#Shay patrick cormac fluff

[sweetcocopowder]

Congrates on 100 follows. Would i be able to suggest a shaytham fic with a sappy but angsty vibe with the prompts,

"If I asked you to stay, would you?"

"You said you wouldn't fall in love with me" "I lied"

Thank you

Prompt 4 / Shaytham

Synopsis: Shay is reckless in battle and always ends up finding himself in trouble. And so Haytham has to be the one to save him.

Word Count: 2.4K

Warning: Violence. Blood.

Notes: I combined two asks together because you guys basically asked for the same thing. So here you guys are! Finally. Enjoy!!

Canon fire deafens Haytham’s ears as a chorus of booms sounds off on the starboard side. He holds onto his tricorn with one hand and a firm, white knuckled grip on the railing in front of him as the harsh salty wind whips into his face. The Morrigan creaks and groans as her captain turns her towards the enemy ship. Canon smoke is thick in the air and it’s hard to even see where the other ship is.

But Shay steers with confidence, shouting orders with his accent thickening. On deck, Gist relays them to whomever hasn’t heard them. Even slapping a few men on the back of the head that aren’t moving quick enough. In the heat of battle, everything can go wrong on the open ocean.

Sailing with Shay, it makes Haytham wonder if this is what it would have been like with his father.  

A round of enemy canon fire are thrown across the Morrigan’s deck. Within the smoke, Haytham can make out a couple of men being thrown off the side of the ship. Wood and splinters fly up and some even come Haytham’s way. That is the least of his worries as the entire ship shakes with such force that it sends Haytham halfway across the poop deck.

He regains his footing quickly even though his head spins. His hat is somewhere that isn’t his head, but that’s the least of his worries. Shay is nowhere to be seen on deck and the enemy ship looms over the Morrigan, a dark shadow in the smoke the curls into the grey sky. Hooks and anchors connect the two ships, pulling them together. Everything happen quickly that for a split second, he’s engrossed by the size of everything.

Haytham scowls to himself as he stands to his feet, his chest constricting at the thought that Shay isn’t in his line of sight. As if he’s some child that Haytham has to look after and he’s not a grown man himself. But it wouldn’t be akin to that. No. No, something much worse that is something closer to affection.

One of the crew members from the other ship climb up and over the railing. As quick as anything, Haytham has already crossed the deck to drive his sword into the stomach of the man. With a gasp and a silent cry, Haytham pushes him back over the side of the ship into the warm River Valley water.

The canon smoke begins to disperse and Haytham is able to see the pure chaos that has erupted on deck. Shay’s crew fight with tooth and sword, clashing and fending themselves against their attackers. He spots Gist in the mist of it all, his hat blown off somewhere. His wet hair flings into his face as he fights but he can’t let that get in his way when his life is on the lines.  

A scrawny man comes rushing up the stairs to Haytham, his teeth all black and missing. He strikes with a machete but misses enterally and swings again. This time Haytham meets his own sword with his blade and throws the scrawny man off balance. His sword to his neck is what sends the scrawny man tumbling back down the stairs.

He almost feels sorry for Shay’s deck. That blood is going to take some scrubbing to get out.

Gunshots pierce through the already tense air and Haytham’s head whips towards the commotion. Near the front of the Morrigan, Shay holds onto a man by the nape of his coat. The man tries to scramble away and kick and thrash, only for all of it to end with a hidden blade in his chest. Shay throws him aside without a second thought, advancing onto the next.

Shay takes down two more men, one with his hidden blade, the other with a bullet through the liver. All done in quick succession that Haytham can’t seem to draw his eyes away. He can pick up the assassin training still burnt into his muscles and bones. How he moves. How he’s light on his feet even for a six foot man.

But even trained assassins make mistakes sometimes. Shay turns too slowly towards his next target. The man’s knife stabs straight into his shoulder, snarling into the captain’s face. He pushes Shay back, twisting and driving the knife in deeper. Shay shouts loudly, trying to push the other off but to no avail. They tussle and try to overthrow the other until the hefty man decides enough is enough, and throws both of them over the side of the Morrigan.

Haytham moves quick, slashing and driving his sword into any man that isn’t of the Morrigan’s. He pushes a man aside, uncaring who they are as he finally reaches the side of the ship. He looks over, almost hauling himself over at how desperate he’s moving. His heart is in his in his throat and it hammers loudly within his ears. He finds himself not thinking straight as he looks down.

And holding on by one of the canon windows is Shay. He meets eyes with Haytham and can’t help but smile up to him. Haytham can only frown though, his heart still racing in his chest. What an idiot. An absolute fool! Haytham scowls to himself before pushing off the railing. He goes to speak to Shay, but instead pushes his way through the crowd once more to get to the lower decks. All to save this man from falling into the River Valley himself.

-

By the time Haytham is able to drag Shay back aboard and make sure he is uninjured, the fighting above has all but subsided. Gist’s voice can be heard barking and snapping orders around to the crew, telling them to tie up the ones they’ve captured and to throw the dead overboard. Not their dead though, the Morrigan’s dead will be given a proper funeral before being cast over to the sea.

The knife still sticks out of the Irishman’s shoulder as he sits within the confines of his quarters with the ship medic. He’s a large burly man that goes by the name, Cassidy. For a man his size, his fingers are nimble as they get to work. Haytham flinches inwardly as the knife is pulled from Shay’s shoulder.

The butcher has Shay sitting in front of his war map table. Everything that was displayed has been put aside to make room for the medical supplies. His coat and shirt are quickly torn down to his waist as soon as the knife is out. Shay’s face is screwed up in pain, but he holds his tongue. Only because Haytham stands on the other side of the table with his arms crossed over his chest. A deep-set frown on his feature that is akin to a disappointed parent.

Shay tries his best to avoid looking in the direction of the Grandmaster. But he can’t help himself. Even through his squinted and scowled ridden face, he peers in Haytham’s direction. Shay will have to admit to himself, he’s never seen the man so terrified in his life. That the expression that he saw plain as day on the Grandmaster’s face, an expression that has truly sent a pit of something heavy deep within his chest that flutters every so often.

When the first stitch goes through, a deep groan escapes Shay’s throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that Cassidy works quickly so this is over and done with. When he opens his eyes again, a short glass of golden whiskey is being held out to him. He stares at it a moment, looking up at the owner of the hand even though he knows who stands before him.

How long was he holding himself still for? Long enough for Haytham to pour him a drink?

Haytham raises a brow, as if asking if he even wants it. Shay takes it with some urgency and downs it in one go. Haytham watches him grimaces at the burn of the whiskey with a satisfied look before moving away to pour a second glass. This one he takes himself. A need to try and calm his still bristling nerves that buzz under his skin. He pours a third, handing this one out to Shay again. And like before, the Irishman downs it in one go. Haytham moves off satisfied.

The whiskey seems to dull the pull and poke of the needle and stitches but a few groans still escape Shay’s mouth. Haytham can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the other man. Hair a mess, skin bruised and battered with the strong smell of sweat and blood in the air.

Cassidy bites the last stitch off and wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. It isn’t sanitary in the slightest, but he guesses it will do with the rest of the golden whiskey being poured over the wound. Shay bites back a yowl deep within his throat, his eyes looking as if they’re about to pop out of their sockets. He sits back in the chair heavily, pushing Cassidy’s hand away with the whiskey. The butcher looks to him with a glare before drawing the last mouthful of whiskey left out of the bottle.

“I know you won’t listen to me you buffoon,” Cassidy starts as he stands. “but don’t put any strain on those stitches,” he scowls.

“Aye, aye,” Shay mocks.

Cassidy rolls his eyes as he packs up his things. He leaves the cabin with a short nod towards Haytham, bidding him fair well. Haytham looks back to Shay who shrugs on his shirt with a wince. There’s something on Shay’s mind. His gaze a far and anywhere but here.

“That was foolish of you,” Haytham comments.

The words don’t seem to register with Shay until a few passing moments later. His brown eyes land on Haytham with a raised brow and slight hum coming from his lips. He catches the Grandmaster’s gaze flickering down to his gut where his stomach is still exposed. It’s only for a moment, but he catches it all the same.

“Getting stabbed?” Shay asks.

“Letting your guard down,” Haytham corrects with a flick of his finger.

He moves around the table to Shay and leans down slightly so that he can undo the last button of his vest. He takes it off Shay without a word, patting it down before holding an arm out to him. Shay eyes him, as if something clicking behind those dark eyes. He takes the gesture, placing one arm through the hole as Haytham helps him dress again.

It silent for a moment as Shay does up the buttons to his vest. Haytham finds himself watching, making sure that the captain is decent again. Or maybe he wants to make sure that Shay is able to do it just fine. When Shay does up the last button, he finally moves off with a satisfied nod.

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me,” Shay says abruptly.

Haytham movements pause for a moment, his eyes distancing themselves for a second before refocusing back down on Shay. The Irishman looks up to him, a scarred brow raised. Haytham frowns softly on the verge of disgust. But it isn’t quite that.

They talked about this months ago. About how dangerous it would be for the both of them. About how that if they did find themselves falling, they’d stop. But here Haytham is, the Grandmaster of the Templars, falling in love for a former Assassin.

“I lied,” Haytham bites back. But there’s no real maliciousness in his words.

Shay can’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head lightly as he looks away. His cheeks blush a soft red that has Haytham wanting to reach out and touch. To see just how hot his face becomes when he turns as bright as a tomato. But instead he stands up straight, placing a hand on the table.

“We talked about this Haytham. You’re the one that talked about it,” Shay speaks firmly now. “Insisted even.”

But Haytham changes the subject, turning his back, “I’ll inform Gist that he will be taking the helm until we arrive back in New York,” Haytham walks around to the other side of the table and picks up his tricorn that he found on the deck, “You are to stay in here until you’ve healed enough,” He orders as he places his hat upon his head.

Shay clears his throat loudly causing the other man to stop in his tracks. He turns slowly, dark blue eyes filled with curiosity.

“Gist already knows what he’s doing,” Shay says as he stands. “And this is all but a nick, sir.”

He adds a roll of his shoulder which is the worst decision he could have made. He hisses in pain as he pulls the stitches, coddling his arm close to his chest. Haytham raises his brows, looking Shay up and down.

“Maybe just one night then,” Shay chuckles as he leans against the table.

“Good,” is all Haytham says. He turns again but like the perviously, is interrupted before he can even get a hand on the doorknob.

“Sir.”

Haytham turns his full attention to Shay this time, the tone of such a simple word having beckoned him. Shay walks over to his liquor cabinet and grabs out a half empty bottle of a dark golden whiskey. The strong stuff. He turns back around his heels, holding the bottle in his good arm. He looks at Haytham for a moment before snapping back to reality.

He asks a question as he wonders back over to the table, “If I asked you to stay, Haytham, would you?”

Haytham watches Shay for few heart beats. Watching him pour whiskey into one glass before placing a second on the table. The bottle hovers over the second, Shay waiting for an answer. He doesn’t like to waste good liquor.

The Grandmaster sighs a little defeated. He takes off his tricorn and places it on the table once more. Whiskey is poured into the second glass.

“If only it keeps you from heading out and tearing out your stitches,” Haytham comments lowly.

Shay holds out the glass with a smile. “Oh, I think you’re one of, if not the best distractions around.”

Haytham takes the whiskey with a grumble of, “Now don’t go pushing your luck.”

To that, Shay’s grin only grows wider.

-

:)

[intoxicated-chan]

Could I possibly ask for NSFW Shay x reader content? If you’re not in the mood for anything smutty then just general Drabble/hc content is more than fine too! Any Shay content is welcome 🖤

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍���𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫�� 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Summary ➳ When Shay remembers your dream to see the Northen lights, it takes the chance to take you there and love you under the stars.

(A/n) ➳ Your wish is my command! If you guys have any Shay requests, I’m open!! This was more fluff than smut, I honsetly got carried away with this.

Word Count ➳ 2.6k

Content warnings ➳ Female reader/Navigator reader, teasing, jealousy, mentions of killing, sexual content, public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, penetration, p-in-v, creampie...

Everyone knew that Shay and Chevalier never got along. At first, Shay could take it, the insults, and the fights, but it became worse when Chevalier overheard Shay’s desire to court you. It was during an argument when it was brought up, teasing Shay, laughing at him, and getting physical with him, laughing at his missed punches. As usual, Liam stepped in, silencing Chevalier, and snatching Shay away.  

Shay could still hear his laughter as Liam tried his best to comfort his best friend. But Chevalier became his nightmare when he arrived from a mission to find you and Chevalier sitting on the steps of the manor, a happy expression on your face as Chevalier spoke to you.  

He stepped in, questioning why Chevalier was still here when Achilles was looking for him. But Chevalier saw right through his act, knowing how it pissed Shay off to see you with him and so before he left, he gifted you a book, one that you have been looking for.  

Shay hated how your eyes gleamed as you took the book from his hands and continuously thanked him. It was a rare book in your eyes. You escaped from your home, just days away from marrying an older nobleman when you turned eighteen.  

Shay knew that you knew Chevalier was being kind to you. Another rarity around here and he tried not to take it to heart.  

“Is something the matter?” You asked Shay, obviously clueless and knocking Shay out of his mind. “Did the mission not go as planned?”  

“Everything is alright.” He replied, giving you his signature smile. “I’ll meet you on the Morrigan?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it.  

“Oh yes! I have a charted map that I must give.” You nodded. “Chevalier said I was learning rather quickly.”  

“Did he now?”  

You nodded once again before scurrying off, waving him goodbye. He watched your figure head towards the Morrigan, making sure he saw you entering the cabin of the ship. 

And after giving his report to Achilles, you were not in the cabin anymore. You were relaxed, sitting on his ship as you read your book. You just looked so beautiful unbothered and hated to bother you, you were enjoying the moment.  

You swiped the strays of hair in your face away, trying to focus on your book. “Chevalier certainly knows what interests you.” He commented. “My men say you refuse to move, that you refused to sing with them. I thought you enjoyed Leave her, Johnny.”  

“Chevalier’s taste is quite different than mine, I’d give him quite a scare if he truly read the contents of this book.” You marked the page of your book before closing it carefully. “I did not sing but I loved their voices. We should have them perform.”  

“Might I see?” Shay reached for the book, but you pulled it out of his reach. “C’mon, you’ve got nothing to hide from me!”  

“No.” You immediately said but your smile did not falter. “I must show you the map, I’ve located numerous military camps with supplies. They will be useful to the Morrigan.”  

You both walked to the captain’s cabin, Shay opened the door to let you in first and then closed it behind him. He followed you to the table with the map laid out, a part of North America with marked points.  

“It’s quite chilly but Chevalier it would be worth it.” You commented, pointing at one at a time to explain. “When I was using the spyglass, I was able to get some of the contents of the supplies. Here, you get wood and metal. And here, cannons. There is a fort here so you must tread carefully-”  

Shay didn’t bother to listen, rather, he took in your features, how your finger tapped in a certain pattern when at a marked location, how you went into detail about certain patterns soldiers take, or how each of the supplies can help the ship or crew in many ways. 

Memories of a conversation he had with you weeks earlier came through his mind, your laughter, your casual mention of an ethereal light. It all started when you went to North Atlantic once, the temperatures were freezing, and you remained up on the Crow’s Nest. He went to get you himself and he saw you stare up at the sky, like you were waiting for something.  

You explained the stories of his and Chevalier’s crew speaking of green arches that curve across the sky, lights dancing in the sky. You wished to see them yourself instead of hearing them or paintings, you wanted to gaze your eyes upon them.  

You were exquisite, magnificent, alluring... He knew the perfect time to take you to see the northern lights, he wanted to be the first to take you, to see your eyes gleam once more.  

“Are you listening to me, Shay?” 

Shay cleared his throat. “O-Of course!” He answered awkwardly. He tried to play it off, but you did not see him staring again. To see you so focused and helping him, made him all giddy, you are available for him. “You were talking about... Um, that camp.” He gestured vaguely towards the map. 

“Really?” You lifted an eyebrow, sneering but in a joking manner that Shay understood. You then pointed at one mark. “What does this camp hold?” You questioned.  

He leaned over the table, taking a moment to think. “Ammo! There's ammo.”  

You shook your head as you tapped the spot your finger still rested on. “That is not a military camp, Shay. It is a hunting location. I marked it for personal use. Might find some deer or rabbit there.”  

He was caught off guard, his cheeks had a tinge of red on them. “Right, of course. I knew that.” He rumbled, trying to recover.  

But your demeanor shifted from playful to worried. You have never seen Shay so distracted before. “There must be something on your mind. I have never seen you so distant.” Your tone became soft, folding your arms.  

He let his eyes wander, taking everything in the cabin except you. “It’s nothing too worrying.” He assured you but when he looked at you, his resolve softened. “I was thinking what you said once, about the lights, the ones you did not know the name of.”  

“The dancing lights in the sky?” Your expression slowly brightened when you realized. “Yes, yes. They say it is like the heavens themselves are celebrating or the spirits were dancing.” You awed with wonder.  

“I was thinking... Perhaps we could set a course north. Father than we had planned before. I would like to take you to see the northern lights or as Hope calls them aurora... Borealis?” Struggling to pronounce the name, he cursed at himself for screwing it up.  

The surprise and delight he saw on your face was worth more than all the treasures they had plundered. You stepped around the table and came closer to him. “Really? You would do that for me?”  

Shay nodded, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “Yes, I believe it’s time we chased something beautiful, not just profitable or killable.” 

“I’d like that very much, Shay.” His hands moved to cup your face, your eyes locking with his. “Thank you.”  

Nothing is said between you both, your faces just inches apart. The candlelight flickered, adding a touch to the moment. Shay started to lean in first, and you followed his lead. Your lips were about to touch until the doors to the captain’s cabin burst open.  

