

A nervous, breathy laugh escaped him, unable to mask his endearment for you as his darker orbs travelled the delicate features of your face. Your hand had moved to rest on the clasp of his hands, the warmth of his fingers slowly intwining with yours.

"I am grateful for you", Connor murmured, feeling a surge of courage to reveal what lay in his heart. "You are a remarkable woman, (Y/n). And I consider myself very blessed to have you in my life".

His admittance left you at a loss of words, furthered by the gentle caress of the hand that came to cradle your cheek. Connor's thumb traced over your cheekbone, stilling the breaths in your throat before he continued, "I would be honoured if you would share it with me".

With his nose now brushing your own, your lashes fluttered at the welcome proximity, breathing, "Yes", as you saw fit to close the rest of the gap, your other hand reaching to grip at his hair when the heat of his lips finally reached yours.

They were supple, moving in calming touches with your own, like a summer's breeze. Refreshing and soft.

Connor's breaths exhaled against your skin and heaved in your sweet scent, his chocolate hues fluttering open when your lips had pulled from his own. You grasped the hand interlaced with yours, eyes halflidded given the closeness you still shared.

"Do you think Achilles will notice your absence?", you gnawed on your bottom lip hopefully.

"To hell with him", Connor grunted, his lips sealing with yours again before he lead you discretely from the party room and up the stairs to resume your celebrations elsewhere..

Translations (French to English);

Inacceptable = unacceptable

En transe = Entranced

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Shay Cormac

Winter was always a dreaded time within the colonies, with only the exception of Christmas for most people. It was a time of year that you often found yourself yearning for the warmth of a home and family.

With the stars glimmering above, you'd wished upon them all for what seemed like the thousandth time by your eighth year in life.

Upon the softness of the grass, you lay with company, the autumn coolness high in the air. It wouldn't be long until the snowfall now.

Your fingers sat snugly interlocked in the grasp of your best friend, tilting your head to glance at his philosophical expression, ever a dreamer like yourself. Two children, lying beneath the shimmering lights of the stars.

"How's your face feeling?", you asked with some amusement, Shay's face brightening at the sound of your voice.

"Better now", he answered, using his spare hand to brush over the small blue spot marking his cheek. "It was you, I was worried about".

"Shay", you sighed. "You didn't have to—".

"I did", he cut in firmly, his brows creasing in seriousness. "That boy had no business trying to take your hard-earned food. I showed him the meaning of 'respect'. About time someone did".

The brunette beside you squeezed your fingers, offering a playful wink to pair with the reassuring smile he offered, the gaps on display in his teeth irking you to giggle. "Thank you", you grinned, turning your gaze back towards the skies above.

A comfortable silence ensued between you both before you piped up once more. "Shay?".

"Yeah?", his head panned towards you.

"Do you think that maybe one Christmas, we'll have a family? Be surrounded by loved ones?? Have food to eat and the warmth of a fire?".

Shay's hazel hues seemed contemplative before he answered, "Absolutely". Your brows rose, keen to listen as he continued, "We'll have families one day and big houses and even comfortable beds! You'll see, (Y/n)! When we grow up, everything will finally be alright for us. I just know it!".

That night, you both wished upon every star for Shay's prediction to come to fruition. And with twenty years' passing, Christmas Eve had finally come again.

Snowflakes floated through the air, children playing in the streets. Windows were frosted and the familiar smells of freshly baked goods were carried through the bustling streets.

Merriment and mirth were upon everyone's lips, well-wishes being spread like wildfires. The city of New York was far from perfect, yet it was prosperous, even moreso with the coming of this beloved holiday.

The Morrigan had docked for the first time in months only a few nights ago, Templar business soaring in the season. It was a relief to finally be back on dry land, especially for yourself and Shay; the latter delayed by affairs of the Order.

Never more eager to leave them behind, Shay's steps were brisk in the inches of snow left on the ground. "Are you quite sure you won't be joining us tonight, Captain?", the audacious Mr Gist had asked, excitement lacing through his tone. "I hear that Thomas Hickey is going to try and scull five pints of rum this year, as opposed to his record of three". The blonde laughed at the quizzical expression offered by his counterpart. "It should prove to be quite a show, indeed".

Shay's lips quirked up at his quartermaster's humour, ever grateful for Gist's good spirits, before he replied, "I'm celebrating Christmas Eve elsewhere tonight. A promise to a friend".

Gist spared a hearty chuckle, nodding in his clear understanding. "Very good, Captain". There was a knowing glint in his eyes when he added, "I will pass on your regards to the others, so long as you will pass mine on to (Y/n)".

There was no hiding anything from the perceptive quartermaster, Shay noted before grinning at his friend when the offer to shake hands was presented. "Thank you, Master Gist. You are relieved until the New Year", the brunette accepted.

"It has been an honour serving with you this year, Shay", Gist assured him humbly, releasing the friendly hold.

"And you", Shay's head inclined, finally farewelling the blonde before his journey lead him through a familiar set of gates not far from the port.

The chill of the winter air whipped at him incessantly until he reached the doors of his destination. Somewhere he hadn't been in the longest time. Home.

He needed only to knock on the hardwood doors before they swung open, bringing with it, the cozy and fruity smells of mulled wine and hot foods.

"Shay!", your arms were quick to pull the Irishman inside, from the cold and into your warm embrace. He stumbled for a moment, being much taller than yourself, yet never more relieved to be anywhere else but your kind arms.

Your lips hit his cheek in a quick peck, closing the front doors behind him and sealing out the cold. Shay's cheek tingled with the heat your touch left, his lips curled into a grin of delight at seeing your own.

"I was getting worried that I'd have to drag you from the Morrigan myself", you huffed with amusement.

"And you would've", Shay conceded.

"Bloody right, I would've". Your comment earned a soft giggle from the brunette, your eyes turning again to meet his as you shuffled around. "Merry Christmas, Shay".

"Merry Christmas, (Y/n)", he returned, noticing then that the halls of your shared home were decorated. Holly and vines of green bush were hung in abundance, even a tree in the corner, where most of the month everything had been bare.

A sense of wonder had filled Shay's hazel hues as they travelled the dimly lit halls. This would be not only his first Christmas back on dry land, but yours as well. For many years, you both missed Christmas. The Assassins often had you both scouring the Earth for artifacts; and the last few years, the Templars had you both embarking on diplomatic business.

As you both were rarely on dry land, Shay provided you with a home for you both to share, so that you would not waste what money you earned paying off a house that you would barely use. It was the least he could do for the best friend who had stuck through it all with him. And continued to do so.

Although now, in your adulthood, it felt like so much more than just a simple close friendship.

"Like it?", your voice brought the Irishman from his enthralled daze, his own voice sounding far away when he commented,

"It's lovely. Truly". He nodded, offering a pleased smile to you at last. "I can't believe you decorated! And is that—", the brunette sniffed the air. "— mulled wine?".

"And dinner", you laughed, his face blanching.

"You cooked as well??", Shay gaped. "How— you didn't have to— why??". His head tilted, genuinely in shock at the kindness of your actions.

"Well, you can hardly expect me to sit on my arse and twiddle my thumbs for the whole three days I was off from work!". You grasped his gloved hands, removing the covers to hold the heated skin beneath instead. "So, I occupied myself!".

Leading him into the kitchen, Shay was further surprised at the sight of some carved turkey on two plates, still steaming from the oven. You'd even baked some seasoned potatoes, glistening with butter and herbs— and was that cranberry sauce on the side??

You turned to the Irishman's stunned expression at last, the latter's eyes seeming to bulge from his skull out of shock whilst he insisted, "(Y/n), you didn't have to do this!".

Squeezing his hand to offer him reassurance, you laughed again. "I know!". Your thumb ran strokes over his knuckles, your gaze timidly shifting around in your excitement. "It's just— we've never had a proper Christmas, always being away and all, so I wanted to do this for you as much as myself. I wanted to give us a real Christmas!", you confessed. "Just like the ones we always spoke about as children".

"It's more than I could've imagined or deserved", Shay breathed out, his lashes fluttering whilst he grounded himself. At last, his hazel gaze met yours, glimmering with the hints of something unreadable to your own. "Thank you, (Y/n), for everything. I know my decisions have cost us everything from stability to the things we wanted as children, like marriage—", his eyes flickered downwards. "— or a family, but—".

"Shay", you cut in gently with a note of disapproval, gathering his gaze once more. "You are my family".

A smile returned to your face, the Irishman's eyes tracking your every movement. Your fingertips reached upwards, folding a stray few strands of his hair behind his ear.