Liam barged in, he looked urgent but froze in place when he saw how close you two were. “Shay, (Y/n), sorry but-” Liam started, his eyes darting between you two. A smirk was briefly on his lips but stopped when Shay glared at him. He composed himself. “Achilles gave us orders. We need to set sail immediately.”  

The two of you pulled apart from each other, embarrassed, but you tried masking your disappointment, covering it up with a poor attempt at professionalism.  

Shay patted himself down, turning to face Liam. “And?” He motioned Liam to continue.  

“We’re goin’ North Atlantic.” Liam handed Shay a scroll. “The French are moving deeper, Achilles believes they have a lead on another Assassin branch, he wants us to intervene.”  

You fumbled with your hands, clasped together. “I shall start preparing the crew, check supplies, and repair the Morrigan if necessary.”  

As you moved past Liam to exit the cabin, Liam leaned closer to Shay, his voice low but teasing. “Trying to one-up the Chevalier, eh?” He chuckled, but then his tone became serious. “Make sure your head stays in the game Shay.”  

“Always, Liam.”  

With that, Liam left the cabin, the doors closing with a soft thud. Shay stood there, hands on his hips as he let out a frustrated groan. He was so close! He took a deep breath as he had weeks or months to try again.  

Besides, if Hope was correct, it would soon be the perfect moment to see one.  

The Morrigan was anchored in the icy waters of the North Atlantic.  

Liam left the crew’s sleeping quarters after checking for injuries or casualties. He dismissed those standing on the deck of the ship to get some sleep, he and the captain, along with their navigator were going to keep watch for this night. He needed everyone rested and ready.  

He stood at the wheel, arms crossed, and reamined still.  

Up on the crow’s nest, the air was crisp, and the stars shined in the sky. Shay climbed the rigging to the nest, where he found you leaning again the wooden frame, gaze fixed on the sky. You twiddled with your fingers. He was able to sense the nervousness raiding off your body.  

The deep breaths you took, letting out small clouds of your breath each time you exhaled, and shifting side to side. You wore thick clothing to shield you from the weather and the gloves he gave you when you forgotten yours somehow... He took them. 

“Beautiful night.” Shay commented, his voice low as not to startle you. He leaned against the wooden railing next to you.  

A smile tugged your lips, though your eyes didn’t exactly show it. “It is.” You agreed, then sighing, lowering your head. “The lights... Will they be as the crew described them to be? The heavens celebrating, the spirits dancing. What if they don’t appear? what if they’re not everything I had hoped for?”  

Shay looked out across the sky, which was turning darker by the minute, and then back at you. “They will be.” He said, confident. “They’ll surpass every tale, every painting you have ever seen.”  

“I hope you’re right, Shay.” You laid your head on your arms, tired.  

It was a comfortable silence, waiting in the cold as the last light of the day vanished. Shay could sense the disappointment coming off you, he was ready to tell you to rest until he saw a faint flow.  

It grew brighter, greens with blues, it stretched across the sky like ribbons of lights. It was like its own river.  

He nudged her, pointing upward. “Look.” He whispered.  

Your confusion turning awe as you saw the gentle wisps growing. The ocean reflected the colors of green and blue, maybe even purple. It was more of what they said, heavens celebrating and the spirits dancing...  

“The aurora borealis.” You gasped. Your eyes wide in amazement. You could not describe the beauty of the lights, it would not compare to seeing it yourself. “I...” And you didn’t know what to say. All you could focus on was the colors dancing.  

Shay watched your face, it was illuminated by the ethereal grow. It him smile to see your eyes glimmer like before, the slight parting of your lips, your face so focused. His hand reached up to gently turn your face towards him.  

“Shay-” 

“Even more beautiful.” He couldn’t resist any longer. He leaned in, pressing his lips onto yours in a kiss, the only warmth in the chilly night.  

You responded eagerly, your arms wrapping around him as you returned the kiss. “Please Shay.” You groaned in his mouth. “Please.”  

You pushed him against the wooden mast, he kept his hands on your hips as he sat down with you right on his lap. Shay pulled out his knife, cutting a hole in your pants. He tossed the knife aside.  

Your breath hitched at the air hitting your cunt. Shay stuck two fingers in his mouth then slowly pushed them inside you. He thrusted it in and out of you, he worked his fingers deep inside you, he used his thumb to work on your clit, easing the pain, and making you clench around his fingers.  

Shay then stopped and slipped his finger out of you, making you gasp, in shock at the sudden loss. You clicked your tongue, slipping your hands down his chest and to his breeches.  

“Impatient, are we?” He smirked, watching you pulling his cock out.  

You angled your hips, gripping his shoulders as you rubbed the slit of your cunt against the hard cock.  

Shay gave you one last kiss, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck, his facial hair tickling you. “Careful.” Shay warned you. “Don’t go hurting yourself.”  

You trembled as you sank onto his cock, hissing in between your teeth. You choked on your moans as you took his full length then circled your hips.  

You began to bounce up and down his cock, he let out a louder moan. You cried out, throwing your head back. “Oh god, Shay!” You sobbed.  

Shay managed to push you to change positions, laying you on your back where your legs kept him close and inside of you. Your nails bug into the back of his assassin’s coat and Shay planted kisses on your exposed neck.  

He started at a slow pace, making sure you could feel him. Your eyes flickered open, looking up at the northern lights still there.  

“More Shay, please.” Feeling your high approaching.  

He picked up his pace, lifting his head up, and squeezing his eyes shut as he clenched his jaw. But he too, opened his eyes. He can see the northern lights reflecting in your eyes. You looked out of this world.  

That's when you looked him in the eyes, he froze for a moment. Your hand reached to the back of his head, pulling him down to kiss him.  

He continued, feeling his orgasms building along with yours. And after a couple of more thrusts, you both let out loud moans, he cursed as he felt you clamp down around him as he comes inside of you. 

Shay had no qualms about the cold, he took off his assassin’s coat to wrap it around you. He then tucks himself back into his pants and you sit up, feeling the stickiness in between your legs.  

You both sat against the mast. A smile on your face as you laid your head on his shoulder, panting. “Better than the tales and paintings.”  

Though the northern lights were gone, he could still envision them. “I’ll always take to see them.”  

“That would be impossible Shay. But I would love to see them now and again.”  

Shay snorted, standing up and grabbing your hands. You wobbled, falling into his chest. “I’ll go as far as I can to take you to see them.” He placed a kiss on top of your head. “And I’ll take you under them each time.”  

“Since when did you become so romantic?”  

“Since I read your book.”  

“Shay!” You smacked his chest while he laughed.  

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

[s0larine]

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

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

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

word count ☩ 3,979

pairing ☩ shay cormac x f! reader

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

　　　New-York, June 1756

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you care to dance?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong."

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

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

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

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

“Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong.”

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

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

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

But that resolve felt brittle.

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

What was his game?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all the invitation he needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

　　　PART 2 in writing...

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

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[getdownonfryeday]

Shay Cormac x reader - An Icy Glare

Genre - Fluff, some slight hints of smut.

Word count - 2,602

Summary - You and Shay were sent out on a mission to collect some information in a particularly chilly part of the globe. Shay didn't mind, but you weren't equipped with the best resistance to this sort of weather.

A/N: Hello, hello. I'm writing AC fanfic again for the first time in forever, and I'm grateful that I did my best to maintain this blog. I'm still kind of rusty, because I've been writing so many academic papers, so forgive me if the narrative writing gets a bit funky. I'm really sorry if I've ignored your requests before! Please feel free to drop one, and I'll see what I can do. Hope this fluff keeps your hearts warm 💖

"Aye, Y/N, best we call it a day before winter snaps our limbs off." Shay said, carefully tucking away the stolen list of names into his inner pocket. The sun had set hours ago, and the slight warmth it blessed me with in the morning was gone for the next few hours. I nodded, pulling my own coat closer to my nearly frozen body. We finished gathering a few maps and names in the area the Grandmaster suggested we did some prying around. For the awfully freezing climate and harsh arctic wind, it was definitely worth the visit.

Although, it certainly did not imply I was willing to return at that time of year, when the leaves were gone and snow fell daily from the grey skies. I had no clue on how to tell my Irish partner, so accustomed to this type of weather, that working outdoors when the snow was four inches high was not my best suit.

Shay glanced at me once before we began the walk back to the inn, as I shivered and wore my hood higher. I ignored his glances in the beginning, but he did it again. I coughed and cleared my throat, then his eyes shifted towards my figure again before we even turned left at the pub.

Because his eyes curiously and consistently shifted towards my direction, I decided to ask him what exactly there was to look at. It was not only to halt my heart from racing, but also to let me understand his standpoint. I might have appeared ill, and I'd be damned if I didn't from this morbid snowfall. Furthermore, I knew myself well, and if it had gone on for any longer my cheeks would have flared a significant hue of red for other reasons than the biting frost.

"Something on your mind, Cormac?" I asked, pretending to focus on the crunch of snow beneath our boots and the dimly lit path ahead, covered in sheets of white as far as the road extended. Two more turns, then straight ahead this damned icy road before we reach the inn. I miss Havana.

Shay's eyes shifted elsewhere for a moment, and his breath fogged up the winter air before he muttered a slightly audible "no".

"Then would you quit glancing at me like a fucking puppy, mate? Makin' me uncomfortable here." I replied, instantly regretting the blunt laces in my tone.

"Well, my apologies, lass--"

"And don't call me that. Hurry on, it's nearly midnight, and Assassins could be stalking us the more we speak like this." 

For the next ten minutes back to the inn, the unforgiving, frosty weather nipped at my nose and fingers. I swatted away thoughts of holding Shay's large, warm hands and leading them to the frozen bits of my body which desperately pleaded for a quilt or a fireplace.

Both would be nice if you thought about it well enough, especially if you included Shay and his delightfully warm body pressed against yours. Imagine it, yes? Straddling his lap and playing with his hair with a large quilt draped on both your shoulders, as he leans in and kisses you softly to thaw your poor, shivering limbs.

The fantasies I had were nothing but fantasies, and with the Assassins and that damned box still in their possession, I had bigger fish to fry. Regardless, it didn't prohibit my thoughts that wandered to the way my chest would flutter every time Shay would toss me his coat to mend its tears, to which I'd catch a whiff of gunpowder and leather. I pondered further, only able to imagine how intense his scent would be if we laid skin to skin on a bed. It would be a sight to witness, I thought. Shay's hair undone and his hands making their way on my hips as a crackling fireplace contributed to the heat of the room, while a blizzard raged outdoors--

The subject of my fantasies cleared his throat to tell me something, but I was too tired and too bloody cold beyond comfort to register his words. I only heard the last bit, which marked the end of our treacherous, bone-chilling walk back to the inn.

"...we've returned, so I guess there will be no need for that." Shay sighed. My dozy eyes widened as I tilted my head upwards, enough for me to recognize the inn's familiar wooden door a few inches away from my face.

Recalling his previous statement, I inquired, "No need for what?"

"Well, never mind." Shay pushed the door open, allowing me inside first. Trudging my way into the inn led me to immediately relish the slight rise in temperature compared to the icy, merciless outdoors that evening. I smiled slightly and said with much relief, "Ah, finally."

Shay and I headed for the second floor to our lodgings, the third room to the right of the staircase. Exhausted and shivering from the arctic temperatures, I fumbled the key into its slot before the lock clicked open and allowed us into its modest quarters.

I collapsed on the closest single bed to the door and kicked my boots off, and I made certain that divesting myself of the heavy, metallic weapons on my body followed immediately. They ungracefully piled on the floor along with other belongings that weighed my body down for the entire day. I'll fix that tomorrow.

Shay sat at the edge of his bed, around two and a half feet away from mine and most likely did the same. The telltale sound of his coat and other articles of clothing and metal hitting the floor was hard to miss in the meager space.

Curious to see him, I shifted my body to face his bed. I was immediately met with the sight of his breech clothed knees, making me realize he had been facing me the entire time. My eyes, suddenly alert, darted upwards and locked in place with Shay's. His hair was undone with a little bounce on his shoulders, and of course he donned more basic and comfortable clothing, still wearing much less layers than I usually did.

It was definitely not as if I had never seen him dressed down that much. It was our third mission where we had to share a room for a few days, and I've been on the Morrigan long enough to memorize his daily routines. Nonetheless, an air of tension always followed whenever we were to sleep in the same quarters, but for formality's sake, I never brought it up. The exception to the tension would be if one of us was "too fatigued" and "could practically die" and would prefer to collapse onto the bed than notice the somewhat unclear elephant in the room. I miscalculated, when I very wrongly predicted that night would be one of those deadbeat exhausted types of evenings.

I shuddered as my pulse raced as a mare would, and I squeezed my thighs together at the familiar sensation he gave me. Composure, Y/N, where the hell is your composure?

Composure was far too hellacious to preserve  when I laid on my bed, especially when I was free from weaponry the Templars had granted me, leaving me as helpless as a doe. To my surprise, and slight disappointment, the idea of the hunt manifested nowhere in his actions. His eyes  softened and he leaned forward to ask the question I begged and loathed for him to toss. "You've been freezing since this morning, haven't you?"

"I was a bit cold, yes." I admitted.

"So cold and exhausted you didn't even respond when I offered you my coat."

I gulped and exhaled shakily, masking my humiliation as I brought the blanket closer up to my face. The pounding of my heart beneath my chest helped not towards the composure I begged myself to maintain. God save the damned tension I sternly warned myself to keep unbroken. Y/N, keep it professional. Get your shit together, because you're reporting back to Kenway once you two head back. I swallowed a mighty lump in my throat and whispered, "Sorry then, Shay. It's a little too frosty for my own liking."

Shay smirked and cocked an eyebrow. "You've never called me by my first name, not unless you're especially cross. And you don't appear to be very cross anymore, love. T'least I don't think so." His murmurs interrupted my calm breathing as I took in my breaths a bit faster, ready to swim from Boston to the other side of the earth. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and my skin tingled when I felt the brush of his fingertips so closely to my face.

My focus shifted towards his lips, before resuming towards the intense eye contact we've had for the past five minutes. "What are you implying, exactly?" 

"Sleep beside me. At least for tonight."

My breath hitched. Oh, how I wanted to scream a "yes" in reply and jump onto Shay's bed. I could already feel his toned and muscular arms around my body, and his warm torso pressed to mine as he would sweet nothings into my ear (if he had any).

Fuck no. Haytham's going to butcher us.

"The Grandmaster will kill us both." I sleepily chuckled, half-joking, half-serious, and half wanting him to see how desperate I was to lay beside him.

"Does that mean you want to, then? You didn't object. Besides, the Grandmaster is a week's ride away by sea, and has many other things to attend to. Honestly, I think he would slice my throat open all the more if he caught wind that I let you freeze to death." Shay laughed quietly, while his thumb softly grazed my cheek. "Oh God, you're freezing. May I feel your hands?"

Although I initially hesitated, I slowly pulled my arms out of the thin, worn blanket and presented them to the man now sitting on the edge of my bed. The hairs on my skin stood as they made contact with the room's cool air. My arms tensed as Shay's hands, rougher than I expected but quite warm all the same, interlaced with my fingers and brushed by my wrists. "How long have you been this cold?" He asked, fanning his breath over my hands to warm them.

"Since we set foot on this place. I honestly don't do well in this type of weather, which is why I was originally assigned in warmer climates going south." I confessed, carefully watching the way his lips hovered over my overworked hands.

A reasonable silence followed, and my thoughts raced thinking what to do next after he held my hands in his. Should I simply sleep and say goodnight? Should I tell him that I really do fancy him, and would absolutely partake in such an affair if it weren't for Templar obligation?

Yet I was sleepy, and too touch-starved for my own liking to listen to the reaonsable voice in my head. I let myself loose with the rationale that it was only one night, anyway.

I cleared my throat, and his head turned to meet my eyes again. "I, uh, change my mind. I guess I won't mind taking the space beside you tonight." 

Shay smirked and stood from my bed. "Took you long enough to convince yourself. Come join me, then."

I did my best to hide a playful grin as I replied, "Far too cold and fatigued to move, Cormac. If only there were some other way--HEY!"

He briskly collected me from underneath the blanket and just as quickly delivered me to my rightful place on his bed. It was already warm from his own presence, and I buried my face into the pillow he had been using for the past two days.

Leather and gunpowder. I smiled.

The mattress sank further as Shay joined me on the single sized bed, our bodies pressing against one another to prevent from falling off. Our backs faced each other, to my dismay, but I couldn't complain as long as Shay slept by my side.

"Warm enough, now?" He asked, as his sleepy, Irish drawl soothed my ears. I hummed in response, finally closing my eyes for sleep.

Shay's body shifted to face mine, as he whispered, "I didn't hear you say yes." 

"Yes, quite so." I meekly responded, alert and easily forgetting I longed for sleep.

Slowly, he draped an arm over my body. My body tensed at his intimate gesture, and he pulled away immediately.

"No, no, it's alright." I reassured him. "Simply a bit surprised there, but I don't mind."

The Irishman, feeling a bit more relaxed this time, took the grant of permission and wrapped his arms around my torso, firm enough for our bodies to press against one another. "Can't have you falling onto the floor now, love."

I sighed, carefully resting my hands on top of his and took one of them into my own. Even though I had touched him too many times to count, perhaps to shove him in playful jest or to hand over a map or letter, none of them compared to the intended intimacy which radiated from the events that had transpired.  He relaxed his hand and allowed me to trace lazy circles onto his palm, while our legs tangled together. Another fifteen minutes creeped by, occupied by our nonstop shifting and experimenting favorable sleeping positions for us both.

The two of us ended with my head on his chest and my right hand on his shoulder, where I found myself kissing him lightly more often than I expected.

"Has this ever crossed your mind, Y/N?" Shay asked, now using his left hand to gently caress my hair.

"What, my horrible tolerance for snow and ice? Which, by the way, led me to share a bed with my unfortunately handsome partner of the past three months?"

Fuck me dead, I shouldn't have said that.

Shay gave a low chuckle, and pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. "Well, sure some of that, but also the thought of us right here, right now. Sharing a bed, some sentiments and, I must admit, decent company other than Templar business. And, well, I think you're rather beautiful too, Y/N."

Embarrassed, I smiled, thankful that the dim lighting of the room failed to shine light towards the possibly reddish hues on my cheeks.

"Well, far better than simply 'tolerable', as the Grandmaster would describe some of his associates." He added.

I laughed and nodded, burying my nose into the crook of his neck. "Let's get some proper rest, before we begin to chat again until the sun rises. It's been nearly two hours since we've been back and I am awfully exhausted from all the running and cold." Now positioned on our sides, he pulled me close to his chest and rested his chin on my head. 

"Alright then. Good night. You did well today. Don't forget to tell the Grandmaster on what we uncovered in the warehouse." He planted a brief kiss on my forehead. Heat rose to my cheeks for the enth moment that night, and I relished the warm embrace he kept me in.

In a singsong voice, I teased Shay one last time. "Alright. Oh, and does this mean I get to borrow your coat on the Morrigan heading back tomorrow?"

"Mmmph. Sleep, Y/N." I pulled myself closer towards his body and suppressed a giggle. “Are you going to let me at the wheel of the Morrigan tomorrow, then?”

“Mmmph. Be quiet and sleep, Y/N.”

[elsdaydreams]

Valentine's Day/Romantic Tropes headcanon

Altair Ibn La'ahad, Malik Al-Sayf, Ezio Auditore, Yusuf Tazim, Edward Kenway, James Kidd/Mary Read, Haytham Kenway, Shay Patrick Cormac, Connor Kenway, Arno Dorian, Elise de la Serre, Jacob Frye, Evie Frye, Shaun Hastings, Desmond Miles

Warnings - canon typical mentions of death and violence, cliché romance tropes, angst with a side of fluff, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of paranormal, some are happy endings and some are sad, implied mentions of intimacy

Word Count - 5550 words.

Description - A collective, detailed headcanon on which tropes fit the assassin's creed characters best.

Authors Note - What's this?? A surprise early valentine's day post?? Okay, so I realized directly after posting the assassin's and templar's love languages that it would've been the most perfect Valentine's post. Too little, too late I guess, so I decided to do something along the lines of romance - and the idea of what tropes the assassin's (and templars) would fit best? I tried to make it canon-based, so I picked solely on if it fits the characters in their original storyline. It made more sense in my head, to be honest with you, but I hope you enjoy this anyways. And have a happy (early) valentine's day, if you celebrate! (also if you've read all of these and there's a character you'd like to be talked about more, maybe you should shoot me an ask?)

Now listen okay, enemies to lovers seems like the obvious choice for Altair, right? I'm well aware of this, but you have to admit that the trope fits well for a reason. Especially canonically, you get your typical Altair arrogant attitude, and a redemption arc, and with fanfic, a love story? It's everything a person could need. So - with that being said, as we well know at the beginning of his story, Altair is a bit arrogant. And it seems like he always goes out of his way to be even more so when you're involved. You were supposed to go on the mission with him, Kadar, and Malik, but he'd made sure that you weren't there. Not out of concern, more so just because he could. The loss of Kadar is great, and you wished that Altair being knocked down a peg didn't cost someone else's life. It's so typical of his personality, at least to you - to act as though he'd done nothing wrong, that it makes you physically ill to look at him. Not much changes between the two of you for a while, not until Al Mualim is dead and Altair is at the base more frequently. Meanwhile, you continue to avoid him like the plague. You're not entirely unconvinced he's not the same person he was before. It's something of a slow process, and not even one either of you attempts to make, just something that inevitably happens. Maybe it's the way he genuinely speaks to you, not at you while giving a mission, or the way his eyes seem softer than they did before. Or is that he says something so dry and deadpan it makes you laugh before you can even consider if you should - and instead of a scolding look or reprimand, there's a hint of a smile on his lips. Before you can even process it, you're his first choice on a risky mission. Without a thought, you instinctively look towards him to see his reaction first. You can't recall when it happened, but it hits out of the blue, with him across the courtyard and your eyes glued to him. The person you dreaded seeing the most was suddenly the person you cared most for.

Malik is most definitely coworkers to lovers. Honestly, before he lost his arm and brother, you didn't know much about him. He was pretty high up there in terms of status in the Brotherhood, so you knew of him, just not him personally. Malik was always pretty stoic, at least in comparison with Kadar, who you did know somewhat. It was always a little unnerving, but now there was a certain feeling of sympathy attached to it. When you were placed on an assignment and had to report to his bureau you were less than enthusiastic, simply because you didn't know what to say. This was all well and good, as Malik was straight to the point and, for the most part, acted his normal self. You were stationed near there for the remainder of Altair's visits there, simply to avoid any conflict between the two with a mediator. For the most part, you commended Malik's resilience, you doubted you would have the restraint he did with the man who was partly responsible for Kadar's death. You told him so one night when you perhaps should've kept your mouth shut. Instead of a reprimand, you got a quiet nod, and not much else was said on the matter. From then on though, Malik spoke up more to you, discussed things that he thought were interesting around the city and you would check them out. You suggested once, that he come with you, and despite the Brotherhood having stationed him doing paperwork, he followed you. Luckily it was nothing major, but the trip was a fond memory. You talked, for the most part, about the city you had come to know as a home for the past few months. You knew you'd be leaving soon though, to go back to Masyaf soon. By the time you were back in the Assassin state, there was something unsaid between the two of you. Luckily, it wouldn't be long before he would find you again, unbeknownst to either of you at the time. It would be then that your feelings would be realized and acknowledged, and a real relationship would start around then.

Love at first sight? Absolutely. Ezio falls in love with people at first sight. I think especially when he was younger - his heart is something he gives freely when he feels something. For most people he's with, it's not even necessarily love that he feels, just infatuation or lust. When he first sees you, he's a younger man. He knows you're something, someone special. It's not something he can quite put a name on, it feels like it could be love someday, except your eyes never find him and you never have that special love at first sight moment. You play on his mind for weeks, but truly you were just passing through Florence, and Ezio slowly accepts that maybe it wasn't meant to be. The love at first sight moment happens after the fall of Monteriggioni after Ezio finds himself in Rome. The young boy who gave his heart to you without your knowledge, that knew you'd be important without knowing when finds himself again as he stares at you wide-eyed and in disbelief. That same feeling takes over him, though he's not sure he believes it fully yet. The loss of his Uncle, of his father and brothers, of a city he cared deeply for, changed him deeply. Ezio feels that overwhelming love, your importance to him in whatever form it may be - and knows that he can't, won't let you go. Not again, and as he moved against the crowds, he tries to catch your eye. It's there, that your eyes finally find his that he knows he's come to the when of it, that the feeling that didn't totally make sense now completely finally does. And within that few seconds, he becomes entranced, addicted to basking in your gaze after only a few moments. And you, the moment leaves you feeling like he's someone you knew maybe, or that you should've known. Ezio smiles at you, one that you easily return though you half wonder why, though there's an undeniable connection. It feels easy and familiar, like deja vu almost, and as he comes nearer to you, the feeling doesn't go away.

Yusuf most definitely has a shared past with you. I feel like it could almost be considered right person wrong time, but it's more so that at the time you were together neither of you was the person you should've been together. It wasn't anything awful really, just that even though Yusuf is older than you, he was never meeting your emotional needs, always acting immature. That's how you always remembered him, though not with malice or anger, but with a fondness. Part of you now looking back wished he kept just a little bit of that childishness and wondered what he was doing now. It was one of those weird moments, there was always plenty of opportunities to run into each other, the city wasn't that big and yet - it wasn't until a couple of years later that you saw him again. A pleasant surprise for both of you, neither can help but want to catch up with each other. The hours you spend talking, filling the spaces of your lives that were separate from each other leave you wondering why you'd ever left each other to begin with. It stays mostly friendly between the two of you until Yusuf asks if you'd ever married. His eyes are too hopeful, warm brown eyes of the person you cared for the most when you were younger that still held a mischievous glint. No, you'd never married, for one reason or another - you don't miss the grin that takes over his face easily. You return the question, hopeful that he hadn't either. The grin softens, and he tells you that he hadn't. It surprises you that he hadn't teased you about it, or made a joke of some sort as he was apt to do. It shocks you, even more, when he says something along the lines of always having loved you, and not wanting that connection with another person - at least not the way yours was. Your cheeks heat up, but you don't deny him the reassurance that you felt the same.

With Edward, I feel like the trope that fits best would be learning to love again. His first marriage obviously dealt some damage, and post that fallout, he really doesn't do the romance part of relationships. When you come into his life, even though there is a physical relationship, there's not much outside of that. It takes months before an actual relationship begins to develop, although Edward convinces himself that it's a friendship before anything else. It's something of an eventuality, where it kind of hits him out of the blue that you're much more than a friend. Maybe you're side by side on the Jackdaw, or walking down the streets of Nassau. Maybe you're unaware of the moment or have been yearning for him to feel the same as you do, but he's looking at you like he's not quite there. More than anything it's startling for him - feeling something like the beginnings of love makes him nervous, the fear of getting hurt again and losing you completely is not something he's willing to do. So, he does what he does best and pulls away. Which is dumb, but he can't help himself. Edward's not the type to talk unless you make him, which is hard to do when he has an actual ship that he can leave on at any given moment. If you give him space, he'll take it with no hesitation. Out of sight out of mind is the creed he follows in this situation, but he can't deny that he misses you. Or that he looks for you perched on some crates in the ship, and that he misses your teasing tone directed at him. It isn't until something happens where your life is in danger, rumors of a life-threatening injury, possibly even death, make their way across the Caribbean to him that he realizes how stupid it was to just leave. There's a new fear, an ache deep in his gut that because of the physical distance he put between the two of you, there was no way he would ever see you again, that it was too late. When he storms the beaches of Nassau looking for you, or even some of your shared acquaintances, it's not the actions of a bloodthirsty lunatic looking to avenge you, it's a desperate man looking for another chance. It isn't until he sees you, in the pub you both used to frequent sipping an ale that he slows, though his heartbeat doesn't. When his fingers meet your wrist, tugging you close, he doesn't quite believe you're really here in front of him. He questions you momentarily, asking if you're alright - and you're quick to return the question because of the two of you, Edward's the one who looks like he's lost his mind. It matters little that you're surrounded by colleagues and friends, he's quick to tell you how much you matter to him, and there's something of a promise that leaving you is something he'd never do willingly again.

It was always forbidden, between you and Mary. Although that's not her trope, no, it's something more paranormal than anything. Even when you knew her as James Kidd, it was never something you could have. Was that what attracted you to it in the first place? Maybe, at the beginning at least. How it evolved, however, the two of you became so deeply entangled, it could be called love in another life. When she died, it felt like part of you died with her. For months you lived in your grief, knowing nothing else besides it. All-consuming as it was, what was worse was the what-ifs. What if you'd been bolder with your love, with your affection? What if you hadn't had to hide it? What if you'd asked her not to follow Rackham with Anne? What if, what if, what if? Memories of quiet mornings, her sharing secrets with you that she never shared with anyone else, passionate nights spent hidden away from prying eyes. Each remembrance started bleeding into your dreams, though it wasn't the memory exactly. They were new, fresh ones as if Mary were still living and breathing right beside you. You'd stayed in bed for weeks, not wanting to wake from the false reality you'd created for yourself - one where she was still there with you. There, her fingers were softer than they ever were here. If the two of you ever were drinking there, her face remained the same muted skin tone, not the warm flush of pink that donned her nose and cheeks. On nights you felt more aware of the fact that it wasn't quite real, but not necessarily a dream, you'd ask her who she was. It was a question you never quite got an answer to, just a smirk that felt misplaced from her, or a chuckle that was a note deeper than it should've been. Quick to brush it off though, and remiss to leave the world and your person behind, you cherished the moments that you'd never gotten to have with her there.

It's not necessarily shocking that Haytham is absolutely the forbidden trope. There's something about him where it fits too perfectly, I think. For most things, he's always been the type to earn what he wanted, to take it if need be. But there's something about the things he simply cannot have that makes him want it more. You were raised in Boston, working at the pub your family had owned for quite some time. Growing up you were unaware of the clientele that frequented, though you were quickly learning the types that came into the bar, and the groups they were a part of. Your family favored some over others, agreed with their belief systems, and liked the business they brought. When Haytham came over to America, establishing his presence there became in part, coming to your tavern. It wasn't the one he preferred to work at, but there were rumors of Assassin's frequenting it, so it was simply a point of intrigue. What was preferable, however, was you, behind the bar - a warm smile directed at him, thinly covering a layer of distrust. To be fair, there was a sneaking suspicion of him - you'd known most of the local Assassin's, and not one of them ever mentioned another that was supposed to be here. But the familiar insignia and gauntlet on his forearm confused you further, though you said little of it. When he spoke to you, there was a want to believe him - his tone light, yet authoritative that was quick to send shivers down your spine. To be near him was somewhat intoxicating, the type of infatuated that only drunks seemed to be, and in the pit of your stomach you knew you couldn't trust him. He's never been one to give up, and he's certainly got you in his sights.

This is entirely not shocking, but I believe Shay's trope would be a marriage of convenience. And it's not because he doesn't have a lot of love to give, he absolutely does, and it's also not for lack of trying, because have you seen that man? He could hold the door open one time with a smile and have you swooning for him. (also is this biased because I've kind of written something along the lines of Shay marrying for convenience? yes mind your business!!!) Okay, the way I see it, you're engaged to him before you've even met him. Let's say your parents are trying to climb their way up the Templar ranks, and his status and closeness with Haytham are desirable. Not only because they want to succeed, but they also want you to succeed. And you're nervous beyond anything because you know how Charles Lee is and the thought of marrying anyone in the least bit similar is reprehensible to you. There's not much you can do with your parent's strong will - and if you'd up and left the repercussions would be dangerous for them - and yourself as well. For the months in which he remains away, you can't sleep. Tossing and turning all night long becomes routine, and the bags under your eyes begin to peek through. Your parents notice, more so when the looming threat of him coming to meet you appears and the plans become solid - each day your anxieties get worse and worse. They swear to you to give him a chance, they knew him once before he'd left America to complete Templar business worldwide. And you do, but not for yourself as much as it is for them. When you first lay eyes on him the most shocking thing is that he's attractive. You'd been expecting a Lee type, but his eyes are warm and there's a constant smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. More than anything he seems happy to be here, though you're not sure if the promise of a younger fiancé is the cause. You are awkward at best, unsure of your place in things. Little moments in which he locks eyes with you and gives you a reassuring smile calm the anxieties that overwhelmed you completely. and though it's not a grand sweeping romance you may have dreamed of, it seems that there is more than enough room for love between the two of you.

I had a thought right, where Connor meets one of Haytham's accomplices during the missions where they work together, right? It's a very Romeo and Juliet situation. So, you're one of the Templars, and while you don't understand the Grand Master's thought process of working with Connor, you're not going to say anything about it. You simply do as told, and you find that you don't mind working with the Assassin all that much. Besides your extreme differences in beliefs, the two of you work well together. Sure, in the beginning, it's awkward, and there's a lot of distrust between the two of you. But eventually, the more you work together, the better the two of you function together. And there's a thought, a what-if, one night when he's tending to you with a small battle wound, that leaves you reeling for weeks, doubting everything you've ever known. But it's not something that's ever really expounded on, and certainly not something you'd bring up with the group you'd surrounded yourself with. And Haytham had trusted you, with the secret of his son, and with you being on the missions even alone sometimes - the thought of accidentally falling in love with his son left you feeling like you'd betrayed the order. And whether you're acting odd - skittish even - or seemingly distancing yourself from the Order, your Grand Master is quick to notice. But he notices even more on a mission he's joined you on, the way the two of you work in tandem, the way Connor freezes when you're knocked on the ground and only resumes when you're up again, and the way you smile at him, even though the threat of death lurked in the shadows. You know he knows, without even a word shared between the two of you, that you're in love with his son, and he with you, despite all odds. It's a mercy, that he gives you an option (perhaps the man has become sentimental in his old age) that you can fake your death, cutting all contact with Connor, or Haytham can kill you himself. You take the first option begrudgingly, and for months you live under the radar. It's not till the old man's death that you find him in a tavern next to Charles Lee, completely frozen in your spot, unable to breathe. When his eyes find you, his expression matches yours, and he's reluctant to touch you. There's an undeniable hurt laced in his tone as he utters your name. There's a lot of explaining to do on your end, but the fact that you're here, alive and in front of him? He'll be by your side regardless.