"Remaining by your side was my decision. Leaving you was not and is not an option for me". Your thumb ran across the sharpness of his cheekbone, feeling the growing warmth of his skin beneath your touch. "Those dreams we had as children— the Assassins, the Templars— none of that could ever matter to me as much as you do".

Leaning onto the tips of your toes, your lips pressed a featherlight kiss against his forehead, murmuring against his skin, "You're all the family I need, Shay. As long as I have you, nothing else matters. I love you".

With such a raw confession hanging in the air, Shay didn't let your close proximity break. His arms curled around your waist, holding you upon your tiptoes with his lips close enough to brush with your own.

Shay awaited any attempt for you to pull away, finding no discomfort sitting in your orbs when at last his lips graced yours. Every part of you gave in to the careful strokes of his flesh with yours, feeling their cold and tasting the salt from the sea breeze that still lingered with him.

The Irishman finally recognised the ever blooming strength of the feeling that had always been there in his heart. It was as if an epiphany had struck him in the electric feeling of your kiss, your words having sparked the realisation of why your close friendship had felt like more.

It always had been.

"I love you too", his thickened brogue fanned over your lips after the kiss had broken. Shay's forehead sat against yours, cherishing the closeness and mingling of your breaths.

"We do have to eat first", a breathy chuckle fell from you, mirrored by Shay's laugh whilst your fingertips tracing the sharpness of his jawline.

"Must we?", his pout was playful, fondness once again dancing in his hazel hues.

"Afraid so".

"It shouldn't matter, as long as I have you". Shay's shoulders tugged, his statement endearing until he added, "Because if I eat all my dinner, I get dessert ". Sparing you a flirtatious wink in his passing into the kitchen, your mouth hung open incredulously.

This would be a long night, indeed...

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Liam O'Brien

Life on the open seas. The salty air and biting breeze of the Atlantic a bitter reminder to you that you were far from the comforts found in being on land. Being home.

Assassin work never ceased, even with the Christmas season soon coming to a close the day after next. Christmas Eve had come again and you were surrounded by an endless amount of ocean that stretched to every direction of the horizons with only silence for company.

The hour was late, the crew of the Morrigan having set anchor hours ago to retire to their quarters and the seas were calm, the ship hardly rocking with the sway of the waters.

You should have been sleeping too. Being the crew's navigator, rest was an essential part of your job. To stay focused, to have a ready mind should your Assassin bretheren call up on your skillset.

It was for naught.

You missed the mirthfulness of being on dry land, being at the Homestead with your brothers and sisters. You missed the people rejoicing for the year's end, giving gifts and thanks for each other. You even missed the decorating of those silly pine trees and the smell of your baked goods. You missed Christmas. And you missed spending it with Liam, the quartermaster of the ship having always been a big part of your celebrations since before your time as an Assassin.

Every Christmas Eve, the bald Irishman made it a habit to ditch his duty of babysitting Shay for one night and spend the evening with you however which way you both saw fit.

Last year, Liam had taken you for ice-skating on the lake by the Homestead, as the weather finally permitted it. It also had something to do with the fact that you spent every day of that dreaded month whinging in his ear about how you'd love to learn how to ice-skate, begging asking him to teach you. How then, with you as persistent and stubborn as Shay, was he able to refuse??

The year before, Liam had barely made it to port in time, surprising you with his appearance at your front door in the evening. You'd felt so disheartened at the prospect of him being away from home, away from you that Christmas, that you'd nearly broken his back from the force of your embrace when you pulled his larger form through the door.

He never came empty handed, although you always insisted upon it.

"You're giving me the best meal I've had in months, Love", he'd say with a laugh. "Least I can do is give y' something for the trouble".

Liam would gift you trinkets he'd find at sea or on missions and although your respective careers as Assassins allowed little time for feelings or emotions, something about Liam makes every trouble feel small and any place feel like home.

You were relieved to be travelling with him and Shay this year, the bald Irishman having sung praise about your navigational expertise— one that could rival Chevalier's. And despite being no closer to the mission's end, you missed the intimacy of your traditions with your dearest friend who was undoubtedly sleeping soundly.

Or so you'd thought.

"What's this then?", Liam's voice startled you from your daze. "Sorry", he apologised with a soft laugh, moving to lean on the ship's railing alongside you.

"Can't sleep?", your question made him grin.

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that?". His amused expression quickly morphed into one of concern. "What's got y' so troubled?".

"It's Christmas Eve", your reply confused him, before you elaborated. "And look where we are. No land for miles, just water".

"I never knew being at sea would bother you so much", his brows drew together. "It can be hard, being so isolated. I can always ask Shay to—".

"It's not that, Liam".

"Then what?", his question was paired with a light tilting of his head, green hues fixed on you with that same gentle and attentive nature.

"There's no traditions or fun this year. No break from our work— we just don't stop. Every year, we always found something new to do, but it never mattered to me what we did. We always had each other, Liam. And maybe, just maybe, I—".

"Miss it?", he finished, coaxing something of a sheepish nod from you.

Darting up from the clasp of your hands, your gaze met Liam's, something fond and understanding in the way his lips curled into that crooked and beloved smile.

Hues of blue, purple and green suddenly illuminated his face in a heavenly symphony of colours and lights, stealing the breath from your lungs as your gazes travelled upward in realisation.

For the first time in your months on the sea, the Aurora Borealis made herself known to the only two beings awake on the ocean, dancing in many waves across the glittering skies.

"Come now", Liam said gathering your immediate attention when extending a palm to you. "I think we've found our fun for this year".

The warmth of his hand quickly enveloped yours, beckoning you near with the lightest of tugs. Your mingling breaths misted in the cold, your being craving the heat that endlessly radiated from the male before you.

Just like your dance on the ice the previous year, Liam lead you carefully by the small of your back into a soft waltz, the world around you slowly spinning in colours and ribbons of light from the heavens, with him at its heart.

The Irishman shared in your gleeful laughter as you both spun and gradually forgot the rhythm of the dance, all the while clinging to each other's hands.

Your bodies became tangled and giggling messes as you both struggled to hold the other upright in an embrace that finalised your dance with Liam. His head panned to yours resting softly on his shoulder, breathless and grinning ear to ear. Flushed from the cold and looking at him like he'd placed the stars themselves into the heavens.

"I think I've found our tradition for every year", you whispered.

His brows rose playfully, "Have you?".

Craving his warmth, you wasted no more time in hesitation, seizing the blistering heat of his mouth with yours.

Liam eagerly accepted the contact with a pleased hum, smiling through the shared movements of your lips as the years of tension fell away into something far more beautiful.

"I quite like that idea", his quiet laugh fell upon your skin. "We should definitely do the dancing again—".

Slapping his shoulder, you both shared in another kiss before making a move for the quartmaster's cabin, from which you would probably fail to emerge from any time prior to noon on Christmas Day.

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Jacob Frye

Snow cut through the calm yet biting breeze, a chill deep in the foggy streets of London. Your throat burned dry with every inhale, relieved to be out in the open air at last, away from the suffocating heat of the bustling tavern.

What else could you expect from a gathering hosted by London's best bookie?

Robert Topping had thrown together quite the riot for the good peoples of the city, the Rooks taking it upon themselves to make merry with them, ensuring that every man, woman and child that showed up left in good spirits and with plenty of food in their bellies.

Another few people passed you by on their way out from the pub, whispers of 'Merry Christmas' on their lips, reflective of their gratitude towards you and the many others that had contributed to the party and the hard-won peace that now flourished in London.

Since Starrick's defeat mere months ago, the people no longer came to suffer the oppression of the gangs that had once run the streets. All the same, you also found yourself missing the adrenaline of it all. The thrill of freeing the people under the Templars' noses, loosening their iron hold over the citizens— working with Jacob and Evie to undo each scheme that was set against them.

However, there was nothing you missed more than being paired with Jacob on any mission the Frye's needed you for. The younger Frye had a knack for making you laugh, his easygoing nature making him easy to fall into step with.

His witty sarcasm, his playful digs and constant verbal nudges to get on your nerves had all become much-loved aspects of your assignments with him. Now, you knew not what you'd do without them, just as Jacob remained unsure of how often he'd have your company in future.

It frightened him— the thought of hardly seeing you, after you'd achieved so much together.

As such, it was hard for the younger Frye to remain oblivious to your early departure from the festivities, spying your thoughtful expression as you'd moved out into the snow.