You're gonna tell me Arno Dorian isn't the King of a good, old-fashioned love triangle? To start with the basics, of him already loving Elise, and having loved her since childhood, he's not expecting to fall in love with anyone new anytime soon. Even when they're on opposite sides, he's still without a doubt in love with her. Especially when he's exiled, living in Versailles, which is where you meet him. His reputation precedes him there, but you recall the boy you vaguely knew many years ago. Something about his situation breaks your heart whenever you see him. It really takes a few simple acts of kindness to earn his trust, which is shocking to you. Perhaps because you knew him, though not well, before everything in his life turned upside down, but he clung to you once you proved your worth. In drunken stupors he would confess his love to you, forgetting everything he said come morning. And still, you found yourself caring for him anyway. The words he whispered when drunk, though not to be believed, held your heart in a chokehold. It hurt more than it helped, that you wished he would remember how he felt, that he would look at you and think of someone worthy of love. And while Arno does love you, in a sort of twisted way, he also loves Elise. He loved you when you read to him, your voice melodically reading the words as he nursed a hangover. He loved the way you looked at him, with hope in your eyes and bated breath. He loved to come from the pubs and kiss you because it felt right and eased the abonnement he'd felt better than booze. If it were a contest of who held Arno's heart more, it was clear you weren't the winner. Some days you were okay with the love you did receive, and others, not so much. When Elise finally made her way to collect him, there was no doubt she thought you enabled the behavior. If only she'd seen him at the beginning of his exile - you were slowly drawing him out of the hole she'd dug him in - or at least that's how you viewed it. It wasn't shocking when he'd followed her to Paris, though it hurt more than you cared to admit. Still, part of you hoped he'd make his way back to you someday.

Clearly, I'm a sucker for tragedy. And, true to form, Elise is no different settling entirely on the right person, no time. It was something undeniable from the moment you laid eyes on her. You didn't know how, or why, you just knew that you would love her for all of your days. It took a moment, for you to convince her that it was something along the lines of meant to be. In between the two of you, she is more of a realist, guiding you back to the ground with a gentle reminder. The beginning was all passion, every shared moment spent with the intent to have more tomorrow's. It was a breath of a fresh air, being with Elise. You couldn't deny that you'd follow her to the ends of the earth, so long as her eyes twinkled with the promise of adventure. There was something to be said of the way she could convince you to do anything without her even asking you to. But regardless of what you'd hoped for, the plans you'd whisper to each other over pillows and under sheets, your world would stop spinning not long after she took her last breath. It was something you'd only just begun to be aware of, her life's work involved with the Templars. To come out of the world the two of you painstakingly built for yourselves was beyond impossible - only to face the reality that your person that you'd loved so much was nothing more than a memory.

I firmly believe Jacob needs a partner in crime. To be fair, you were in the London crime scene long before Jacob ever made his way to the city. He's an opportunist at best, and he couldn't deny he envied your power and authority. The first option was to take it from you and try as he did, you were not relinquishing it to some boy from the country. No, instead you took the opportunity to teach him, show him the ropes. Which was fairly generous of you considering where he started. It didn't take long for him to catch on, and he gained popularity with a group he began calling the blighters. You didn't mind, not really, he wasn't a threat to you. In fact, you didn't mind reminding him that you could take whatever power he had away whenever he got too cocky. As his own group grew, an alliance formed. It was working out fairly well for the two of you, and meetings between both of you turned into drinks at the pub turned into nights shared. From the first night spent together, your dynamic shifted. You tried to reason that it was a one-time occasion and avoided being alone with him as much as possible for weeks afterward. It was harder to deal with him than you usually would. When it happened again, there was no denying that there was something between you two, and while you figured the new relationship out, things were especially strained. Jacob had a difficult time learning that while you were together, it didn't earn him a right to go about demanding things of you. It wasn't fair to you, you had a lot more people to keep happy and alive than Jacob's ever-changing will. After a while, the learning process weaned and your groups flourished once more. There were rumors of the two of you being together intimately, which you didn't bother dignifying, though Jacob couldn't help but let onto it. Which was fine by you, for the most part, it didn't gain or lose respect amongst your group, and you cared little what Jacob's Blighters thought of it. Eventually, though, his group got used to it too.

Evie is the type to sort of ease into a relationship like it's definitely a friends-to-lovers scenario. It's not something she seeks out. No, it's sort of a surprise. Like one day, she'll look at you, her friend, and realize she doesn't want to spend another moment pretending she doesn't love you. I think she's sort of intense, the way she loves, and innocent too? Since it's so unexpected for her, she never thought of a romantic attraction the way she has with you. In becoming an Assassin, she figured it wasn't in the cards for her. Almost resigning herself to the fact that she would likely live alone for the rest of her life. When she met you, she was grateful for your friendship - already feeling less alone than she did previously. You became routine in the best way possible, in that seeing you was something she looked forward to every week, and then every other day, and then every day. It happened so gradually, you almost didn't see it either, though you felt it. You felt it in the way you wished she was there on an especially long trip away, you felt it when she'd told you the truth about her life and her work and her beliefs, you felt it in the way you'd find yourself standing close to her, arms brushing in a way that felt more than friendly though without a name. And while you might expect a big scene immediately (a proposal of feelings maybe?) that seems more Jacob's route. No, Evie doubts every interaction, wonders constantly if you feel the same as she does. Outwardly, some may never know the thoughts that ran rampant through her mind, acting normal as ever. You though, who has spent countless hours and time together can see clearly that something is off, though she's trying to deny it. It's subtle instead, flowers gifted between the pages in your book, all deliberately picked and placed - each flower with meaning she hopes you'll understand. Meanwhile, you're thinking how you're overthinking it, that, of course, she didn't pick a rose because she loves me, we're friends?? It's not until the two of you are alone, in private, that she kisses you, soft and gentle and romantically sweet, that you two finally and completely understand.

Shaun is absolutely a teacher at heart. So it's not far off that his trope would be learning to love. It's always been a passion of his, learning things and storing the knowledge up. Not many want to hear what he has to say, and that's alright only because he's used to it. Then you, a hopeful recruit come along. At first, you're nothing more than a nuisance. He's not used to the attention you're willing to give him, the way your eyes gleam at him when he mentions something about the history of the Brotherhood has him rolling his eyes before he can stop himself. At first, he doesn't want to stop himself, especially when he can't ignore you entirely. But you wear him down, after all, you're nothing if not persistent, and he's not going to ignore the fact that he likes when you ask a question he can answer easily. Rebecca is the first to notice - maybe even before either one of you does. That you linger for a moment, despite having asked all possible questions, and that the second your back is turned towards him, he's looking to where you were as if waiting for one more question. It becomes entirely too apparent when you're on a mission, captured by Abstergo long enough that they're not sure if they can get you back - and if they do, who you'll be after. The next time he sees you, you're a shell of the person you used to be. The light you had in your eyes was dim, almost nonexistent. For weeks, Shaun makes it his mission to come to you. Your positions reversed, it would've been sweet if it weren't so painful. Instead, he asks you questions, quiet ones, about your life before you became an assassin, and when you became more cognizant and more willing, he asks questions about what happened to you there. The day he feels true hope, is when you overhear a conversation between him and William Miles outside your room. He fully expects to begin asking you questions but you stop him before he sets foot in the door. Out of the blue, in a quiet voice he's still not used to, he hears your inflection and a question fall from your lips.

Desmond Miles is the first love trope. It's a relationship that you don't choose, it chooses you. You meet him in New York City, not long after he first moves there. There's something about the way he seems so unsure of himself, he's not even fresh out of high school and he seems so incredibly lost. More than anything it's endearing, and you find yourself drawn to him. The first day you met him, you skipped an entire day of classes just to show him around the city. Your heart breaks when you hear that he doesn't have a place to go - and you find yourself begging your parents before you can help yourself. They agree, though it's only a temporary solution, and they ask more questions than Desmond can take - he doesn't stay long there. To be fair, he doesn't tell you much either about his past, his childhood. It's not until he's older, twenty or so before he makes jokes about it, never serious enough for you to fully understand the depth of the situation. Still, you two stick by each other. He gets an apartment by himself and to your parent's dismay, your college choice is based on wherever Desmond was going to be. It's not even that they didn't like him, because they did, it's just the mysterious aura you found to be alluring was concerning to them. When Abstergo kidnapped him, you assumed he left in the dead of night. For too long, you waited for him to come back, though he never would. Your parents figured that this would happen, honestly more shocked it took him so long to. It would've been without a trace, his life in New York if it weren't for the baby.

[thatcrazycrowgirl]

@elizabeth1972​:

Never did this before, but how about assassin version of Shay kissing a Templar that he doesn't know is a Templar trying to hide from the bad guys. After the kiss the Templar says Fluff 9 (Are we on a date now?)  I know, I'm silly.

(Thank you for your patience while I worked on this! I wrote it from the prospective of the reader being the Templar, as it was just easier to write it that way. I hope you don’t mind.)

Shay Patrick Cormac was good-hearted, loyal...and at the stage of his life where he hadn’t quite learned about needing to be careful who you associate with.

However, when one suddenly find themselves running through town with a total stranger who, only moments ago, they were simply having some flirtatious conversation with in a local tavern, they don’t usually think about those things.

“So, tell me again why these men are after you?” he asked as the two of you scrambled up a wall towards the rooftop.

“Long story, no time to explain!” you shouted back, ducking behind a chimney to avoid the copious amount of bullets being shot in your direction. However, that was only half the truth, as you weren’t going to spill about your dealings within the Templar Order to just anyone.

Particularly if the rumors you heard about this young man being an Assassin were true.

The two of your kept running, until soon you ran out of rooftop. Looking down, you both saw a large haystack.

“Alright, jump!” Shay ordered.

Your eyes widened as you turned to look at him. “You can’t be serious!”

“Well, unless you want to stand here and allow yourself to become riddled with bullet holes, I’d recommend it!” Without another word, he leapt from the roof and dived into the haystack below.

Knowing you had no other choice, given that the men chasing you were closing in, you said a silent prayer towards the sky and leapt.

Fortunately, the landing wasn’t as hard as you thought’d it be, and grabbing your hand, Shay pulled you out.

“Come on, this way!”

Not knowing what else to do, you willing obeyed, allowing him to drag you along behind him.

Soon, he yanked you into a rather small and cramped alleyway, in hopes of not being discovered.

“Why here?” you asked breathlessly. “They’re bound to run by and see our faces immediately!”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Shay muttered, appearing to be thinking about something. He then turned towards you and added: “given the current situation, I do hope you’ll forgive me for this.”

You didn’t have time to wonder what he meant before his lips came crashing down onto yours. Reflexively, your arms threw themselves around his neck as he pushed against the wall that was darkened by shadows.

While the kiss had initially been a way to simply blend in to your surrounds and avoid the men chasing you, you found that the longer the kiss lasted, the less you were thinking about that. Your fingers wove themselves through Shay’s hair as he hands gripped your waist tighter. Soft moans were exchanged and the heat between your bodies increased.

It wasn’t until you heard the voices of the pursuing men pass by, yelling about splitting up and how you and Shay couldn’t have gotten far, that you slowly began to come to your senses.

Once those voices faded into the distance, the two of you finally broke apart.

You stared at each other for a few seconds, before you looked away, glancing towards the street to make sure the men were actually gone.

“That’s was lucky!” you panted as you turned back towards Shay.

“Only because I made it so,” he winked - equally just as out of breath.

For the next few moments, the two of you were silent, as you tried to regain your normal breathing patterns. (Well that, and neither of you really knew what to say about that kiss that was undoubtedly on both of your minds.)

After another few seconds, you tried to break the ice.

“So...are we on a date now?” you asked teasingly.

He paused for a moment - clearly not expecting such a question. But then, he slowly smiled. “Well...the night is young, and if you’re not preoccupied with anyone else chasing you...perhaps we both could use another drink to try and calm our nerves after what just happened,” he suggested. “What do you say? Will you join me?”

You had meant the question to be just a joke to alleviate the clear sexual tension that was still hanging heavily in the air, but you couldn’t deny that in the short amount of time, the young man had made quite an impression on you. An impression so strong that you were seriously considering taking him up on his offer. Besides, surely the rumors of Shay Cormac being an Assassin were just that - rumors.

So, settling on that notion without another moment’s thought, you smiled.

“I’d love to.”

[sweetcocopowder]

Day Twenty One: Gentle Sex

Kinktober Masterlist will be posted after October

Synopsis: Two decades without seeing those red sails one would think that Haytham would forget them after awhile. But no one could forget the Morrigan and her Captain. Of course he couldn't forget Shay. It would be blasphemy.

And oh, how has he missed him.

Word Count: 6.3K

Genre: Assassin's Creed

Pairing: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Warnings: Gentle sex/Feelings/Anal/Fingering/Blowjob

He had messed up with his own son. Yet at the same time it could also be blamed on him for not seeing the bigger picture. His son’s temper is something that really gets under Haytham’s skin and yet he knows where he inherited it from. It’s like looking into a mirror, but he mostly sees his mother in that reflection. It should sadden him, it truly does but at the same time it angers him so. Angers him that he didn’t spend more time with her or even go back. That he didn’t know he had a son until he was full grown.

Yet, he could argue with himself that his mind needed to be truly focused on the Templars. Even thinking the thought only brings Haytham more guilt to his already heavy heart. The only person he can be rightfully angry at though is himself. It’s only his own actions that lead to all of this. He is a Grandmaster after all. He has duties elsewhere. How could he have known anyways.

Maybe in another life time. But not now. What done is done, that river has already been crossed. Maybe he can try and fix what he has with his son. But Connor is very much in his own ways, strong minded to what he believes in. Like himself.

Haytham releases a small sigh at the stressful thought. He rubs his rubs with his thumb and fore finger as a headache can be felt coming along. He truly has gotten himself into a hard place.

The trip back to Boston was a long one, but the familiar streets finally come into view and Haytham makes his way to the Green Dragon along the docks. The sea breeze is familiar, but the city stink is something that is not welcoming. A frown is so deep cut into his features that any passer-by would think that’s his usual resting face. That it’s permanently stuck like that.

That the saying for children, the wind will change, was true.

The locals see him so often around here now that they know not to bother him. They know that he is another grouchy British man that has moved here against his will. And he had, so they’re not wrong there. From past events of sourness to them they know not to make conversation with him. Always on a mission he hears. Always got somewhere to go. Which isn’t wrong. It feels like ever since he stepped foot in America every day has been filled with something.

His frown doesn’t stay for long though. For it’s not the children laughing and playing around a fish stall that gets rid of it. For it’s not the old woman smiling at him with frail eyes that gets him to smile back. Nor is it the two dogs running down the street with two teenage boys.

It’s the tattered red sails with black wolves on them that has his face as wide as a saucepan. His feet are planted to the brick street and he feels his heart squeeze. He hasn’t seen those sails in what feels like a lifetime but he’d know them anywhere.  

He’s back.

The Morrigan sits in the harbour of Boston with all her crew. Scurrying around on deck and unloading cargo with shouts and yelps. From where he stands he can see someone ordering them around. But it’s definitely not him.

Still in awe, Haytham makes his way over to the side of the Morrigan. Zig zagging around her crew and other Boston civilians taking in the old ship. She is an old girl, not one like the newer ships these days with all their fancy looks and what nots. She has seen her days, but her captain has made sure she still shines. He gets to the plank that connects the ship to the harbour and watches the man that is ordering everyone around.

It takes him a moment to realize who he’s staring at. Mister Christopher Gist. All grey and cut clean now. He is sporting a full beard and his hair is much shorter than it once was. That hat he always wore is long forgotten but he wears a pair of specks instead on his nose. When Gist finally sees the Grandmaster down below, he has to do a double take.

“Master Kenway!” He bellows out.

His voice is still the same and despite how long it’s been, Haytham can already tell it’s going to get on his nerves again.

“Mr. Gist!” Haytham calls back. “It is good to see you!”

Gist makes his way down the plank and on dock. He shakes Haytham’s hand, patting his upper arm.

“It been what!? Twenty-one years!?” Gist exclaims loudly.

“What are you doing in Boston?” Haytham asks a little too eagerly.

The first mate gives a short chuckle. “We found the box, sir.”

 Haytham suddenly feels light headed. As if he’s going to float off. They found it. He found it. Haytham doesn’t let it show but he’s more than thrilled. After so many years they’re back. Shay found it.

“Where is the box?” Haytham asks, a little too enthusiastic for his own ears.

“Actually, Shay went to the Green Dragon to find you,” Gist says with another chuckle. “He wanted it to be the first thing as soon as we docked.”

With another shake of their hands and a goodbye, Haytham is off to the Green Dragon leaving Gist on the dock. He had told Shay of the tavern when he had joined. He had asked about other Templar hideouts in case his search took him away from New York. And to think Haytham was just on his way there. If he hadn’t stopped at the Morrigan he could have bumped into Shay sooner.

He would have most likely had a heart attack at the sight of him. The thought of walking casually into the tavern for only to bump into a man he hasn’t seen in two decades.

Haytham’s pace is quick, moving down the street with a skip in his step as soon as the Green Dragon comes into view. He swings the door open a little too aggressively but keeps his composure as his eyes dart around the place.

It takes him a moment to recognise the man, the mental image of young Shay still in his mind. But there he is.

Shay doesn’t wear the red and black Templar colours and has instead swapped out for blue fabrics and a brown leather coat. His temples are beginning to go grey but he still has his hair tide back out of his face. His face has even changed. Into something harder, wiser and calmer.

At the sound of the door swinging open, Shay stares at Haytham with wide eyes. It’s as if time stands still for a moment. The two stare at each other for what feels like ages and everyone in the tavern either thinks too things. These two are two idiots, or they’re going to start throwing fists.

Shay excuses himself from talking to Catherine and meets Haytham halfway. The two stare at each other before Shay engulfs Haytham in a tight hug. Catherine behind him lets out a startled gasp, waiting for Haytham to push this newcomer off. But Haytham smiles as he pats Shay lightly on the back. Shay steps back and looks at the Grandmaster up and down with a wide grin on his own face.

“Master Kenway,” Shay breathes out. “By God, is it good to see you.”

He hadn’t forgotten Shay’s voice. Forgotten the finer details to his face. And Haytham can’t seem to look away.