"Leaving so soon?", Jacob called unto your back, caught for breath when you turned to face him. Pure exhilaration.

"I am, actually", you spoke with a teasing edge. "What brings you here? Looking for a way out of Bobby Topping's drinking competition? He was keen hoping you'd be his top contender".

"He knows I don't have to compete to be his top contender", the brunette countered quickly. "And I have no plans on earning him a quid more than he already has this evening".

"That's a first". He huffed a laugh at your quip, before his features softened. Recounting the many nights you'd spent patching him up after Fight Club. Blooded and bruised. Kind hands cradling him.

"It's hardly safe at this hour", Jacob began, sparing a glance at his fobwatch. "And as much as I'd love to leave you to the street felons, I think a walk might do us good".

"Am I sensing an offer to walk me home, Mr Frye?", your brow cocked, masking the mixture of horror and excitement that suddenly arose within you.

"It's that or Evie's wrath. As much as I lack fear of the latter, I'm not in the mood to be verbally castrated when I return to the train tonight". The brunette swiveled on his feet, graciously offering you his elbow to hold. "It is Christmas Eve, after all and one must learn to forgive another's snide remarks".

The wink that followed had you giggling, "I accept".

The walk that followed was magical.

Holding to the hard muscle sheathed by his leather jacket, you basked in the warmth that seemed to pour endlessly from Jacob. A beacon of heat in the crisp winter cold as you crossed onto London bridge– now entirely devoid of any life. Naught but the quiet flow of the icy waters and the waft of the breeze could be heard, no voices.

"It's so peaceful", your comment irked a fond smile from the young Frye as his stride seemed to slow.

"Too peaceful, one might say", his contented sigh misted in the breeze, footsteps halting halfway across the brige.

Jacob seemed taken by something, his hues of hazel panning up into the sky— to the lonely lights twinkling above. Their sparkle cascaded down, into the fresh snowflakes that now rained softly from the heavens. Like stars falling to Earth, the frost glittering in the moonlight.

"Snow!", your mouth fell open in awe, squeezing his arm in your shock. "It's so beautiful".

The flakes danced around you both in the wind, clinging to your hair and settling onto your clothes, doing nothing to deter Jacob's playful spirit.

Your racing heart leapt as his larger hand slowly brushed along your forearm, fingers carefully moving to tangle with your own amidst the snowfall.

"Dance with me", he whispered in a tone so gentle, you'd thought him a completely different person for a moment. The mischievous twinkle in the heart of his gaze made you realise that it was quite the contrary.

Seizing the moment with the man you adored, your steps across the bridge turned into the graceful, yet clumsy movements of a ballroom dance. Your shared laughter echoed along the piers below, seeming like starstruck soulmates to any sailors observing from below.

Without missing a beat, Jacob twirled you into his embrace with the gentleness and playfulness of a lover in a private waltz that was completely your own.

The journey across the bridge was over too soon, leaving your cheeks red and sore from smiling so much. All the while, Jacob's hand never retreated from yours.

Sensing a change in the wind, the young Assassin's head snapped towards you with amusement and exhaustion marring his expression. "As much as I'd love to continue our antics with the stunning views atop Big Ben, I think it would be a good idea to get indoors".

Little did you know, he'd never been more right.

Chests heaving and hearts hammering, you embraced the shelter you'd both managed to reach. Your beloved home, safe from the storm that had suddenly swept north.

"That was fun", Jacob's comment irked a shake of your head.

"Funnily enough", you countered, managing a laugh amidst your gasps for air. "Outrunning a blizzard wasn't how I planned to spend my Christmas Eve".

All of the other homes on the street were now near invisible to you both, shaky hands reaching for the front door. "You'd be mad to go back to the train in this weather", you turned to the timid and shaking brunette, quickly beckoning him inside with you. "Stay the night".

"It's a pity that our run didn't keep us warm for long", Jacob huffed once inside your humble abode, relieved to see that you were already starting a fire in the hearth.

"We were lucky to get here when we did, though", you remarked through chattering teeth. "Make yourself at home, Jacob".

Nodding, the young Frye unclasped his hidden blade, shook off his dampening overcoat and removed his top hat out of respect whilst you hurried out of the room.

Hazel flecked hues danced the room, ogling at the cozy Christmas greenery that lined the walls, at the beautifully decorated pine tree that brought him fondly back to the days of his childhood in Crawley. Of standing on an old oak chair in the living room of his grandmother's house, eagerly hanging the baubles whilst the smells of spiced biscuits and fresh tree needles filled the room.

So consumed in the memories that made his eyes glassy, Jacob didn't see your approach, nearly jumping whilst you wrapped a thick blanket around his broad shoulders. There was instant warmth and relief in the way your palms ran along his toned arms, attempting to provide heat through friction.

"Thank you". There it was again, just like before. That softness drifting through his voice, so unlike the boisterous and authoritative tone he usually took with the Rooks and other associates of his.

Offering him a smile that brought a completely different warmth to his form, Jacob allowed himself to be pulled in tow, to be seated with you by the crackling embers of the dim fire.

Given the evening behind you, the younger Frye felt comfortable and confident enough to be seated flush with you on the hard cold of the floorboards, inching one half of the blanket around your shoulders for you to share in his ever present body heat again.

Restraining the shudders that threatened to wash over you, your head panned away from his, not daring another glance at the way the fire illuminated his delicate and sharp features.

"Do you want some tea?". You began to hover your numbing hands above the burning flames, his words of reply being neither desperate or commanding, accompanied with what appeared to be a content curl of his lips, boyish and sweet.

"Don't leave".

Jacob's larger palms reached out, encasing the chill of your fingers within them. Drawing your hands away from the fire, his own gently offered yours a massage, encouraging the blood to race back into them.

Steady fingers worked into your palms and wrists, rubbing together at a soft and tantalising pace, the hazel hues of his gaze darting up to meet yours. You felt pinned in place by them whilst he blew a stream of hot air onto your skin.

Nerves prickled in your flesh, entirely fixated by the proximity of your best friend. Your colleague. So intimately coursing his thumbs over your hands whilst he spoke,

"I know this evening hasn't been what you expected— Or what I expected". His lashes fluttered. "But, there's no one else's Christmas Eve I'd rather be imposing on right now, more than yours".

An amused grin splayed along your features, shyly adding a confession of your own, "I don't think there's anyone else I'd rather have imposing on my Christmas Eve right now. Or from now on".

The new and bewitching colours of Jacob's firelit gaze once again ensnared you, holding your own eyes through the length of his lashes. His mouth feathered a touch over the pads of your fingers, brushing another on your knuckles before he finally settled for closing what space remained between you.

Whatever kind grip that he'd had on your hands disappeared, allowing you the opportunity of sweeping them along the ridge of his cheekbone and into his hair whilst his lips grazed over the seam of yours.

A gasp ghosted over Jacob's sensitive flesh, encouraging him to take your mouth again in a kiss far more eager than the last.

The crease of his brows met firm with yours, claiming any of your coherent thought in the new and fervent dance of his lips. Caught entirely in those movements, you both easily forgot the cold around you, the blanket falling to the floor as you climbed into his lap. Into his arms.

Jacob caressed a finger along your frantic pulse point, continuing to tease the dip of your collarbone whilst he settled his hand above your heart.

"I think—", he murmured, hinting a kiss in his descent against the delicate flesh of your jaw. "We can beat this chill another way".

The vibration of your laugh only did much to tempt him, quickly taking it upon yourself to fuel that cheeky grin of his.

"Whatever you say, Mr Frye".

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Evie Frye

Baubles and greenery. Holly and cinnamon sticks. Pine trees and the smells of roasted chestnuts being carried down the streets. Everybody knew what time of year had come.

A sweet sense of relief had set in with the peoples of London, just in time for the biggest and happiest season. Having only been a shell of it's former self mere months ago, the city was now alive and bustling with trade and well wishes. Content with the knowledge that someone was looking out for them. Offering them a hard-earned peace.

The Rooks, the beloved gang serving the Fryes and protecting the streets— were now making merry with those they serve. Throwing a riot of a party that Evie Frye was certain she was missing.

She paid no mind to the cheering and clapping on the streets this evening, content to let it pass her by, despite Jacob's encouragements. There was far more work to be done, far more to be studied on the Pieces of Eden. Templar schemes didn't disappear at Christmas, and Evie made it her inclination that Assassin plans never halted either. Too much was at stake. Or so she'd earlier insisted to Henry, who also— thought it best to have the night off.

For but a moment, her tired crystal eyes lifted from the piles of parchment on her desk, harping a thought of her very active mind on you.

Of the way you'd busied yourself around the train earlier that morning, piles of decorations fumbling and falling from your arms. The excitement that had flared through the depths of your gaze or the shape of your dimples when you grinned like a giddy schoolchild and the way her heart had soared with your laughter.

A smile ghosted over Evie's lips, unrestrained with the fond reminder of how your carefree soul never failed to lift her spirits.

In previous months, it had done much to loosen her hardened and strict exterior. And earned her a mouthful of teasing from her brother, who had wholeheartedly supported her curiosities of their best friend and colleague. Despite any and all disapproval she'd face from anyone else.

There was a tug of guilt in her chest, drawing her icy hues to the glow of the streets outside. You'd be celebrating, perhaps disheartened that your friend couldn't even make the effort to show. After everything you'd done to prepare. After everything you'd accomplished together this year.

"There you are", Evie suddenly straightened, instantly snapped from her daze by the intrusion of your voice. As if her thoughts alone had summoned you to the train.

"(Y/n)", the brunette turned to you, choked up with the image settled before her.

Despite your hands being clasped behind your back, your posture was that of complete relaxation, donning a dress so wickedly beautiful, it seemed as if the angels above had forged you.

There was an obvious flush to your cheeks from the cold and any alcohol you'd recently consumed with the festivities, but it left any of her previously coherent thoughts scarce.

"Jacob told me I'd find you here", you remarked with a cheeky quirk to your lip.

Of course he did, Evie nearly responded out of natural irritation, marking your approach. Noting the concern etched to your features, the waves of your hair drifting back and carrying the smells of spiced firesmoke.

"Why are you here so late? You're missing all of the festivities".

A long and frustrated sigh drifted through her nostrils. "It's the Templars", she tugged stressfully on a loose strand of her fringe. "They don't rest! They—".

"Enough", one of your palms moved to carefully blanket Evie's, instantly rendering her into a silence. "Forget it. Forget it all tonight. It's Christmas Eve".

The softest swipe of your thumb over her knuckles placated any argument, Evie pinning you with a pensive and tired glare before her shoulders slumped in resignation at your unwavering resolve. You were anything if not more stubborn than her twin.

Without much difficulty, the older Frye allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Sitting for the many hours passed had done little to aid her posture, leaving her muscles unnaturally exhausted of their energy and bones riddled with stiffness.

"Office work does not become you, Miss Frye", your giggle was soon mirrored by hers.

"I'm glad you think so. My bones seem to agree with you".

"Lucky for you, it's hardly the weather to be chasing down Templars. However,—", her brows rose in intrigue when you trailed off, finally bringing your other hand forth from behind your back. "— you may find the weather more fitting for this".

In one of your hands was a steaming mug of mulled wine that you'd managed to smuggle from the celebration, its fragrant spices drawing the elder Frye back to her childhood days in Crawley. Building snowmen with Jacob and cutting down pine trees in the woods.

In your other palm, there was a small and well-decorated box that you'd pulled from your pocket, patterned simply with a red ribbon binding the label which read clearly,

'To Evie.

With love, from (Y/n)'.

Offering both to her, you had the honour of watching her familiar icy blues change in their observation of you. Twisting with a fondness and mixture of shock that you'd never previously witnessed from her.

"Merry Christmas, Evie".

Moisture prickled in the brunette's eyes, quickly dismissed in the flutter of her lashes. "I can't believe you—".

About to placate her, you hardly expected Evie to cross whatever space there was between you, drawing your frame against hers in a kind embrace that nullified the winter's harsh and lingering chill.

"Evie, your mulled wine—", you tried to object whilst you steadied yourself with her, soon realising that you were perfectly safe and balanced. That her beverage wouldn't spill and burn you both.

The moments drifted in the comfort of her arms, seeming to end too soon when she at last pulled from you with misty hues.

"You didn't honestly think that I would forget you?".

Evie choked a laugh in the dismissal of her tears, "By my not attending the festivities, I thought that I'd given you the uninentional presumption that I'd forgotten you".

"No", your smile remained kind, admired keenly by Evie's sharper gaze. "You gave me the presumption that I'd have to drag you from your papers kicking and screaming. Didn't I succeed?".

"You've gotten further than Jacob ever has", she conceded, feeling the lightness of the gift being tucked beneath her fingers.

"Open it", your encouragement made her blink.

"But, it's Christmas Eve?".

"This one is special". You squeezed her hand in assurance. "Trust me".

It was with a slow apprehension and deep care that Evie untied the ribbon, lifting the shallow lid to the box in her palm. You delighted in the wonder that arose within the crystalline glare of her gaze as her fingers lifted the delicate trinket from the box.

The silver chain caught the light around you, twinkling softly like the stars under her scrutiny. Charms jangled, tied and melded into the precious metal with a precision that left her speechless.

"Did you—".

"I did", you nodded. "I learned from Henry. It's a lucky charm bracelet. I made its design so that it could also adorn your hidden blade, if you wish".

"I do, please!", Evie's insistance was paired with the instant offer of her forearm, on which you then fastened the glittering jewels to her bracer.

"I chose this colour", you murmured, tracing a finger along one of the stones. Pale blue and cut to be shaped like a heart. "Reminded me of your eyes".

Your gaze darted up, instantly catching hers. Like the striking chill of winter, or the bubbling streams anew in spring.

"Why did you shape it that way?", her ask was barely audible, as if speaking any louder would shatter any hope of a genuine answer from you.

"I carved it that way to represent my heart. My goodwill to you, Evie. To give you luck when you need it. Maybe, in the hopes that you might be reminded of me from time to time, if you ever go back to Crawley".

Your stomach twisted with the prospect of a possible rejection whilst the brunette huffed a breathy laugh. "How foolish you are, to believe that I'd ever be capable of forgetting you".

You swallowed nervously, feeling your throat becoming taut with the slow smile that crept onto her freckled cheeks. A realisation passed between you both in that moment. That this wasn't some fiction or delusion, or simple and fleeting curiosity. This was real. Fortified further by the gentle tug of her arm, slowly allowing the hand lingering upon it to fall into hers.

"You are far too entangled in my heart for me to ever let you go", she whispered, fingers weaving to intertwine with yours. "How could I ever leave?".

With the lightest pull from Evie, your feet stumbled forwards on autopilot, chest coming to meet flush with hers.

The cold that encompassed your lips dissipated with the soft breaths that cascaded over them, soon swallowed entirely by warmth as her mouth claimed yours. Gently, ardently, riddled with hesitation.

Your hands reliquished their grip at last on the mug, shattering when it hit the floor nearby, paying no mind to it whilst Evie craned you backwards, leading you to the couch just behind.

Falling upon the plush surface, you understood now why Jacob found it so comfortable. Evie blinked when her lips pulled from yours,

"Hang on, I forgot to get you a present—".

"I don't know", you mused, dancing a finger along the collar of her shirt. "I have a feeling that I'll like unwrapping this one much better".

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Lydia Frye

"Miss Frye".

"Mr Churchill", Lydia acknowledged with a curt nod, fiddling with the bracer of her hidden blade.

"I trust, the mission went well??".

"Exceptionally", she nodded, watching the warmth of relief meeting the Prime Minister's eyes. "The spies at the north gate have been eliminated. Rooks now stand vigil. If we are to endure an attack, we will surely see it coming".

"It seems London is once again indebted to you, Miss Frye", Winston mused. "Is there not anything we can offer you in return?? Consider your previous request in the works. I have my best people ensuring that London will one day bear true equality to the women of our beloved nation".

Lydia was pensive, gnawing the inside of her mouth. Unable to ignore the pressure of the worries eating at her every thought.

Hesitantly, she pulled a letter from her green overcoat, offering it forth to a bewildered Winston Churchill. His steady hands took the parchment, sparing it a look only to whom it was from. "(Y/n) Frye?", his gaze darted up to Lydia's.

"She's an Assassin working to aid the front", the brunette elaborated. "She has written me one letter a week without fail since her deployment. It has been two and a half weeks, and I have no word. Not even from my best men".

"You worry for her wellbeing?", Churchill questioned with a concern similar to Lydia's. "There is a war on. Perhaps, the couriers—".

"I recieve these letters by different means, Mr Churchill. I am scared for her life. No one loves Christmas more than she. And with that on approach— I've heard nothing. Not even a whisper".

"I see", his lips pursed in thought, nodding in his understanding.

"Mr Churchill, if there's one thing I wish, it's for her to be found and brought home safely".