Haytham has so many things to ask. So many things we wants to tell Shay. He wants to know everything that went on for Shay in these twenty years. He wants to hold onto him and not let go this time. But not here, not when he has an appearance to keep up. Not when a stranger just man handled Haytham Kenway and wasn’t stabbed for it.

“I wish for us to speak more privately, Shay,” Haytham says firmly, reminding the other of where they are.

Shay seems to collect himself and gives a short nod. “Lead the way, sir,” he says with a little bow and his hand gestured outwards.

Wherever he learned that, Haytham is going to kill him for it.

“I have my own place in Boston, we’ll talk further there if you’d like,” Haytham quirks an eyebrow.

Shay nods with a slight bow, his hand gestured outwards towards the door.

“After you,” he smiles warmly.

Haytham has to turn quickly and cover his face with his hat to hide the redness he can feel coming over his cheeks. He will have to admit that Shay has achieved some charm in his time away. He is a completely different man to the cocky, revenge filled one he knew so long ago. Shay follows him out of the tavern and walks by his side.

“How is your wellbeing?” Haytham asks to break the silence.

He’s tense on the inside. Wanting to ask Shay all these questions. But for professional reasons on the street and out in a public eye he needs to keep his stoic appearance.

“I’ve been good, Haytham. My travel has taken me to many places but I’ll wait to tell you the details that shouldn’t be heard to prying ears,” Shay responds with a warm smile.

A gesture that has one coming to Haytham’s own. The rest of the walk to the Grandmaster’s is peaceful and calm. They speak about mundane things. Like the weather or Shay’s sailing. How the Morrigan has kept up with him all these years and how she’s best to retire soon. But Shay doesn’t want to let her go. Doesn’t think he could until he’s in the ground or she’s at the bottom of the sea.

At some point, he had mentioned, he would have loved to passed it down to his children. But children in the future is something far away. The thought of Shay being a father brings something to his chest. Something warm.  

Maybe Shay could be a better father than he has been to Connor.

When they arrive at Haytham’s, the host unlocks his front door and lets Shay in with an outstretched hand. He follows in, watching Shay look around the place with a small sense of awe. He leads the Captain to the living room that sits on the far left corner of his house.

Haytham hangs his own coat and hat on the hook in the hallway, letting Shay look around. They’ve almost fallen into a familiar, comfortable attitude around each other. Even after so many years, this feels, normal.  

Haytham comes to the doorway of the living room, spotting Shay looking closely at his décor.

“Would you like a drink?” He asks.

Shay quickly jerks up, looking away from a model ship on his bookshelf. Almost like a kid being caught red handed with their hand in the biscuit tin.

“Something strong,” Shay answers with a smile. “I’ve realized that drink over seas is somewhat watered down compared to here.”

Haytham nods. “I reckon it’s only because American’s need the harsher stuff to get through the absolute trouble they get themselves in to.”

“I can agree on that.”

Haytham leaves the room to fetch two crystal glasses and his best whiskey. Something he’s been saving for a special occasion like this. It’s still three quarters full and he can’t remember the last time he opened it. Or why he opened it.

He comes back to Shay having discarded his heavy coat, making himself comfortable. But Haytham is able to see that even after all these years, the man has kept himself in check. He almost seems broader in the shoulders and the waist. But nothing on the side of letting oneself go. No, it’s muscle. Something someone could only achieve by being at sea their entire life. Even his once pale face has become sun kissed and reddened at the cheeks.

He sets the two glasses down on the coffee table, focusing on the task at hand and not on Shay. He pours the whiskey before sitting down on the couch opposite of Shay. He picks up his own glass and takes a generous sip out of it.

“Alright, Shay. Report back to me,” Haytham gestures his glass towards the other with amusement in his voice.

Shay begins at the start. From the moment he set sailed a month after he dropped Haytham at New York, to the moment he heard of Haytham Kenway still operating in Boston. The topic of Connor came up. Shay had heard of him from the French Assassins. The small welt of pride that bloomed in Haytham should have been something hideous. But to know that his son’s reputation had reached all that way was truly something to ponder about.

But one thing the is clear. Shay does not know of Connor’s relations to Haytham.

And he doesn’t tell Shay of who Connor is. Keeps that to himself. Why? Why does he feel this need to withhold the information? Maybe, maybe because at the corner of Haytham’s mind it will always be there that Shay came from the Assassins. Was raised in their ways, learned their ways, spoke their ways.

Yet Shay is a Templar. Has done many things for them, for him. But Shay isn’t like himself or like the others. With how much Shay would deny it, the man still walks like one. Still thinks like them in a way. Still uses their weapons even though that thought alone is hypocritical.

Who is Haytham to judge though. His own father, flesh and blood was an assassin. For as much as Haytham knows, he was going to raise him as one as well. All those sword lessons and literature teachers weren’t for nothing. And his own son walks the way his father wanted Haytham to. Could say it’s ironic it skipped a generation.

But all in all, Haytham hasn’t seen Shay in over twenty years. Who is he to know what goes inside Shay’s mind these days. He came back with the box. After twenty years. An entire lifetime spent away searching for one thing because of his own moral code. Because he wanted a safer world. Now, who is Haytham to judge for that.

Despite all of this though, he can’t help the fondness he holds for Shay. The yearning ache that grips his cold heart. And why judge, when the man before him has probably seen more in his life than Haytham. Been places that Haytham has never stepped foot in. Been searching for this blasted box for half his life. For him. All because Haytham asked. All because of duty for the Order.

And here they are. Going grey as wrinkles crack at their once young faces. Crow’s feet now dancing on their cheeks that don’t go away when their faces are placid. A slowness to their motions that come with the ache in the joints that were once so easy to move in youth. No thought of how their daily activities would now venture into their years to form into grunts of pain when they wake up in the morning.

When Shay reveals the box from within his coat, Haytham can’t help the shaky exhale that withers his body. The man holds it out to him and with a gentle touch, Haytham takes it.

It’s lighter than expected. It almost feels fragile. Like it’s going to fall to dust in his hands and blow away at a small breath. But it doesn’t. It stays solid in his hands. It’s almost buzzes against his skin, but Haytham can’t quite put the sensation that’s emitting from the box.

All those years. For this. Shay searched too long for this. But his determination is a strong one Haytham will admit. A sort of, bitterness comes across him suddenly. He squeezes the box a little too tightly that he has to put it down on the table in front of him before he does anything stupid.

Haytham clears his throat. “Well done, Shay,” he says professionally. “I knew I sent the right man.”

“The only man you could.”

Haytham’s dark blue eyes dart up from the box to the hunter with a frown. There’s a cockiness to Shay’s voice that brings an itch to Haytham’s tongue. One that wants to snap, but he finds himself he can’t. There’s too much on his mind he wants to say.

He looks out the window instead and only now realizes just how long they’ve been conversating. The street lamps are on and the night is dark.

“Are you staying on the Morrigan tonight?” Haytham changes the topic. “Or have you booked a room nearby?”

Shay gives a light chuckle that it almost isn’t audible. “To be honest, I truly didn’t get that far, Haytham.”

Before Haytham realizes what he’s saying, he declares out something his heart wants, “I have a spare room here already set up. I think you’ve already spent too much time on your ship. I can only guess you’re sick of it a little.”

This brings a smile to the other man’s face. “I do suppose here would be better than that old ship. I won’t ever get tired of her, but maybe a change of scenery is a must. Thank you, Haytham.”

The Grandmaster stands up from his place and grabs onto the Precursor Box as he does. He looks it over one last time, before holding it out to Shay.

“Keep it with you. Hide it somewhere only you and your cold grave know. I do not care,” Haytham instructs. “Don’t let it in Assassin hands again.”

Shay takes it from him and places it back within his coat. “I’ll take it to my grave then, sir,” he speaks firmly.

That answer alone has a cold edge to it. A promise to death. Like a soft kiss that grows to something more. Something that Haytham knows Shay will keep to.

-

They have dinner out that night. At a small high-class place that only Haytham knows about amongst the others in the Order. He likes to get away here and keep to himself. Away from everything in life.

The fact that he’s sharing it with Shay, no second thought to do so, should mean a lot to the Irishman if he knew it’s significance. But yet again, Haytham doesn’t tell him the minor details. He keeps it to himself, knowing how much it means to him.

They dine but don’t drink. Both of them wanting to remember tonight. They talk about nothing but everything all at once. Of the little stories that Shay didn’t mention in his long report before. Of the minor things he did when the lead for the box was cold. He learns a many of things, how Gist almost died in a storm from here to Europe early in their voyage. How he had lost half of his original crew to a run in with the navy that mistook him for pirates out at sea. But the Morrigan had never fought so furiously that day. Shay thought she would have joined the sea but somehow, through the canon smoke, they survived.

Death has shaken hands with Shay many a times, but yet not taken him. He still breathes and laughs. Still has the privilege to have his hair go grey unlike many others he’s left behind. Same could be said for Haytham.

In this line of work, in the line of the Templars, not many get to see their head of hair go fully grey. Not many can say they lived a good life. Haytham couldn’t lie about that. Neither could Shay. The scar on his face tells the truth.

-

Once home, the hour late, Shay bids Haytham a good night. Haytham stands outside of his own room and watches the other pass him. A tug comes to his chest, knowing that after so long, he’ll have to sleep alone once again. Without even thinking, he reaches out and grabs onto Shay’s hand. He stops dead in his tracks, and he looks straight at Haytham. He waits for him to say something.

“I-“

Before Shay had left, Haytham had known with confidence where they stood with each other. Their private relationship being something of comfort for one another. But now a whole lifetime has passed before them without each other. Would Shay even still want him? All grey and old. A man that’s grown even sterner and crueller over time. Someone that still lies to him even after all these years. Someone that has forgotten the touch of the other, has missed it. Has yearned to hear the other’s voice again, having forgotten that Irish accent but will know who it is when he hears it.

And holding Shay’s hand, he realizes how calloused his palms are. A sailor’s hand. A hand that squeezes his own as Shay comes forward. He looks to the ground, not being able to make eye contact with the other at the moment. Oh, only if the other Templars were here to see their Grandmaster right now. A loss of words and falling apart because of a man.  

“It has been a long time is all,” is all Haytham manages to get out.  

A hand cups his face and raises it so that Haytham can look into the same dark brown eyes he grew so comfortable with. Even after all these years, he’s glad those that his eyes haven’t changed.

“It’s been a lifetime,” Shay almost recites Haytham’s thoughts from before. As if reading the man’s worries.

It’s Haytham that moves forward slowly, hesitating over Shay’s lips before kissing him softly. And the bliss that comes over Haytham, the pure content he feels right now as Shay returns the notion is something similar to floating. He deepens the kiss, needing more. Holding onto the front of Shay’s shirt so that he doesn’t fall forward with how light he becomes in the head.

The kiss is as if picking up a hobby you haven’t done in months. The first few tries you don’t get it, but after the rest it’s like one’s body takes over. Muscle memory kicks in. And kissing Shay now is different yet so similar to all those years ago.  

But he breaks the kiss before he does fall over, inhaling deeply through his nose. He stays close to Shay, breathing in the saltiness the man always seems to hold. That now seems to be part of him with how long he’s been at sea.

“Will you join me in bed?” Haytham asks, his voice all but a whisper.

“I’d love to.”

With their hands still interlocked, Haytham opens the door and leads them inside. The room is large, bigger than the spare room. The bed is big enough for a whole family, but it’s the only thing that Haytham finds himself being able to sleep on. Everything else either too small or he finds himself thrashing too much in his sleep with how vivid his dreams can be some nights. But tonight. Tonight, it is to be shared with another.

Shay brings Haytham in for another kiss with hands on either side of his face, this one much deeper than the last. He backs Haytham up until the backs of his knees hit the bed, their lips and tongues not leaving one another for a moment.

But they have to part for air. And Shay takes this second to begin undressing him. His intention is nothing out of desperation though. He takes his time, dark eyes watching his own finger movement intently so that he doesn’t make a mistake with the buttons or the lacing on Haytham’s clothes.

When Haytham’s top half is thrown behind Shay, he is pushed back to sit on the bed. All so that Shay can undo his boots. It’s like Shay has just fallen back into something long forgotten. How many moments has he thought of Haytham just like Haytham has thought of him? Has he yearned the same? Felt the same ache in his heart?

“You still care too much, Shay,” Haytham murmurs out.

It’s not an insult. No, it’s said with almost a hint of melancholy from a time before. From a conversation they had decades ago in a situation similar to now. And it has Shay smiling.

“I always have,” he replies back as he pulls the last shoe off.

Shay stands straight once more and shuffles off his coat where it thumps on the floor next to Haytham’s. Dark eyes look over Haytham’s frame with a soft smile. Despite being in his fifties now, the man’s body is still one of strength. It may be a bit softer in some areas than Shay remembers, it may be a bit spotter with freckles and age spots but none of those matters. It’s still Haytham.

Shay strips the rest of his clothing, his vest, his shirt and his pants and boots. He is younger than Haytham, so his body hasn’t been touched by age as much as Haytham’s. But there are still a lot of changes. And Haytham can’t help but look over the new scars that litter his body. Some stark white against his already sun kissed skin to some that are pink and ugly.

Not to Haytham though. Haytham reaches out, bringing Shay forward and lets his hands feel over the scars that weren’t there before. He shuffles up the bed so that Shay can lean over him, chasing his lips. The bedding is soft and Haytham almost sinks into it all, loosing himself in it. But Shay finds him.

“After so long, how would you have it tonight, Haytham?” Shay asks softly, his face inches away from Haytham’s.

A million things go through Haytham’s head. So much he would like to do. But one thing does stand clear as day. He would just like to take this slow. He just needs to feel Shay close to him. Wants Shay to take him with something akin to a feeling of bittersweetness.

“I just need you tonight,” Haytham breathes out.

At that, Shay gently kisses him. Softly, like a brush of air before he kisses his cheek, then his chin. He makes his way down Haytham’s neck to his collarbone. Slowly, as if making sure that he gets everything. And each kiss feels like a spark of a fire. Something that feels so foreign yet so wanted at the same time. He hasn’t been worshipped like this since Shay left. He hasn’t had a gentle touch since Shay left. He hasn’t felt pure, unconditional love since the only one that sees him left.

Shay hooks his fingers in Haytham’s pants and pulls them off, throwing them on top of the pile of others. Haytham’s dick is almost fully hard already, all this touching and kissing going straight to him. Shay seems to have always had the effect on him and hasn’t lost it.

Haytham props himself up on his elbows as Shay’s pink lips ghost over his crotch. Shay slithers a hand around his dick, giving Haytham a few slow strokes to bring him to full hardness. And when Shay wraps his mouth around the head of his cock is when Haytham can’t help the shaky exhale that escapes his lips.

Shay only sucks and works at the head of Haytham’s dick all while he softly strokes the rest of him. It may not be enough for some, but in Haytham’s age it’s doing a lot. And he may be grateful that Shay knows this with his own age. He doesn’t think they could do the things they once did from their youth.

In their youth, Shay could easily thrown him onto a table and taken him. One time they had hidden away below deck on the Morrigan and taken each other. Their touch filled with something young and desperate then. As if the moment would slip away from them easily. As if someone would catch them and tell them to bugger off. But now, tonight feels so much different.

Tonight feels like returning to something long lost. Something that has changed yet, it hasn’t at the same time. It’s only grown into something more. Something more mellow but the same amount of love and adoration is there for one another. Nothing has slipped away. Nothing has blown away in the years.

And with that, Shay has Haytham withering and shaking from a simple blowjob. His soft pants is almost music to Shay’s ears, something he’s long missed. He comes off of Haytham’s dick with a string of saliva connecting them. He licks his lips, tasting Haytham on them and wishing the other could as well. He moves up Haytham’s body slowly again, hands running up his side until they stop at his chest.

Then Shay kisses Haytham with his tongue having the full intension of the other tasting himself. It only has Haytham wanting more. Threading his fingers in Shay’s hair and undoing the little band in it, letting his locks fall onto his shoulders. It’s grown long but it’s apparent Shay likes to keep a certain length.

Shay pulls away slowly, letting Haytham come forward in need for more. Haytham finally opens his eyes and looks to Shay with a dazed stare, lost in the heat that coils and buzzes at every fibre of his being.

“Do you keep oil here?” Shay asks the important question quietly.

Haytham exhales a short chuckle. “Over in the draw. Across the room.”

Shay gets up off the bed, leaving Haytham cold where he lays. But the view that Haytham can admire makes up for it. Shay struts across the room to the drawer and opens the top one, peering inside and ruffling around. And Haytham can’t take his eyes off of the other.

The searching man finally finds what he’s after and plucks it out with a small noise a triumph. When Shay turns, he meets the gaze that hasn’t left him since his absence. He walks back with the bottle in hand and shuffles himself back onto the bed between Haytham’s legs.

“Miss me?” Shay jokes.

“Dearly.”

With a pop of the cork in the bottle, Shay pours a small amount into his hand. He doesn’t want to spill a drop onto Haytham’s bedding even though it might get ruined later on. He lathers himself up, then pours a bit more onto his hand again and comes to Haytham’s ass.

Haytham, will be honest with himself, hasn’t done this in a while. He opens his legs a bit more so that Shay can work him easier. He doesn’t realize he’s tensing until a warm hand splays itself on his stomach.

“Breathe, Haytham,” Shay assures. “It’s just me.”

It’s just Shay.

He inhales and relaxes. It may be years, but it’s Shay. Tonight, it’s just them. No one else. No one else knows where Haytham is tonight, nor do they know that Shay is with him. Only the moon can whisper their secrets to the stars but even they won’t tell their stories to the mortals down below.

The first finger slips in easy, but it’s a foreign feeling. Shay works Haytham slowly, waiting for his stomach to relax once again before slipping in a second finger. This has Haytham grunting deep in his throat. His dick twitches slightly as Shay eases him.