"I will begin an investigation at once", he assured her, smiling at the numbers written under your signature. "Smart girl. She has signed off with her last longitude and latitude coordinates for us, which gives us a good place to start covering ground".

"Thank you, Sir", Lydia released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"I only ask for patience and understanding at this time, Miss Frye", Churchill offered a compassionate smile. "Be aware that it is hardly unusual for people to go missing in warzones and this investigation may take some time. I will page you with any findings I come across. We will get your sister home, if we can. That is a promise".

"She's not my sister, Mr Churchill", the brunette nodded in her parting, lifting her hands to raise her cowl. Winston only had to dart his keen gaze to one of them, instantly realising the truth upon seeing the silver band sitting on her left ring finger.

You weren't Lydia Frye's sister— you were her wife.

Weeks had passed with no word from yourself or in regards to the investigation. Lydia grew more anxious with each day that silence claimed.

"Wipe that worried off your face, Lydia Frye", she snapped from her daze with her grandfather's voice pulling her to reality. "Your fretting is making me fret".

The brunette giggled at the lighthearted expression on his weathered features, "Apologies, Grandfather. I had no idea such things were contagious".

"I have spent days worrying over others. It does not do well to dwell on these things, Sweetheart. My heart tells me that they'll find (Y/n) and bring her home", Jacob sighed. "Evie and I trained you both. I know your capabilities more than most, as well as hers. (Y/n) is strong and forthright. If I know her as well as I think, she is fighting to get home to you".

"I feel helpless, Grandfather", Lydia's smile saddened. "All I can do is wait and it kills me to not be able to—".

"Walk in there, guns blazing to get her out?", Jacob drawled with his peppered brows raised knowingly. Lydia's mouth parted to speak, opening and closing as if in shock that her grandfather knew her better than she knew herself. "You see?", he laughed. "That's the Frye blood in you. The urge to jump into danger, without thought if it means saving someone else".

"You think that I should resist it?", she cocked a brow expectantly.

"No", Jacob's head shook with that signature Frye grin. "I ask you to use it wisely. Pair it with an unholy amount of patience, if you must. But, if it's one thing I know, it's that you and (Y/n) are blessed to have each other".

Lydia's smile flourished again, if only for one thoughtful moment, "Christmas will not be the same without her".

"I don't doubt that either".

Lydia returned to the big city, to her home in London in time for Christmas Eve after making merry with her grandfather over many days in the countryside. Always, his visits were uplifting, reminding her of her rebellious youth beside you.

Easily, she was able to recall your shared studies together, seated on the grassy plains just outside her grandfather's property. Braiding your hair and weaving friendship bracelets from daisies and forget-me-nots.

Your first kiss in the cool spring breeze, swearing yourself to her side. If Lydia chose the destiny of an Assassin, you decided the same fate for yourself.

You'd spent every Christmas together since you were both five years old. Now, you had quite literally disappeared from the face of the Earth, leaving Lydia beside herself in preparation for a night she'd decided to spend patrolling the streets during whatever festivities that were being held.

Refastening her bracer, the brunette finally relented to the idea of taking this walk in the open air, if only to forget the absence of your warmth in your now cold house.

Opening the front door, Lydia froze, sure that she was hallucinating. There, you stood on the frosty street, hand raised to knock on the door of your own home.

Your hair was messily braided, strands matted together in a mixture of ash, gunpowder and mud. Dark circles sat under your usually bright hues, clothes battered and one arm carefully cradled in a sling.

"(Y/n)?", Lydia blinked, her words no more audible than a breath.

To your sore and heavy eyes, your wife was a gift. Mouth parted, the glittering hazel in her hues growing wide in her shock and porcelain skin marred with the obvious lines of worry that only did more to pronounce her beauty.

Having only emerged recently from the horrors of the warzones, from the violence and unlimited dangers you were forced to face on the daily— including your injuries, you trembled. You could hardly believe you were home, alive, never to go back.

Your chest tightened suddenly, face crumpling with the tears you'd long been holding in since you left for the battlefields. "Lydia", you choked out, stumbling the remaining few steps between you on weak legs.

Her arms engulfed you eagerly within seconds, suffocatingly tight. "You're alive!", you heard the wonder and relief in her sobs as she clung to you. "I've missed you, I— I was so worried that you—".

"I know. I know—", you stammered, gasping for breath through your tears. "We were ambushed by Templars some weeks ago. I couldn't save everyone— I couldn't—".

"Shh, now", Lydia hushed you, pulling back to cradle your face in her palms. So warm and full of life. Just as you'd remembered in your dreams. "What matters is, you're home safe".

Her smile, just as wicked as her grandfather's, ensnared you all over again. You waited no longer, taking her lips in a fervent and long-awaited kiss beneath the dangling mistletoe.

"You must have missed me just as much", Lydia offered a lighthearted joke, gasping through the next contact of your lips.

Your mouth curled against hers, murmuring, "Winston Churchill sends his regards".

"Bless his heart", Lydia sighed, eyes growing misty once more. "He really did it. He got you home on Christmas Eve".

"So did you", you breathed out, watching it crystallise in the breeze around you. "No one would have found me— thought to look for me, if it weren't for you. You never gave up on me, Lydia".

"I never will", her forehead met yours, gaze as adoring as the day you'd stood in your own private altar in the countryside. "Not ever".

Her lips warmed the tip of your nose, irking you to giggle. "Going somewhere this evening?", you bit your own lip to restrain your teasing smile.

"No", Lydia's head shook with her own devious smile. "At home with the wife tonight. We have a lot of catching up to do this Christmas".

The End. . .

__________________________________________

Hello, all!! 🥰

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to every single one of you!! 🎄☃️🎉🥳💖🫂

I hope you've all had the most spectacular holiday season, however you celebrate it! I wish good health and good fortune for your Christmas and the year ahead, but also to thank anyone and everyone who has supported my works this year. I'm grateful to you, including all of the friends I have made in this fandom and beyond! Thank you all!! You're magnificent ❤❤

As always, please tell me how I went with writing these with any feedback you have. I hope you all enjoyed!! If you wish to be a part of my taglists for this fandom or any of the ones I write for - check out my Masterlist and let me know!!

~ Elena ♡

-

TAGLIST; @deadlymistletoe

[sun-snatcher]

May i have a blurb of Haytham Kenway… a taste… pretty please…

( all credits to @giffedit for this incredible gifset! )

✠ | insufferable ; haytham kenway

summ. Bickerings oft lead to equally heated conclusions. a/n.  A TASTE you say? Here’s 1k of an angry, enemies-to-questionable-allies makeout. No actual smut, but NSFW themes, ofc.

YOU CAN’T RECALL how you got here.

Here, by way of meaning: 

Pinned against Templar Grandmaster Haytham Kenway’s paper-strewn work desk, inkpot spilled over and staining the cuffs of your sleeves, with his hands roving down your sides and your hips pressed hard against his.

“You,” he rasps, bordering a growl. “Are an insufferable woman.”

The proximity, the heat of your panting mingling with his— it’s blistering. Feverish. You want to kiss him. You want to punch him. 

You tighten the bracket of your thighs around his waist, tip the tricorn hat off his head with a defiant scowl. “You should’ve never inducted me into your Order, then, Master Kenway.”

Right. Yes. You vaguely remember now. It’d been yet another typical heated argument; another disagreement and row borne from dredging up old wounds of your ex-Assassin history, of Haytham’s present and obvious distaste of it, despite the fact you’ve proven yourself worthy to the Templars more than once alongside Shay.

Earlier, you’d barely finished your tirade (“You and your dastardly cloak make me so—!”), hands thrown in the air when the ironclad grip of Haytham abruptly circled your wrist.

The others had known better than to interfere when you’d practically been yanked into the Grandmaster’s study for an upbraiding. 

Or, well, what they thought would be an upbraiding.

“Then let us be free of this months-long tension,” Haytham had hissed, instead. “More productively.”

So here you are. Rough-housed and man-handled. You hitch at the bumps and the scolding nips he makes, try to return the same wanton fervor to his jaw and his Adam’s apple, but to no avail. Haytham is a looming shadow, greater than you not just by rank and experience but by sheer, dizzying strength— 

The vicious kisses he bullies against the bitten-red of your lips are charged and ardent. Meant to force you into some semblance of submission; to be docile. Has you gasping for air and resisting him the satisfaction of a moan when he gropes at the flesh of your thighs. 