“You’re doing great, Haytham,” Shay reassures again.

With such a coy, Haytham would snap. But the small praise goes straight to his gut, almost making him feeling light. In all his years, he never would have thought that such simple words could make him feel such a way. Especially from a particular Irishman.  

When the third finger slips in, a dull painful stretch has him hissing. But Shay takes his time, making sure that he’s able to work Haytham open so that the next step he wants to achieve isn’t as painful. When Haytham is relaxed from the stretch and that the only noises that come from him are soft huffs and deep moans, is when Shay takes out his fingers.

The loss of touch has Haytham almost asking for more. But he holds his tongue, not wanting to be perceived as some needy old man that is severely touch starved. He may of already come off as that, but he doesn’t need it to be said out loud.

Shay pours another lot of oil into his hand and this time, lathers up his own untouched dick. He puts on bit of a display as he doesn’t let his hooded eyes leave Haytham. The hunger inside of him only grows for this man. The want is something dangerous on the verge of desperation. Over two decades without Shay. God, Haytham hasn’t truly realises how long it has been. He’s been dived into his work, focusing on many other things for the Order. Forgetting what day it is at some points or what month.

When Shay deems himself slicked up enough, he lines himself up to Haytham. He doesn’t go right in, not just yet. He waits. He waits for Haytham to become impatient, and he waits for the dark glare to be sent his way. The one that anyone that doesn’t know Haytham like Shay to cower away. But to Shay, he smirks in the face of danger.

“Shay, don’t keep me waiting any longer,” Haytham inquires.

A small pang of guilt suddenly strikes Shay’s gut. One that makes him regret being cocky in this type of situation. He leans down to Haytham and kisses him softly, caressing his lips with his own.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against rosy lips.

Slowly now, slowly he pushes into Haytham and watches as the man’s face scrunches up under him. Haytham’s mouth falling open and brows furrowing. It’s truly a wonder, and Shay takes every moment in.

The pure aching want fills Haytham that isn’t quite satisfied right now. He needs more of Shay. He tries to wrap is legs around Shay’s waist to push more of him, wriggling his hips. But all he is met with is another kiss that distracts him. Haytham holds onto Shay as if he’s going to slip away.

Shay moves his hips slowly, grinding down and pushing more of his dick in slowly. The oil does wonders, letting Shay move with ease. Haytham pulls away from the kiss, having to catch his breath. The feeling of having Shay so close, of having Shay in him, of having the man’s breath on his lips is all too surreal.

He holds onto the Shay, getting lost in everything. The Captain still smells of the ocean despite them being out all night. As if the ocean has attached itself it him, wedged itself into his skin. It will be a sad day to see that ship retired. But Haytham doesn’t think Shay would truly be able to let her up. He’s sailed too long with the Morrigan it would be like saying goodbye to a friend for the last time.

Without even realizing, the simple thought strikes a hard cord in Haytham. A cord that he has spent years not touching nor not even wanting to bring up in conversation.

Haytham exhales shakily and quickly brings a hand to cover his face, feeling the wetness on his palm. It almost shocks him. That these are his own tears. But the tightness in his throat and chest only come forth tenfold. Shay looks to him with wide eyes as a small noise escapes Haytham’s throat, his movements stopping instantly.

He keeps his eyes covered, not wanting Shay to see him like this. But Shay pries his hand off all so that they can look at each other. All watery and teary, Haytham can’t even stand the thought of seeing him like this.

“Oh, Haytham,” Shay breathes the words as if he’s speaking to someone he loves.

And maybe it’s true. And maybe Haytham has just never had anyone speak to him like this. Look at him with such adoration that it has Haytham second guessing everything. All because, only now realizing, he doesn’t know what true love is supposed to look like.

And yet here Shay is. After all these years, he’s here. Still wanting Haytham. He still came back for him. He could have very easily gone off after finding the box. Gone off to never be seen or heard of again. But not Shay. And maybe tonight has restored something long broken inside of Haytham without even realizing it.

Haytham huffs his last and looks to Shay, a stray tear slipping form his eye. Shay wipes it up and then cups his face gently.

“I’m not sending you away again,” Haytham manages to whisper out without his voice shaking.

At this, Shay smiles warmly. Something that makes his brown eyes sparkle. Something that Haytham always liked, even though his eyes are so dark, they seem to shine brighter than anyone else’s. Even after everything he’s seen. After all the fighting and all the death. He still smiles and laughs.  

Shay plants a soft kiss over Haytham’s teary eye. A gesture that hasn’t ever been lent to Haytham before but it’s welcome all the same. The gentleness that Haytham receives from Shay is something he hasn’t received in his entire life. It’s as if tonight is on stand still, this room a moment that will never be forgotten all while the world goes on around them. Never knowing what has gone on under this roof.  

Finally, Shay answers softly. Soft enough that only Haytham can hear and no one else. Not even the moon, not even her stars. Just for Haytham and the moment that holds this room.

[sweetcocopowder]

Day Thirty One: Werewolf

Kinktober Masterlist will be posted after October

Synopsis: A blood full moon is it's way and Haytham has had a past experience with a werewolf turning feral on a night like this. He just hopes that Shay isn't the same.

Word Count: 4.7K

Genre: Assassin's Creed Rogue

Pairing: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Warnings: Werewolf stuff/Tongue stuff/Size Kink/Ass fucking/Man handling or shit like that/that word for monster fucking/rough sex

Haytham doesn’t knock or make himself known as he enters Shay’s manor. The owner of the estate doesn’t even peer up from his papers he’s currently nose deep in. Striding across open foyer, Haytham throws the newspaper in front of Shay on his table. The man doesn’t even look up to Haytham, only frowning at the paper that has ever so rudely interrupted his reading.

It’s folded open on one of the last pages where the times of the tides are, and the moon cycles are for the month. With a little hesitance, Shay picks up the newspaper and gives a quick skim. His brows furrow and he looks closer at what he is seeing in front of him.  

“A blood, full moon?” Shay asks more to himself.

Haytham pulls out a chair for himself on the other side of Shay’s office and takes a seat on the other side of the table. He takes his hat off and places it on top of Shay’s paperwork that seems to be a mess, but it’s organized on the filer’s account. Shay looks up from the newspaper and chucks it on top of the other papers.

“Never heard of such a thing,” Shay points out.

Haytham hums. “Yes, well. I’ve witnessed a blood moon and it doesn’t take fairly to wolves.”

The Irishman only looks to him for a moment, as if waiting for an answer. But when none comes, he asks, “I’m guessing you’ve come across a wolf during a blood moon?”

“Yes.”

“And how did it fair?”

“Dead.”

Shay nods with his lips thinned. “Lovely.”

Why isn’t he surprised by Haytham’s bluntness at this point. There’s some days where he thinks he’s gotten use to it and then there’s others where it takes him solely by surprise.

Haytham picks up the newspaper and gives it another once over even though he’s read it a good couple of times. He’s dealt with werewolves before, Shay isn’t the first cursed man that he’s come across in his lifetime. But only once has he had the luck of being around one during a blood moon.

For his liking, once was enough. Yet with his relationship to Shay, it seems like he’ll have to go through this situation again.

“What happened during the blood moon?” Shay asks.

Even though Shay is a were, one of the cursed, he is only newly turned. Turned by his once called brother, Liam O’Brien. Changed him on the night that Shay was escaping from the Assassins. A reason why he survived the fall and the cold ocean that greeted him below. Haytham would call it a miracle, while Shay would say something else entirely that children should not hear.

Monroe had informed Haytham of who Shay was from the very beginning. Haytham himself, had seen it as a big risk. A risk not worth taking and that he should just kill Shay before the next full moon came around. But that didn’t happen. Monroe had always been known to have a big heart. Even for a Templar.

“The one I encountered had gone feral. Almost like he was in a rut like state,” Haytham explains bluntly.

Shay is a bit wordless and tilts his head slightly as if a dog would. “A rut?”

“I don’t know how else to explain it,” Haytham admits truthfully with a small wave of his hand.

But at this, Shay sits further down in his seat with a huff. His eyes flicker across the reports and the papers on his desk. He suddenly becomes uninterested in finishing any of this today. Haytham thought he dove too much into his work. But with tracking other ships, plus his own and keeping up to date with gang activity, it all does start to pile up after a while. Haytham is just grateful he has the need to keep his work space tidy. On a good day at least.

“I’m meant to be in Albany on that date,” Shay brings up with a soft chuckle.

Haytham thinks on that. The were that he encounters on the blood moon didn’t know him. It was all by sheer coincidence that the two ran into each other that night.

But Shay and Haytham know each other on a level that not many get to see in their lives. In such a short time, they’ve formed a bond that ties them together through their experiences in life. And in doing so, Haytham has helped Shay with his transformations. Controlling the curse when he changes, he is more placid and more so has to wait out the night until he turns back. He has told Haytham that he still feels the hunger, the urge to rip and shred like the curse ensures upon. But Shay’s will is something stronger than most men.

They haven’t had a bad night since last year. But that could all change with this upcoming blood moon. But it’s Shay. There could be something that Haytham might be able to do on that night that can keep him at bay.

“And you won’t be able to delay your trip?” Haytham asks even though he knows what answer he’s going to get.

“Not if you want to lose a lead with the Assassins.”

As Haytham thought. Always onto something. Can’t stick to one place and can’t let the Assassins rest. Especially not after what they’ve done to Shay. The nickname, Templar Dog has seemed to stuck as what the Assassins call him now. Another one Haytham has heard but hasn’t told Shay yet, is the Grandmaster’s Lapdog. He doesn’t think Shay needs to know of it either.

“I’ll join you to Albany then,” Haytham says as he stands from his seat.

Shay opens his mouth to argue but a hand is held up in front of him. His words get caught in his throat and he shuts his mouth just as quickly. Haytham grabs his hat and straightens himself out.

“I’ve already made it final. Make board for one more on your ship.”

-

The trip to Albany goes smoothly, giving Shay and Haytham a week before the blood moon. But the itch that scratches underneath Shay’s skin becomes more eager with each passing day. He hasn’t felt anything like this since the early days.

To distract himself, he keeps himself occupied with the lead. There are meant to be a few Assassin’s or gang members still lurking around the town even though Shay has ratted them all out. But they like to linger about place they aren’t welcome.

To Shay’s dismay though, the week goes by quicker than he expected. Even Haytham lost track of days with helping Shay try and get this done as quick as possible. But the day of the blood moon comes around the corner and neither of them are ready to leave Albany.

-

Somehow, Shay had convinced Gist to get everyone off the Morrigan for the night. Gist knows of Shay’s curse but has never seen it firsthand. And he has told Shay firmly he will never have the desire to do so. Shay doesn’t blame him though, it isn’t a pretty sight. Haytham, not a man to sugar coat things, has said it’s something out of a nightmare.

The both of them keep to Shay’s quarters as soon as the sun begins to set, hoping this room is enough for the oncoming night. Haytham locks the doors behind him even though he knows it won’t do much to stop Shay from breaking out if he wanted to. He has seen this man charge through thick wooden doors and break bones in fully grow man’s hands. And all that was done without his were form.

Without saying a word, Shay begins stripping down to just his pants. It’s like a routine at this point, all so his clothes don’t get destroyed in the transformation. On his first transformation he had destroyed a pair of clothes that weren’t easy to replace. Nor was it fun waking up in the middle of nowhere butt ass naked on the outskirts of New York.

It was truly a morning to remember. He had ran into Monroe along the way back. The Templar had been looking for him and all he found was a naked, dirty man hiding behind a bush. That was the morning that Monroe’s suspicion came true and when his care for Shay became something along the lines of parental. Or maybe colonel and soldier. Shay will never know.

Haytham takes off his cloak and over coat, along with his hat to make himself comfortable. The night is a bit humid, even for the River Valley. Shay watches him with tense shoulders. A sinking like feeling grips at his throat. An image washes over him, of one of him hurting Haytham tonight. He turns away, eyes straining to the floor.  

Yes, this line of work and this line of life isn’t for the faint hearted. Shay knows, has been made very well known, that Haytham knows the supernatural side of life. Has come into contact with more than one werewolf and on the rare occasion, vampires. But feral werewolves can’t help their transformation, going rabid across the area wherever they hole up. While vampires like to keep hidden in plain sight.

Sounds a lot like the Assassins, but as far as Shay is aware, there were no vampires in the fold. Not while he was there at least. But no sane man goes around telling everyone that they’re a vampire.

Shay exhales slowly as he sits on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands. He can feel it. He doesn’t know how to explain it. He’s tried to do so with Haytham. But how do you explain something that only a were can feel. He can feel the coming of the transformation. The calling of the moon that it seems to have. Shay will have to admit, it is the oddest side of being a were.

But there is one thing that does make sense now. The moon has never looked so beautiful. Unfortunately though, he won’t be able to look upon her tonight.

Haytham pulls out the only chair that Shay keeps in his quarters and places it in front of him. The noise is like a hammer hitting metal inside Shay’s head and he flinches away. His senses begin to become heightened; they always do on full moons.

Shay looks up from his hands with a raised brow. The other man sits with his legs crossed and his hands resting on his propped knee. Posh bastard.

“What are you doing?” Shay asks.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” the other quirks as if it’s obvious.

Shay only stares at Haytham for a moment. Wondering how on Earth he has come to this situation. Where he grew up, he was taught with the Assassins that the Grandmaster of the Templar Order is a ruthless, heartless son of a bitch.

And yes, they were right about the ruthless part… and somewhat on the heartless. But there are times like this that Shay is able to see the little bit of softness that Haytham is willing to lend out to the right person. The parts of him that Haytham has kept to himself for so many years.

“Promise me something, Haytham,” Shay begins.

“Hmm?”

“If I do go feral, put me down,” he says bluntly.

Instantly, he can see a cord is struck in Haytham. He’s good at hiding it but Shay has picked up his tell. His eyes slightly squint and he ever so slightly raised his chin upwards. As if he’s just tasted something sour on his tongue or smelt something off.

Haytham looks down to the bracers he still has on his arm. He flicks his hidden blade out, the both of them looking over the silver metal. One blade that has probably taken more lives than Shay has. Haytham isn’t shy of using it, nor waving it around. The sight of it almost says a million words itself. The way Haytham looks over it with his own thoughts racing through his head. Most likely, having to image sticking the blade into Shay’s neck.

He flicks it back in with a satisfying click.  

“Only if it comes down to it,” he answers poorly without looking up at Shay.

At this, Shay only frowns. But he guesses that’s the best he’s going to get. Particularly, out of a man like Haytham Kenway.

-

The two continue to talk about mundane things, about Shay’s hunt for the Assassins and about what they’ve found out in Albany. A couple of hours pass by as they wait for the blood moon to rise above the horizon.

And when it does, both of them don’t need to look outside to know it has.

Shay suddenly stops midsentence and bows his head with a pained groan. His breathing becomes shaky and his whole body tremors. He goes to stand in haste but his knees instantly give way. He falls forward and Haytham is quick to catch him, but Shay pushes him away just as fast. He keeps his back to Haytham, not wanting him to see the full mess of the transformation.

It feels different though. More like rats clawing through something to escape fire. Something burning hot within his core that instantly makes him break out in a sweat. It’s hard not to shout. It’s hard not to give in to the choke sob itching at the back of his throat.

And all Haytham can do is stand back and watch.

On the floor, Shay cowers on his hands and knees. Bones can be heard popping and breaking out of their sockets. The first cry that comes from Shay’s throat is something that Haytham will never get use to. No matter how many times he’s seen Shay’s skin ripple and change as if there’s something alive moving under there. No matter how many times he’s heard bones break to only heal back into stronger, bigger ones. No matter how many times he’s watched Shay’s skull and jaw snap and break to elongate forward into a wolf like snout. No matter how many times he’s watched human teeth get pushed out to make way for long fangs that snap and clash together past the blood that erupts from his mouth.

No matter how many times, Haytham will always feel sick in his stomach at the sight of such an inhuman act of God. He doesn’t even truly know if God has a play at this. This is something else entirely. Something that an average human would not be able to grasp at with their small minds. One where they would be instantly calling this a sin. Something that Satan has bestowed upon them and that needs to be burnt with fire. But something like this would only laugh within the flames. He’s seen a were do it before. A truly terrifying sight to behold.  

Shay grows at least twice his size, his legs twisting into something wolf like and he rips his pants in the process. A thick layer of dark brown fur grows quickly over his body, more shaggy around his neck and face that is so thick that it’s hard to get to the skin underneath. Hard for a blade to get through.

Haytham watches this all unfold in front of him, keeping as still as he possibly can. He won’t lie, knowing the unknown right now terrifies him. Especially as two amber eyes slowly turn his way. A silence falls over the cabin that has Haytham’s heart beating loudly in his ears.  

Shay breathes heavily, panting like a mutt with his tongue lolled out. For a moment, Haytham thinks that Shay is all here. That the blood moon hasn’t done anything to Shay’s will.

But his lip curl up in a snarl to reveal long fangs underneath. Shay tries to stand to his full height, but his head hits the top of the cabin with a loud thud. His ears flick in annoyance but his eyes are locked onto Haytham. Even hunched over, it’s as if Shay takes up half of the cabin. He stands more humanoid than anything but his face is wolf like. It’s short and stubby, his teeth virtually too big for his mouth. It’s something mixed between human and wolf, something that Haytham will only be able to explain as a were and nothing else.

“Shay,” Haytham speaks firmly.

This is only met with a deep, chesty growl that rattles the entire cabin. Haytham is just glad that the crew is gone. Because he wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining this.