“Master Kenway,” you choke, nuzzling into the slope of his neck, unable to stop yourself from indulging the heady, masculine, salt of it with an eager tongue.

He groans at the high and tight way you address, call, plead for him, sounding like prey at the mercy of an untamed, starved beast. 

It makes you grin when you realise. Coy as a fox and full of guile. Haytham can feel it curl across his cheek, in your slow languorous tease as you snark, “And here I thought you hated me.”

“Hate is an inadequate term,” he censures, mouthing hot and humid against your skin. “There are no words in any bloody language that can encompass just how— you make me feel.”

It’s a raw confession, as mean and as bitten out as it is. A honeyed, double-edged sword. You make a mental note of it anyway, and try not to contemplate the fact that you have this much power over the Grandmaster Templar, nor let it get to your head— whatever he means by his words. 

“And what, exactly, do you feel?” Your hand expertly wanders past his belt. The innocent petal-touch strikes a lightning bolt of want surging through him. Makes him twitch. “This?”

Haytham doesn’t deign to give you an answer, unsurprisingly. He hates not being in control, after all, and so he makes quick work to put you back in your place: below rank, through yet another savage kiss, a guttural warning nosed on the scant space just below your ear that leaves you subconsciously keening closer.

It does poorly to satiate him. The dangerous yen for something more brutal still burns molten in his stomach; something that tastes warmer. There’s still the bitter anger and bruised pride he holds from the arguments before, and for the ones that’ll surely come after. The blatant disrespect you show whenever you bare your teeth at him, as if he isn’t your superior. 

He wants— no, needs— to sink into you, to see you shut up and aching to be ruined with the thick of him—

“I’ll make you wear nothing but this ‘dastardly’ cloak of mine one day,” Haytham grinds out, voice rough-hewn from his wet and growing appetite. “And then spread you out and take my time with you.”

He greedily licks a stripe up your throat as he says it, carves the whine that escapes you into his memory.

“One day?” Your scoff is breathless and stilted. The feel of his teeth grazing your jugular is intoxicating. “I reckon you’ll— hah— hardly deliver now, Master Kenway, to— warrant another chance after this.”

(Regardless, you entertain the idea. Have entertained, to be more specific. You’ve imagined what it’s like on lonelier nights.

To have him hike your legs up his broad shoulders, tangle your fingers through his perfectly kempt hair. Catch the flash of his wry, canine-sharp smile, rare as they are; face soaked and telling over his nose and down his lips from where you’d have shut him up by forcefully burying him between your thighs and cushioning into your—)

You expect the usual blaze of anger. A challenging snarl. Instead:

“Oh?” Haytham laughs.

Laughs.

And Christ alive— that dark, daring and depraved rumble huffed at your sweat-slicked nape shouldn’t have made you more pliant; more eager for him, but it does. It feels like the damning prelude of an already losing war, now, the way he’s forced your full weight down with such frightening ease onto the desk to look up at him. 

There’s an ominous calm before a storm, brewing frostily in his dilated eyes. He’s conceding, you realise.

And then—

“Tell me to stop,” Haytham breathes. 

It’s the least insulting tone he’d taken with you yet since you’d first begun arguing. A fragile moment of clarity. 

In uncharacteristic tenderness, you feel him thumb gently at your cheek. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says, “You have my word.”

Something soft unfurls deep in your ribcage. Takes flight.

“Don’t,” you whisper, trying not to shudder at the English gentlemanly-ness he so likes to wholly fashion himself with to hide his wild, beastly nature— that you’ve so liked to repeatedly claim you found irksome. You tighten your grip reflexively.

(Darling, dearest, dove. You never admit it, but the classy posturing has always been an attractive feat of his. Something about wolves in sheep’s clothing, you think. Something about being rabidly taken for his own animalistic pleasure—) 

“Don’t you dare, Kenway.”

And so the delicate moment passes. Haytham surges his head forward to steal a kiss from you again, inhales a lungful of your cloying scent that’s mixed with the sea-winds from the weeks of sailing aboard the Morrigan.

“Mh,” he hums in assent, nosing his way from your hairline down to the juncture of your neck; letting his calloused hand mould wide around the thin, bare skin of it to feel your bated breath and rapid pulse. He could snuff you out like a light in an instant. (And he supposes you like the thrill of that as much as he does.)

“Then I believe I ought to teach you a lesson or two about respect, dear.” 

Haytham pulls away and cocks his head. As if thinking. As if he hadn’t imagined this a hundred times over since he’d met you, in the darkest hour of every restless night when he’s alone with nothing but his fist jerking between his legs.

“How about we put that smart mouth of yours to good use first?”

[konnisart]

Listening to Depeche Mode on this one gives an extra inspo boost

Also know as : "My hand slipped " 🫠

WIP, has me on a choke hold 🫡✨

[yasashii-leaf]

Imagine coming back from a mission being really cold; Automatically Shay and Haytham drag you in front of the fireplace for snuggles

[demigoddessqueens]

Thank you I'm so excited! Anyway here's the idea how would Shay and Haythem (Separate) react to Assassin Reader/S/O yeeting the Apple of Eden to an area where no one can get it. They even said "I don't trust anyone Templar or Assassin even myself with that damn thing, human kind shouldn't mess with it!" then proceeds to run off to who knows where. (Bonus if it takes place in Rogue,)

I love this as a concept because it can be so much potential angst and E2L!

Shay 🍀

He’s got A LOT of mixed feelings, considering he’s just recently joined the Templars. On one hand, he wishes you could’ve been on his side when he defected from Achilles and everyone else. But, better late than never in his opinion. No more innocents who could be lost. If possible, He’ll try and track you down afterwards to talk. He may not be an Assassin anymore, but he more than trusts you now.

Haytham

Naturally, he’s going to feel incensed about such an impulsive move towards what he’s been searching for. Sure Shay may try and calm him down, but even that will be a challenge itself. You’re everything that represents what his father stood for, what he’s opposed to, and against his better judgment he let down his boundaries for you. Days, weeks, months, he’ll come to his rational senses after a while and would want to see you again. At least to see your POV

[weirdest-lights]

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

[mtchacffinz]

Omg if youre taking requestsss,

Could u plsss do something like reader is being neglected bcuz (charac) is too busy with work but then they realise and then spend time.. like angst to fluff ahh

Maybe with few characters like cyno, haitham, wanderer, xiao??

Thank you!!

💗💗💗

prompt! Been away for too long, won't you atleast miss me?

cw! gn! reader, tooth-rotting fluff (SFW), clinginess, maybe a crybaby reader in a certain part, words of affirmation, established relationship, lots of tender moments, mentions of Chasm Archon Quest

note! i love fluff. this is adorable so i shall deliver. plus, i think my acc needs some fluff too after all the smut I've written! (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)...

Here we are, overthinking again. In all seriousness, this can't be! Many suns and moons have passed, yet he still hasn't said a single word about his whereabouts! Did he somehow forget about contacting you? Maybe he fell down a hole through a ditch never to be heard again.. Perhaps he fell in-love with another lovely surpassing your wits and charm?

You were no stranger to solitude. It doesn't scratch an itch anywhere in your mind space that requires you to gnaw on your lip every waking moment you feel that churning feeling in your stomach. Definitely not— Absolutely not! You believe that some parts in life are needed alone to be addressed with just the right amount of tenacity and resistance. You would come back to your loved ones with triumphant smiles chanting "I'm back, I'm back! I did it!" like a warrior.

Your mind spiraled into incoherent theories about his unknown agendas— too indulged notice the recurring voice that seems to speak your name.

And when you finally turn to see behind was when he finally graces your presence.

CYNO.

There was tense aura in the air, the last breath leaving even more awkward than the last. It was obvious Cyno wants to say something, but his lips stay sealed— quietly observing you waiting to see how you will move instead.

It seems as if he thinks you're really upset. Just an inference, his intuition— a baseless assumption. I mean, who wouldn't be after leaving your partner hanging for 3 months straight venturing out into the desert?

He's a lovely partner. You think that, wholeheartedly. You really do. But seriously!? You understand there must've been at least some sort of viable explanation, but a part of you couldn't help but feel upset.

"I'm glad you're home safe." You finally speak, releasing a big sigh. It was as if a big weight lifts off your chest. Your smile says nothing more than joy and relief. Well, maybe a little too joyful.

Because you know full well if you speak your next words, your voice would break.

So you keep your lips pursed only for you to keep your own thoughts. Cyno is no average man. As a Mahamatra with fearsome agendas, his life is always on the line whenever he ventures out into the wild. Once, he returned to Avidya Forest with curse marks all over his body— crimson spurs trail over his gear, you were barely keeping it together!

Seconds pass, it was grew concerning that none of you were saying.. well, words. After all, you both have just reunited, and Cyno has probably gone through a rigorous mission that rendered his lips sealed, right? With curious eyes, you steal a glance from his figure. Your partner stood with remarkable posture, eyes evasive of yours. The young man seemed to be contemplating something.. expression a little solemn and glum.

With a gulp and a hesitant stare, he finally speaks his mind.

"I'm.. sorry. Forgive me, dear. There was a huge misconduct within the Akademiya and Matras I had to keep anonymous for—" he stops a little before continuing. Cyno's gaze is at the floor. "I had to keep anonymous for you.. for us. I couldn't send out letters. Please forgive me, (Y/n)."

Cyno takes another deep breath. "I understand if you'd like to lash out on my sudden return, so feel free to do so—" you quickly wave your hands in fluster.

"Ah, no no no! Really, Cyno, it's fi—ne...uhuh." You suddenly hiccuped.

With the first crack of your voice, your eyes immediately began to flow waterfalls. Salty tears pricked your (e/c) optics glossing over them with a glint. Cyno immediately rushes to your side whilst you immediately clung onto him like he's your life line.

Oh, Archons. He's your life. Just by his voice just now, you almost felt like your heart melted AND got crushed at the same time with just the weight of his words. Lash out? Of course you would! You're worried SICK. And you've missed him!

"You have no idea! I was holding onto these for 15 minutes earlier!" Your voice broke, fighting for your feelings. Cyno only wipes away your tears and nose with his sleeves in panic— repeating his apologies in a hushed voice over and over again.

AL HAITHAM.

The scent of scroll dust, his calloused hands, his warm breath on your head. For the past hours of his return, you only asked for one thing: to be held until you, yourself— let go of him. And judging by how how long Al Haitham has unknowingly neglected you, he's willing to make up for his wordless days.

But..

"Hey, honey.. dear..?" the Scribe softly calls out, gently tapping your shoulder. "Sweetheart? (Y/n)?" A little too indulged in his arms, you fail to give a response. This was when he sighed, and nuzzles deeper into your neck.

"(Y/n), it's been six hours. Surely you're feeling a little better now?"

"You've been gone for months."

"I know. But it's almost dinner, and we haven't eaten yet."

"We can starve here." You respond just as quickly. He sweatdrops, unable to tell if you were joking or dead serious. Look, his arm is cramping, his whole body is sweating, and he's dehydrated. The blanket that was wrapped around your body was on the floor, and you seem to be a little tired yourself. Taking matters into his own hands, you get surprised that his arms suddenly wrap tighter around you, lifting you up in his arms.

"You're ridiculous," Al Haitham puts you around his shoulder like you're a sack of rice, making his way through the kitchen. "I'm making dinner. You cling onto me all you want. We're eating."

After all, you never said anything about him moving while holding you, right?

All you could do was grumble and whine in his ears. The scribe doesn't seem to mind, as he gets a pan, his seasonings, and his food. Tapping your back occasionally, with every turn he make, your partner makes sure the doesn't accidentally burn or hit you with something while you're in his shoulders. With time passing, you're starting to get a little embarrassed yourself.. getting dragged all the way from the bedroom the the kitchen. Tugging on his clothes, you called out his name.

"Haitham, please let me down.."

Maybe it was the wind carrying your words away, but he doesn't seem to react. Your partner only focuses on whatever he's frying at the moment with his free arm on your figure. With lips pursed, you repeat again.

"Haitham."

"I heard you. I don't want to, you're staying there."

"What? No way! You're probably tired!"

"Oh? Don't back out now, I was going to feed you as well. I'm yours the whole week— I'm not leaving your sights very soon." Your partner says with a voice enough to leave no room for rebuttals and arguments. Seeing your face, slowly being taken over with embarrassment, ignites a small flame in him.

After a few mere moments of your silence, you grasp onto his clothing once again. This time, your voice was softer, a little more calmer.

"You're gonna be mine the whole week?"

WANDERER.

Ever since his return, the Wanderer has been gracing you with diverse stories from different parts of the land. Now, he isn't one to ramble his mouth nor entertain anybody with his experiences— so the indigo haired man could consider this "spoiling" you rotten.

After a long, exhilarating lectures of Vahumana Darshans, as well as interviews from other nations regarding his thoughts on different political matters— Wanderer has finally made enough time to spend with people he could actually tolerate.

On the other hand, he has been too kind, taking you to vast sceneries and feeding you all sorts of delicacies. It's as if he's trying to make up for something.. and you know what, you have no idea. But this? This is nice! Ignoring his witty and no-filter-opinion attitude, Wanderer has been significantly nicer to you last time you met.

Shopping, sight seeing, trying all sorts of new things. After all, what does he do with all the Mora he receives when he's but a puppet who doesn't even need to eat nor sleep?

He looks for no reciprocation nor gratitude, because he unknowingly believes seeing your smiling face because of him is enough to make his entire day. Of course, that doesn't stop you from profusely thanking him and actively trying to lessen all the things being given to you because do you really deserve it?

I'd you asked him, he'd look at you like you're crazy. Why wouldn't you deserve it? Why else wouldn't it be you? Do you prefer I do this for anyone else?

As night engulfs the sky, kissing it with a gentle good bye, the moonlight greets your resting frame. The Wanderer had found interestingly large lily pads that could hold up to 4 persons. Apparently, aranara's use it to navigate around lakes they couldn't get across.

The scenery is wonderful. Fireflies emerge from the shadows, and the lake sings a mellifluous tune every gush of waves it encounters. You were resting well, and his elysian self was beside you.

You were strange, that's for sure. Strange enough he'd like to keep taking you in like you're oxygen, as if you're some sort of life line to live from. Wanderer is not a man with too much words, so he could only gaze up to your figure.

A familliar noise of waddling makes their way towards you, an Aranara falling suit. It bee lines towards your figure, cozing up to your body.

Wanderer picks it up by its head gear, clicking his tongue.

"Hey. No cuddling. You lay beside me."

XIAO.

Xiao melts deeper into your arms as if he's lightweight, surprising you with the sudden return of his warmth.

His touches were featherlight, his firm hands on the small of your back. Fully aware of his fatigue eating away his skin, the Adeptus clutches your figure tightly.

"Sorry.." Xiao's voice was barely above a whisper. You frown upon his state, but your eyes were never pitiful. He knew of that. You say nothing but hold him in your arms in response. Mere moments pass with the wind blowing ever so softly in the sky.

You lull him with soft whispers, sweet nothings grazing his ear leaving out one another. Xiao's a little bashful— he's the one who's failed to keep up with your mundane agendas in everyday life leaving you alone, yet upon his return— you greet him with the best embrace this world has to offer.

After all the events at the Chasm, his encounter with Bosacius, and most of all, the lingering miasma that's been exceedingly abundant within the area, Xiao wasn't able to make time and shake off all the troubles he's facing. The Adeptus lie solemn with the softest look in his eyes gazing at your own. You know full well if he opens his mouth now, all that will come pouring out is his endless apologies that could be recited in millenias.

Instead, your hands gently caressed his cheeks— pecking those pursed lips who let out a soft sigh.

Xiao returns the gesture by holding you waist down, firmly keeping his hands on you. Chasing after your lips it was like something clicked in him the moment you even lent him a moment of your vulnerability. He was hungry, that's for sure. The Adeptus made it obvious with his knitted brows and those piercing gaze.

Amusement bubbled at the bottom of your stomach, letting out a small chuckle. Xiao's confused eyes met yours, questioning your sudden interest.

"You returned to me, that's lovely."

He responds to your claim in a grumble, now averting his eyes. Xiao's hand never leaves yours.

"I have to.." Those hands slowly travel to your cheeks, caressing them in pure affection. "I need to."

my smutty writings are usually the ones who get attention, so I'm wondering how this one will do? 🎶 Anyway, I'm also planning on writing for Honkai Impact's Kalpas 🤞 STAY TUNED

[dairsmuids]

A Deadly Performance

A Haytham Kenway x Reader smut fic (named for the mission it's set after, because I'm lazy at coming up with titles)

Dedicated to @anli-rambles my beloved, because I love you endlessly, and my life is better for having you in it. (shut up I can be as sappy as I want this is my fic <3) Thank you for being the first person to read this, because your praise actually hyped me up enough to want to post it lol

Tagging: @bloodfathers @sangheilihoes @ladysaturnsdust @amefuyuu @wyyvernn @memoriesofafallen @heiress-prime

Haytham's cape billows behind him as he strolls out of the opera house doors, seemingly unbothered by the cacophony taking place behind him. He walks with his usual air of cold confidence, greeting you with just the briefest hint of a side smile as Holden opens the carriage door to let him in.