Shay jumps forward suddenly and for a moment, all Haytham sees is teeth. But he moves out of the way just in time, feeling claws graze against his shoulder. The loud clack of teeth vibrates against Haytham’s brain as he rushes over to the table. Shay destroys the chair as he lands on it, bits of it going flying. But he doesn’t care for it, he’s already moving Haytham’s way again, claws digging into the wooden floor to gain the space between them.

The amount of force that Shay rushes Haytham as he barges into the table is something that reminds him of a bull. Said table flips over and blocks the only exit, papers and reports flying everywhere that rain down around Shay. Another snarl is spat Haytham’s way and true fear strikes his gut.

Fear that he might have to do something he truly did not want to do tonight.

Shay jumps forward again with every intention of latching himself onto Haytham’s shoulder and tearing off his arm. But Haytham moves before he can think. He ducks and grabs onto Shay’s snout, wrapping his entire arms around and holding tight.

Haytham is thrown about as Shay shakes his head violently, trying to pry this human off of him. This small “victory” is short lived though. Haytham’s grip slips only for a moment, and similar to some raging bull again, Shay throws his head to the side and flings the Grandmaster. Haytham hits the back of the cabin wall with a loud crack. All the wind is crushed out of him and he lands on the floor in a heap.

Shay lands on all fours heavily, shaking the whole ship and prowls over to Haytham. His lips curl up again to show off his fangs, all but dripping saliva as he nears.

Haytham shifts and rolls onto his back so that he’s facing Shay full on. He flicks out his blade, finally bringing up the might to do something. But with how sluggish his mind and body is, he isn’t able to move his arm in time before it’s crushed under one of Shay’s hands. He barks out in pain, not able to retain himself for the moment.

This is how he meets his end then? To his want to not harm someone he loves?

Shay towers over Haytham, his nose becoming mere inches away from his own. Time seems to slow as he looks right into those amber eyes. He stares right back at Haytham and for a moment, he sees Shay. But only for a moment. The effects of the blood moon seem to be something greater than what Shay can break through.

“Shay,” Haytham firmly breathes out finally.

Anyone would find him goddamn crazy right now. They’d be shouting to just kill the thing and be done with it. To fight and lash out or to do anything but be pinned by such a beast. All so this doesn’t happen again. But it’s Shay. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do it. He knows he could, he knows he should, but would he be able to? Now that is a question within itself.

Shay stops his growling and snarling and he just stares at Haytham. The scar over his eye seems more prominent in his were form. One last injury that scarred over before he turned for the first time. Most likely where he was clawed at by Liam, Shay has never truly told him.

Haytham takes a stupid risk and brings his other hand out to Shay’s face. Shay flinches away, but doesn’t move again as Haytham’s hand comes to the side of his large head. The feral look leaves his eyes for a moment again as he lets Haytham touch his cheek. Shay lets go of Haytham’s other arm and quickly, the blade is flicked away.

Shay sniffs him before moving forward ever so slightly. Haytham doesn’t let his guard down, watching this massive form slowly come into his space more so than before. Sniffing him and smelling the fear wafting off him.  

“Shay,” Haytham says again, hoping to get through to the man.

His ribs still hurt and a major headache is coming along. He doesn’t want to be thrown around like that again. Not ever.

But to his name being spoken, Shay huffs. But there’s still a slight crazed look about his eyes. Something that the blood moon is doing to him. Causing him to act out. Some humanity has come back into him, but the blood moon still has its effects.

The next thing he does makes all the sense on his feral behaviour. A clawed hand presses itself onto Haytham’s sore chest and pushes him down onto the floor heavily. Then, his clothes are literally being ripped off him. Ripped apart and thrown away until enough of Haytham is revealed.

A feral rut. That is what the blood moon causes. Something that werewolves can’t control and become insane over.

And all Haytham can do is watch as his heart quickens in his chest. Anticipation prickles at his skin as he watches rows of teeth that were just trying to kill him moments before lower to his crotch. As a hot, thick wet tongue licks a strip over Haytham’s ass, it becomes very, very clear now on what the blood moon does. His suspicions were right.  

But the buzz that washes over Haytham at the odd sensation makes him quickly realise, he’s not all apposed to this. Something so dangerous, so close, yet so arousing. Shay licks another hot strip across Haytham’s ass and up to his balls, leaving behind a thick saliva that feels sticky.

If this will stop Shay from going on a rage in Albany, then so be it. Best keep this act to this room than anywhere else.

Haytham is just lucky that he was able to calm Shay down from harming him to get what he wanted. Any bite from Shay and Haytham would be in the same predicament as him.

Shay licks and laps at Haytham’s ass, using a clawed hand to spread him open for better access. Almost folding the Grandmaster in half and into the floor. The pain in Haytham’s chest melts away at the sensation that overtakes his body at Shay’s tongue. It’s as if Shay can’t get enough of him, tasting his muskiness from today’s work.

This goes on for awhile and Haytham keeps himself in check. All so that he can watch just where Shay’s teeth go. His professionalism is something that does get in the way sometimes.

But all focus is thrown out the window when Shay’s tongue is pushed deeply into his ass all at once. Haytham throws his head back with a deep, grinded groan, his body twitching at the warm, sticky sensation inside of him.

And Shay doesn’t stop. He uses his tongue to lick inside of Haytham, opening his mouth as wide as he can to push as much in. Haytham’s hard cock twitches and bobs with each movement from Shay, precum dripping onto his stomach. Every movement has Haytham panting and moaning noises he never thought he could admit. The bliss that pools over Haytham is something akin to being high.

He can feel Shay’s tongue go as far in as it can get, moving and pressing against the walls of his ass before coming back out. Just to do the same thing over again. Each pass of the tongue hits a bundle of nerve that has Haytham’s breath hitching every time. It’s so warm and Shay breathes heavily, concentrating on his work at hand.

He has never seen Shay’s werewolf form as a means for pleasure or sexual desire. But maybe they should have done this sooner. Just not during a blood moon next time.

Shay removes his tongue, having deemed it being enough. The emptiness Shay leaves behind is something Haytham has never felt such a burning desire to be filled again. But he gets his desire. Shay moves up and over Haytham, revealing the thick cock between the werewolf’s legs.

Haytham swallows thickly as Shay’s big hand hold him down by his shoulders. Painfully pinning him down. All Haytham can do is keep his legs open so that that thing can fit inside of him. Because at this point, he doesn’t think he can stop Shay. Nor does he want to stop.

Shay lines himself up and pushes in a little eagerly. He growls deep in his chest at the warm feeling of Haytham. He dives in deeper, rutting into Haytham bit by bit.

The stretch for Haytham punches the wind out of him instantly. He grips onto Shay’s wrist, not to push him off, but for some kind of support. It hurts. The more of Shay that Haytham takes, the more of the stretch and the fit is painful.

“Sh-ah ah! Shay,” Haytham tries to get through to him.

But it seems the rut of the blood moon has taken a stronger hold than before. Because his rhythm doesn’t stop. He keeps going, panting over the top of Haytham, grunting every now and again. Haytham’s ass is lifted into the air again as Shay gets a better angle to abuse it.

The size of Shay makes Haytham feel like he’s going to split in half. He feels so full. The pain is still there but it begins to feel a little too good, Shay’s saliva helping a lot. With each hard thrust, a moan is pushed out of Haytham as he’s moved up the floor little by little. They keep moving until Haytham’s head hits the base of the bed.

Shay keeps going, his pace quickening to something desperate. Haytham’s entire body feels like it’s on fire, his untouched dick leaking even more than before. Haytham brings a hand to his own cock, hissing at how sensitive he is. He uses his own precum to jerk himself quickly to Shay’s brutal pace. He can feel himself coming close, but he doesn’t know how much longer Shay is going to be at it for. He holds the base of his cock, hoping to hold out until Shay is done with him.

At that thought, Shay goes on for a few more blissful minutes. Haytham gets lost in the pleasure that makes his head a mess. Shay doesn’t let up once. Hitting that spot inside of Haytham that has his head spinning and has him being left breathless every single time. Haytham looses track of time. He gets lost in it all. And he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold out when Shay is finished.

Haytham comes in his stomach, his vision going spotty and black. He doesn’t know if he had his eyes shut or if the orgasm was just that good, but he’ll never know. But his orgasm rips through him like a storm, taking his breath away.

Shay keeps going, fucking him through it and it all becomes a bit too much. Haytham pants and groans as everything becomes sensitive. He can’t even touch his own dick. He holds onto Shay again, just hoping that that were’s stamina dies out soon enough.

Just as Haytham thinks that Shay is never going to stop, the werewolf growls deep in his chest as his movements stutter. He dives his cock deep into Haytham’s ass and fills him up. The hot, sticky sensation that fills Haytham has him catching his breath. It just feels like it keeps going. He can feel Shay’s dick pulsing inside of him, unloading himself until there’s nothing left. Until it’s seeping out of Haytham and onto the floor beneath him.

Haytham has trouble finding air as he falls limp on the floor. Shay slowly takes his softening cock out of him and lest Haytham lay on still. Haytham just hopes that Shay doesn’t need a round two any time soon tonight because this alone, has the more man spent.

[sweetcocopowder]

Childlike Innocence | Shaytham | Pt. 2

Pt.1 | Pt.3

「Synopsis」 : Haytham has had enough of indoors and listening to meaningless conversations with Birch and other men. He goes off on his own to explore New York and he runs into a young boy that is very interesting.

「Word count」 : 1.5K

Genre: Coming of Age/Young Love

Paring: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Only a week later does it take for Haytham to wonder off again.

The entire week it’s been paperwork and walking around and talking to people that Haytham has no clue who they are, yet they seem to know him quite well. That isn’t the thing bothering Haytham though. His entire life he’s met people that know him by first and last name and they also know his father as well. Yet when his father was alive he never met them or saw them talking to his father. It seems like he knew more people than Haytham will ever know.

The thing that has been bothering Haytham though is that he has to stand and listen to Birch talk with these men. He isn’t brought into the conversation so he’s forced to stand and think about other stuff. Birch wants him learning from him but it’s very hard when the talking is just plain boring.

He wants to know how to play tag with the boys. He’s watched them from the window of his room when he can. It all but reminds him of home before father died. He did the exact same thing, staring out a window watching others play and laugh all while he had to sit around and do .

Yes, he is happy to be the man that Birch wants. But a new place only has him wanting to go off and look around. And within this week they haven’t done much of that.

So, on the Friday of the week, Haytham sneaks out of the motel. He doesn’t pay no mind to the boys out in the garden because he might be a kid, but he isn’t dumb. And if he went and joined them in the game of tag then he would most certainly get caught. He needs to wonder further.

He ventures out to the streets in his dark blue suit and frills. He tried to tie is hair back like the maids do but a good portions flops out over his face. He most definitely looks like he dressed himself and he gets a few odd looks as he passes by some. But he keeps his head down in case anyone recognises him.

He doesn’t want anyone shouting across the street, “HAYTHAM KENWAY!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON YOUR LONESOME!? YOU’LL CATCH SOMETHING BEING OUT HERE!”

If that happened, he wouldn’t know what to say but he imagines he’d be able to think up of a lie. He just doesn’t know what. So hopefully that little scenario doesn’t happen.

He comes to the markets which is along the docks. It smells strongly of fish and salt, something so different to being served fish at dinner. But it doesn’t turn Haytham away. He’s never experienced this part of living. The lower class and the grime.

But he quickly realizes that his presence may not be wanted in this part of New York. Men and woman look at him, side eyeing him and scowling at him. Haytham catches a few confused expressions as well. Probably wondering why, a first-class boy is here in the market alone.

Before he makes a scene, he finds the closest exit to the market which is along the docks where all the sloops and schooners are. He gets to the edge where a couple of crates are stacked and breathes out, not realizing he had been holding it this entire time. Maybe Birch was right. Maybe he should just stick with his class and be a proper good boy.

He leans up against the crate nearest him and watches one of the sloops slowly leave the dock. Nothing here is as grand of a ship as his father’s ship. He hasn’t seen it in person per say, but he knows it would have been the beauty of the dock here.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” A thick Irish accented voice snaps at him.

Haytham jumps out of his skin, feeling his little heart beat wildly in his ears. Might have skipped a beat if he wasn’t too sure. He spins around, coming face to face with a dark-haired man with a barrel chest. His dark eyes glare down at him like he’s a rat on the streets here. Haytham backs up a bit, his words leaving him once again.

The man steps forward and picks up one of the crates that Haytham was leaning against. He then leaves without a word, walking down the dock to a schooner in the nearest dock.

A boy passes him and comes Haytham’s way. He’s a scruffy looking kid, his long brown hair unbrushed and his clothes look too big for his body. He stops in front of the crates and looks to Haytham with big brown eyes. He looks Haytham’s age but might be a year younger. The boy glances over his shoulder at the man before he picks up one of the smaller crates.

“I’m sorry about my father,” the boy says in the same Irish accent, taking Haytham by surprise. “He can be some what of a mean one when he’s in a mood. And he’s in one of those moods today.”

“Oh,” is all Haytham can manage out.

“SHAY, GET THOSE CRATES ON SO WE CAN FUCKIN’ GO!” The boy’s father calls out from the schooner.

“Coming!” Shay calls back out as he turns and walks down the dock.

Haytham watches him curiously as he fiddles with his sleeves. Shay comes back three more times to pick up the smaller crates but he stops and stares at the biggest one there. Haytham hasn’t moved a muscle, standing and watching the entire time young Shay has been working.

“Wanna help?” Shay asks.

“Pardon?”

“Wanna help me carry this over?”

Haytham can’t help but stare for a moment but stops his stupid act. He can’t let his shyness get the best of him anymore.

Despite him putting his big pants on, his voice still comes out soft with a little, “Sure.”

The two boys grab one end of the crate each and pick it up together with a huff. The crate isn’t heavy with two of them but Shay absolutely could not of picked this up by himself. They waddle over to schooner and Shay tells him where to set it down. Setting it down on deck, Shay’s father comes over with a frown.

“Hah, and I thought you were just another prissy lil boy,” he frowns but his words feel light hearted. “Best be off before we set sail. Don’t want a lil stow away, now do we, aye!”

He pats Haytham on the shoulder before wondering off to the helm of the ship. He speaks to what Haytham assumes is his first mate. The touch on his shoulder lingers. Something he hasn’t received in a long time.  

“Are you moved from Britian?” Shay suddenly asks, popping into his line of sight.

Haytham swallows. “I’m just visiting.”

Shay’s mouth turns into a little o. “How long are you staying here in New York?”

“Around three months.”

“Oh. I come back here in five months. My father is travelling down south,” Shay answers a little sadly.

“Oh,” Haytham replies back.

“Be off boy!” Shay’s father cries out suddenly. “We’re sailing off!”

For the second time today, Haytham nearly jumps out of his skin. Without even thinking, he makes his way off the schooner. The board has been pulled back already so Haytham has to jump down onto the dock. He stumbles and falls to his hands and knees, his suit and hands becoming scuffed. He turns around as the ship’s sails are let down.

Shay comes to the railing and looks over as they begin moving. He waves goodbye with a wide smile on his face. Haytham gives a small little wave that only reaches his chest. A small swell of sadness comes to Haytham. The thought that he could of had a friend on this little trip is what finally makes him realize he’s lonely.

The walk back to the motel is slow and with his head bowed low. He kicks a rock along the street with his hands in his pockets. With a too hard of a kick it bounces and rolls into a drain, never to be seen again. That only puts Haytham in a sourer mood.

When the motel comes into sight, he heads around the back to sneak into the garden. He pushes his way through a loose board in the fence and through the bushes as well. Leaves and branches get caught in his hair and he does a poor excuse to try and brush them out. He walks across the gravel path to the back door of the motel and hopes to whatever God there is that Birch hasn’t noticed him gone.

Luckily, no one is in the back foyer or even the entrance. Haytham quickly but quietly races up the stairs and down the hallway to his room. Once inside, he takes a deep breath in.

He plucks a leaf from his hair and lets it fall to the floor. With a small huff, he steps over to the small desk in the corner of his room and opens his journal up. He must write about today and most definitely about Shay.

[intoxicated-chan]

CW ➳ Female Reader/No use of (Y/n), light sexual content, groping, fluff fluff, Shay being a loveable idiot who can’t keep his hands to himself…

Shay cannot keep his hands to himself. After hearing his comment about bosoms and buttocks, you cannot deny that he’s the kind of guy to like both. It’s like Shay refuses to keep his hands to himself, always touching you one way or another. But he will restrain himself to not embarrass you or listen to your boundaries if you have any.

But when it comes to grabbing your bottom or chest, Shay does that behind closed doors. Specifically in colder climates, when the two of you are alone and near a fire, he’d shove his hands under your shirt to grasp your chest, ignoring your whines. He’d complain himself, rubbing his hands together wasn’t enough, and neither holding them near the fire.

Shay does have his hands on you, on your shoulder, grazing your hand with his, linking pinkies, or if he can’t be around you at the moment, he always has you within his sighs, if not then he’ll search for you.

During his assassin-turned-Templar era, he withdrew most of his touching, mainly because he was focused on other things. But whenever he was alone with you, either in the captain’s cabin or his estate, his hands were on you. Sharing kisses either on the deck of his ship or the Captain’s cabin, Shay makes sure no one is around to sneak his head to your bottom squeeze it, and hear that familiar sound coming from you. He’d chuckle at the glance you give him, but he knows you love him too much as he loves you with every fiber of his being.

Author’s Note under the cut…

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

I cannot describe how much Shay has me in a chokehold right now, I’m on sequence 2 I believe and I am loving on Shay’s Templar era. Please fed me your Shay ideas 🙏 I’m begging you all 😩.