"And how was the opera?"

"Rather dull, truth be told," comes Haytham's deliberately-flat response. You can't help but giggle into your palm at that — you know full well, of course, why he'd come here and what he'd done — but Haytham is far too busy inspecting the amulet in his hand to react to, or even notice, your amusement. He seems utterly bewildered by the fruits of his labour as he twirls the unusual item between his fingers.

"Shall we be off, then?" asks Holden.

"Aye, to Fleet and Bride."

"By your command."

As the carriage begins to move off, the hollow sound of the horses' hooves ringing out against the ground, you lean into Haytham's side, to which the Templar finally acknowledges you properly with a soft kiss to the side of your head.

"Missed you," you murmur, "Holden's been beguiling me with tales all evening in your absence."

Haytham just hums a noncommittal response, clearly still distracted by the amulet in his hand. You reach for it curiously, but he moves it away with a playful air as he finally makes eye contact with you.

"So, this is what Master Birch has been foaming at the mouth about," you say, leaning in to take a closer look.

Haytham gives a subtle raise of his eyebrows as his steel-blue eyes find the amulet once more. "His utterly inane preoccupation with this... this... prattle evades any level of understanding I've had of him over the years," he says, and you can tell by the tinge of frustration in his voice that there's something going on there, something deeper than he's letting on, but you don't press the matter. Even if you did, you knew Haytham likely wouldn't wish to speak about it.

Wanting to be a place of solace for his very obvious disgruntlement you reach over to plant a kiss against Haytham's cheek, your lips lingering upon his skin for a moment or two, before placing your hand gently upon his knee, stroking your thumb idly against the clothed skin. Haytham doesn't respond at first, his entire focus still on the amulet, but then you glide your hand all the way up his thigh, squeezing gently as your fingertips brush his crotch, and his body language stiffens up ever so slightly.

"What are you doing, my dear?" he asks, gazing at you now, with an arch of one single perfectly-groomed brow. There's the tiniest hint of a smirk flickering upon his lips.

You flash him a grin. "You just seem a little... tense, is all. I thought perhaps I could help with that."

"Is that so?"

"It is so," you tell him, and you lean in to press your lips against his, his hand trailing up the back of your neck as the two of you begin to kiss in long, slow, perfectly in-sync strokes.

You give his thigh another light squeeze as you pull away from the kiss, tracing your fingertips up and down, glancing downward to notice the way there's now a very obvious bulge at the front of his breeches, "May I be allowed to… help you with that, sir?"

At first you wonder if perhaps Haytham is against the idea of you doing something so wanton to him in a semi-public setting, but his hooded gaze and the way he suddenly leans in for another quick peck on the lips tells you all you need to know. "You may," he replies, and then his warm lips are against the shell of your ear, his voice a harsh growl as he speaks again: "Discreetly, or there'll be trouble."

And so you do as he commands. Haytham's eyes drift closed as your hand slips upwards and into his breeches. A small, restrained groan falls from his parted lips, his fist tightening around the amulet in his palm.

"You're utterly insatiable, you know," comes the Templar's voice, low and raspy, as he opens his eyes to regard you again, his intense gaze fixed upon the side of your face. You swipe your thumb over the head of his cock and he immediately responds, sucking air through his teeth. "Didn't you get enough of me this morning?"

Your thoughts drift back to earlier in the day — Haytham had given you a wake up call in the form of his teeth at your neck and a hand between your legs, before proceeding to take you in bed, on the chair next to the bed, and against the windowsill. A good morning indeed.

"I can never get enough of you, love," you say with a smile, and then you lean in closer, dropping your voice. "Besides, I figured you were deserving of a reward for the job you did this evening. This is a much better reward than any kind Master Birch would give you, hm?"

Haytham breathes out a chuckle at that, though his gaze is clouding over as he does so — clearly too distracted by your touch to fully engage in a conversation. "I should certainly hope Reginald never offers me this kind of reward; I may have to pledge my allegiances elsewhere."

Your chest jolts slightly with the ghost of a laugh as you grasp at the waistband of Haytham's breeches, pulling them down just enough to expose his now fully erect cock to the open air of the carriage, immediately reaching to wrap your hand around him, stroking up and down with just the right amount of speed and pressure. This isn't the first time you've done this to Haytham: you know just how he likes to be touched.

Haytham drops his head back slightly as his chest heaves with heavy breaths, his eyelids fluttering shut, and he reaches for the red cravat around his neck to loosen it slightly.

"You're going to be the death of me, you naughty little thing," he moans, his voice a quiet rumble that barely pierces the air around the two of you.

You hum happily at that, revelling in the velvety warmth of his cock in your palm as his hips thrust upwards, one of his hands scrambling to grasp at the back of the carriage seat while the other still tightly grips onto the amulet. It's clear he's trying his best to control himself, but as you continue to move your hand roughly against him, you can tell that restraint is quickly becoming the furthest thing from his mind.

Haytham presses his hand to his eyes, pushing upwards into his hairline and grabbing lightly, as though he needs to hold on to something, anything. A few rogue strands of dark hair fall loose from his usually-perfect ponytail, framing his slightly reddened face.

"You're a menace," he chokes out as you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock again, the action making a filthy slick sound as you smear his precum up and down the entire length.

Restraint appears to be an entirely forgotten concept to Haytham now as your continued touch sends him hurtling toward the edge, his hips fucking furiously upwards into your hand like nothing else matters in life. He looks a dishevelled, desperate mess, a million miles away from his usual buttoned-up self, and you love that you're the only one who can coax this side out of him.

Haytham's entire body begins to tense up, his thigh muscles tightening until all at once you feel his entire body shudder, a long, guttural moan escaping from between his parted lips. His stormy eyes roll back into his skull as he lets himself fall into climax, his release coating your palm, the abundance of it dripping down your wrist and onto the warm skin of his exposed stomach.

Without missing a beat he reaches his hand into the chest area of his jacket, pulling a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his red waistcoat and offering it to you, which you accept with a soft laugh as you use it to clean up the sticky mess on your hand. “Ever the perfect gentleman,” you say teasingly.

Haytham chuckles as he draws in a deep breath, his demeanour now seeming much more relaxed as he begins to straighten himself up, tucking his softening cock back into the confines of his breeches.

“Let me fix this,” you murmur as you reach for his loosened cravat, untying it before redoing it into a perfectly even bow. His gaze upon you is heated and intense, as though pouncing upon you like a wild animal would be preferable, and as you meet his eyes you can't help the blush that spreads across your cheeks.

“For what it's worth, my darling,” Haytham growls lowly, his warm breath tickling your ear as he leans in close, “I fully intend to repay the favour later.”

[helpyourselfwithcherrywine]

Modern AU! Haytham Kenway and Maid! Reader characters cast.

Character Background

Set in Modern Day 2023! Boston, New York City, etc.

Also forgot to mention, reader is of Hispanic decent, but I kept it open for all readers so it may not be implied on the reader, but her OC's family will be. Some will be taken from the books (very little), theories and more characters may be added. Idk

• Haytham Kenway - December 4, 1989 (34): [In game, Haytham was 31 when Connor was born in AC 3, in this story he was 25]

• In game December 4th, 1725 - September 16, 1781 (55)

• Edward Kenway - March 10, 1964 (59) [In game, Edward was 32 when Haytham was born; He was 25 in this story in 1989]

• In game March 10, 1693 - December 3, 1735

• Ratonhake:ton/Connor - April 4, 2014 (9)

• In game April 4, 1756 - ????

• Shay Cormac - September 12, 1994 (29) [In game, he was 5 years younger than Haytham. the same was applied for this story] 1731

• September 12, 1731 - ???

• Ana Jimenez (OC) - July 10, 1967 (56): [ Hired by Edward in 1995]

*Ziio - November 14, 1992 (31) [1731 in game year, no date was actually given est. ][Was 22 when Connor was born in 2014] Still alive, her Haytham are no longer together.

•Grandma Josephina (OC) -April 24, 1941 -

[Dedicated to a person I knew in real life, she was the sweetest and a third grandma in a way,]

• Aunt Victoria (Vicki) (OC) - August 21, 1973-

[OC from another story, ]