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 ✠ ❝𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬❞

(A/n) ➳  I welcome you all to my mini-series. I had planned to make it longer but came to the conclusion to do five chapters but long ones. So please forgive me if chapters take awhile. But enjoy!

Word Count ➳ 1.2k  

Content Warnings ➳ Female reader/Assassin reader, alcohol use, death of a parent, violence, mentions of death, mentions of marriage...

Dreamers Masterlist

NEW YORK, 1747 

Shay stumbled through the crowded tavern, his sense dulled by alcohol and his grief. He had lost track of time since his father’s death and the storm that claimed he and the crew’s lives. His thoughts were chaotic, swirling around his head, and unable to focus.  

The air reeked of ale. Shay now found himself hunched over a wooden table, nursing a drink. He barely registered the commotion around him, but he could feel the glares from other patrons of the tavern. 

They surrounded him, at the neighboring tables, seemingly drinking. And if Shay thought correctly, it was going to be another tavern fight... He reached for his pocketknife, ready to attack the presence behind him until a voice cut through, sharp and familiar yet distant in his drunken stupor.  

“Shay! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  

Startled, Shay looked up, squinting to focus his blurry gaze. Though the blur, he saw the silhouette of a man standing in front of him. But his face was blocked by the terrible lighting of the tavern.  

He leaned over and when he couldn’t see him, he tried to stand. But gentle hands steadied him, helping him to his feet with tenderness. It was then that he felt the soft touch of another person, their presence was soothing, unlike his mind. 

“Easy now.” The voice spoke, laced with concern. “You’re in no state to brawl, let alone stand on your feet.” 

Shay blinked, confused, trying to make sense of the situation. And then, like the fog in his mind had lifted, he saw him, Liam, his best friend. He stood in front of him with a mix of frustration and worry.  

“Liam?” Shay muttered, his voice hoarse and filled with confusion. 

“That’s right.” Liam replied sternly. “And if weren’t for (Y/n) here, you’d be lying in a gutter somewhere.” 

Shay's gaze moved, and for the first time, he saw her.  

You, the young girl who had come to his aid. He can see the nervousness in your eyes, watching him and managed to keep him up straight.  

You, (Y/n), Liam’s younger sister. You were the same age as Shay.  

Despite the chaos of his life, despite the pain and the loss, there was another pang in his chest. He was in no state to think about it further but pushed it down.  

Yet one thing became clear, though his suffering alone and in the dark, you had become his lifeline. 

And for that, Shay knew he would be forever grateful.  

DAVENPORT HOMESTEAD, MARCH 1752 

"Quickly now!” Hope called out, hands on her hips as she watched a group of assassins scramble around, looking for you specifically. “She’s in the trees! On the ground! Behind you!”  

They scattered across the training grounds, Hope’s eyes followed their every move. She watched with amusement, her laughter echoing through the air as they failed to find your lurking spot.  

You moved like a ghost but graceful, blending into your surroundings as if you were part of them. Your ability to remain unseen was something Hope hadn’t seen before. Maybe as good as Achillies. 

Shay and Liam stood at the sidelines, watching as well. Shay couldn’t hide the happiness that swelled every time he saw you emerge. He exchanged a playful look with Liam, a smirk tugging the corners of his lips.  

“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Liam remarked. “She might be better than all of us in stealth.” 

Shay snorted. “I can count the number of times Chevalier wet himself whenever (Y/n) comes out.” Shay was careful when he said it, making sure Chevalier wasn’t around or else he’d be in another fight. 

“I heard.” Then Liam sighed, it was heavy and solemn. “Achilles shouldn’t have allowed her to join the Brotherhood. I promised my father I’d protect her, keep her safe, I didn’t want her to come. She should be back in the city, married by now, enjoying her life.” 

Shay's brows furrowed. “You know as well as I do that (Y/n) would never be happy with a life like that. She's a fighter, just like you.” 

Liam knew Shay was right. You were young, could barely remember him but he could see how happy he made you.  

When Liam discovered that Achilles was in contact with you, he lost it. Shay attempted to talk him down, noting that you were grown and can take care of yourself. But Liam felt betrayed. He confided in Achilles that his biggest fear was losing you and now you were at risk.  

It took him a couple of days for Liam to calm down. That same day, he found you on the training grounds with Hope and Kesegowaase, you were ginning, just happy to be here. 

Liam promised himself that he’d do whatever he could to keep from harm’s way, even if you were an assassin like him.  

“Wrong! Again!” Hope’s shouting made him focus once again, seeing you jump from a tree and into a pile of leaves. He saw the smile on your face as you fell.  

“Even if she was back at the city, you would approve of no man.” Shay scoffed, shaking his head. 

And how no man was worthy of you. 

And he had a feeling that Liam wouldn’t approve of Shay. 

They were childhood friends, best friends, nothing could tear them apart... Almost nothing. Shay always kept quiet for the years he had met you and when you joined the Brotherhood.  

He would rather die than admit to Liam that he wanted to be with his sister. They were in the middle of looking for the Manuscript, there was no time or room for starting a relationship.  

But he couldn’t stop himself from staring when you’re near, how his smile became bigger whenever he heard your voice, and how he wanted to seek you out every time he returned from a mission. 

You made him want to forget you entirely, you were a distraction to him. Blocking his mind when he tried to fucus, thinking of his future with you when he knew there was a possibility of not having one.  

Yet when he stood on that cliff, Manuscript in hand, his eyes locked with yours for a second. Everything he dreamed of flashed before his eyes.  

You and him on the deck of the Morrigan, it was just the two of you. You were smiling as his crew sang, his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and your soft lips against his.  

You were his dream, and he didn’t want to lose you.  

But it was only a matter of time before you heard what happened in Lisbon. What would you think of him then? Were you going to be disgusted, horrified, angry? He didn’t want to look you in the eye and see his answer. 

Shay engulfed you tightly, he was trembling. Not cause of the cold but because of fear. You were in his arms, demanding answers, wanting to know what the shouting was about but he didn’t what you to know.  

His tears soaked your shoulders as he felt your arms come around him.  

“It’s okay.” He heard you say. “Everything is going to be okay.” Rubbing his back. 

And as he fell over the cliff, feeling the pain of the gunshot running through his body. He remembered you shouting his name and Liam having to hold you back from trying to chase after him.   

Maybe Shay could die in peace, at least he stopped the assassins, even if it was just for a couple days or weeks before they found the Manuscript. His only regret was making you cry, he hated seeing you in pain. 

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

» » YOU’RE HERE « « ⊰ TWO ⊰

[sweetcocopowder]

A Fool's Life | Shaytham

Synopsis: Desmond has to dive back into Haytham to find out where a power source is for the temple. But the last thing he expects is something akin to when the Templar first met Ziio. But these emotions run something deeper, crueler.

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Shay Cormac / Haytham Kenway

Warnings: Internalized homophobia

“We need you to dive back into Haytham.”

A few simple words that Desmond wished he would never have to hear. Desmond stares at his father with a scowl upon his lips waiting for the punch line. He glances to Shaun and Rebecca. Yet, they stay quiet and that is just saying a thousand words as is. It’s not some joke.

“Why?” Desmond asks as he looks to his father once more.

“Because Haytham came in contact with a power source for this Temple,” William explains monotonously. “We need to know where he put it.”

He tries to not put any hint of emotion in his words. Desmond knows what he’s doing. But it only makes him feel that itch of anger inside and he tries not to let it show.

“Can’t you just track this one like the others?” Desmond asks with bitterness in his tone.

So much for keeping it hidden. It can’t help it when it comes around his father. Almost everything he says makes Desmond want to retaliate in a frustrated manner.

This has William scowling. “It will only be for a moment, son,” he firmly says.

It’s not like Desmond has a choice at this point of time. His father will just tell him to do it until he does. They probably won’t continue on with Connor until he goes back into Haytham’s mind. Desmond throws up his hands and lays back down into the Animus with a grunt.

“Fine, but let’s get his over and done with.”

-

It’s the first day of Fall in Boston and the cool breeze is an ease on Haytham’s skin. But with Desmond being in Haytham’s mind again, it’s almost criminal. He can feel the anticipation on his mind, the quickening of his heart as he spots red sails coming onto port. There’s a man on that ship that Haytham knows, and it has the man itching. Which is something Desmond has only felt when Haytham was around Ziio.

Haytham may be blind to his emotions, someone that sees too much but doesn’t focus on himself, but Desmond knows this feeling. This breathlessness at the mere thought of someone.

The worn ship docks, her crew shouting out at each other, pulling ropes and bringing in sails. The Morrigan her name is and she’s seen her years for sure. Her once yellow paint is chipped and faded from years at sea. She’s an older ship, not up to date like the ones now. And she has people looking upon her that stand on the dock. Haytham only sees beauty, a fine ship that has lasted so long. But one could say that she’s only as strong as her captain. Working hand in hand.

The captain, Haytham sees him straight away and Desmond takes him in. He’s a tall, broad shouldered man with salt and pepper hair. It’s tied back into a short ponytail, one thing that hasn’t changed with him. But he now sports a brown leather coat with blue clothing. It makes him look older and wiser. Nothing like the young man Haytham knew almost twenty years ago.

All these emotions that Desmond feels nearly overwhelms him. The animus glitches for only a moment but Desmond retains himself. Haytham may present himself as a stern, serious man but by god can this man feel. And is he ignorant to his own emotions.

The man, Shay Cormac, smiles as he spots Haytham standing on the dock. Haytham had received a letter from Shay a week ago, telling him of his arrival soon in Boston. Said note is currently tucked away in Haytham’s breast pocket, just in case he got the dates wrong. Something that Shay will never know about.

A plank is drawn between the Morrigan and the dock and Haytham stands at the end of it as he watches Shay walk down. Desmond has never seen Haytham look upon a man like this as of right now. Haytham looks upon a much older version of the image he has in his head of Shay, but he still finds himself marvelling at the captain.

The two of them clasp hands in a firm handshake that feels like neither of them want to let go. But Haytham contains himself.

“It’s been a long time, Shay,” Haytham is first to speak.

Shay’s smile is something the Grandmaster has missed. It’s the exact same, just with added lines and wrinkles.

“Oh, it has been,” Shay speaks as if all those years away are now playing on his mind.

Where he’s been, who he’s met and the time he’s spent away. All something Haytham wants to know of.

“And you’ve retrieved it?”

With a soft nod, “Yes,” is what Shay replies with.

Haytham gestures out a hand. “I’ll lead you to the Green Dragon, it’s not far.” He begins. “I’d love to hear of your ventures away.”

Course you would, Desmond snaps out.

The simulation suddenly glitches and everything begins melting away into a blue, glitchy effect. Desmond groans in pain as he begins desynchronizing from the animus. This hasn’t happened since he first began with Altair. He’s aware he dislikes Haytham but not enough to desynchronize to this extent.

“Desmond. You need to follow Haytham,” Shaun’s voice comes through the animus.

It’s very hard to when it’s Haytham, Desmond snaps back.

“Just calm down. It’ll only be for a short while,” Shaun inquires again, trying to get Desmond to sync back up.

Desmond can suddenly feel his beating heart, thumping in his chest like a jack rabbit. He slows his breathing and calms his mind. The animus begins to flow again, the simulation changing from the docks to a tavern area. They’re at the Green Dragon.

It’s just Haytham and Shay sitting at the table that the Templars like to use for their get togethers. The very same that Desmond found out who Haytham truly aligned himself with.

Shay takes a long, slow drink of his ale. Haytham hasn’t touched his, still full in its cup. He watches Shay’s Adam’s apple bob up and down with each gulp before pulling his gaze away. Shay exhales loudly as he sets the cup on the table.

“I will have to say,” Shay admits. “I have missed American ale.”

Haytham looks to the other again to only find him staring at him already. He knows he shouldn’t be so sheepish around Shay. Even though they haven’t seen one another in nearly two decades, it shouldn’t be this awkward on Haytham’s end. Nowhere as near.

“Did you find you didn’t partake in the delicacies overseas?” Haytham asks.

“I don’t think that’s it, sir. I think it’s just something about this that speaks home,” the Irishman smirks.

That gets a short chuckle out of Haytham. Something that makes Shay’s brows lift ever so slightly. A warmth spreads to Haytham’s chest that has Desmond second guessing everything. He hasn’t felt this since Ziio. A longing, a want. But this runs deeper. Much crueller in its wake that Haytham wants gone. But he can’t help himself looking at Shay with a eyes that speak a thousand words.

The two mingle and talk about their lives some more. Something that Desmond finds himself getting lost in. Shay is so open with Haytham that it’s almost scary. But Haytham finds it so comforting and like Desmond, he almost gets lost in the Irishman’s tales and his way of words. He’s been everywhere and anywhere in these sixteen years away. He’ll be speaking on one thing and it’ll remind him of another story that has him talking for another thirty minutes.

But Haytham doesn’t stop him. Not once. Not even when he grabs another round of ale for them, he keeps listening. And this is so rare of Haytham. The warmth in his chest is something the British man rarely allows himself to indulge in.

-

As the night grows old, the two men move from the tavern to Haytham’s home. And as far as Desmond is concerned, not even Charles Lee comes around to Haytham’s in worry of disrupting the man’s privacy. In which Haytham is very grateful for. Yet with Shay, he’s more than welcome to bring him around.

The entire walk, Shay doesn’t stop talking. It isn’t an annoying chatter. It’s something so welcoming to Haytham’s ears since he has not heard that Irish accent in nearly two decades.

Shay finishes a story as they enter Haytham’s house and he doesn’t pick up another once, being self-aware to know when to stop. The host guides Shay to the living room which is something that Haytham has tried to replicate of his old home. The one where everything was right and just in the world before everything terrible and malicious that could happen in the world, happened. It isn’t the best, but the lounges are from Britian, the floral patterning hand woven instead of machine made. Bookshelves line the walls that are made from a walnut stained oak, made here in America. Each book that lines the shelves is something that Haytham holds dear to his heart, but he would never say such a thing out loud. The coffee table is also oak but stained with something darker that Haytham can’t remember at this given moment.

Not when Shay, - before he gets himself comfortable and rids himself of his coat- places the precursor box on the coffee table next to the empty fruit bowl.

The small wooden box seems to hum, and it has an energy to it. Something that Haytham doesn’t know if he’s imagining or if he can feel it. Could also be the blood rushing past his ears as his heart skips a beat or two within his chest.

Desmond has never seen anything like it, but Shay seems very familiar with it. He sits down in the lounge across from Haytham with his coat in his lap and looks to his Grandmaster with a raised, scarred brow.

Haytham, unlike Shay, doesn’t seem to be pleased with it. From where he stands, somehow on the other side of the room, he walks over and picks it up with a gingerly touch. The box is still and firm in his hand, but warm. He has to hold the shiver that threatens to run down his spine and over his arms.

“You actually found it,” Haytham finds himself muttering before he can stop himself.

Shay is a little taken a back but, he gives a heavy nod. “It took me longer than it should have, sir, but I found it,” he answers firmly, that casualness that he once possessed him gone and replaced by a formality found in soldiers.

Haytham sets it down before he drops the damn box. Such a small thing that has kept Shay away from the Order. Haytham could count how many times he could have used such a man like Shay for jobs here in America. He wishes he never sent him away after such a stupid little box. But both would argue on how important such a thing is. To keep out of Assassin hand.

Without even thinking, something that Shay catches, Haytham rubs the hand that touched the box on his coat.

“Thank you, Shay. This means a lot for the Order,” Haytham says, raising his chin a bit higher.

But Desmond hears the unsaid words. This means so much to me.

A softness comes to Shay’s hardened features that has Haytham turning his gaze away. He wonders over to one of the bookshelves and takes out one of his old journals from five years back now. Dust has settled upon it and the pages have begun to fox. He flips through to the middle and takes out a piece of loose paper. He slams the book shut before sliding it back into its place smoothly.

“I have something for you,” he says as his eyes quickly flick over the document.

Haytham turns back to Shay, who has been watching him the entire time with dark eyes. Instead of pausing or acknowledging the way Shay tracks his every movement, Haytham holds out of the piece of paper to him.

“This is your next task for me,” Haytham instructs.

Shay looks to him before down at the piece of paper as he takes it. Something shifts within his eyes, as if a flicker of hope was just snapped out like a candle snuffer. Haytham moves around the coffee table to the lounge that sits across of the Shay and sits down with his hat being placed next to him. He, in return, watches Shay’s dark brown eyes dart back and forth on the paper. Said paper is a rough sketch of an artifact that is rumoured to be a power source for a precursor sight. There’s little information and it’s outdated since said information is five years old now.

Haytham knows this could take another decade to find. And he’s very self-aware on what he’s doing. As much as Haytham enjoys Shay’s company and wishes him to stick around. As much as Haytham wishes to listen to Shay speak about his journeys across seas and in Europe. As much as Haytham would love to just be in the company of Shay, the Irishman is loyal to the course -loyal to Haytham- and is the only man the Grandmaster can trust to retrieve said items.

There were at times that Haytham thought Shay had given up, but a letter from the man would come not even a month later. It would only speak of how he is still on the trail of the box and that his loyalty to the Order has not wavered. How he misses New York and how he has missed many other things. How he’s missed the blue flowers that grow in Fort Arsenal and how they only bloomed in spring. He had said they remind Shay of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d write in the next letter if he remembered but the next letter it seemed like he had forgotten entirely. Oh well…

Haytham had kept every single one of those letters, but Shay doesn’t need to know that. And never will.

The look that Haytham receives from Shay is one of hurt and sorrow. A long exhale escapes through Shay’s nose that has his shoulders sagging slightly. He seems to melt back into the lounge.

“This could take me another lifetime to find with this outdated information,” Shay comments what Haytham already knows.

Desmond can hear the plea.

 “I know,” Haytham nods. “But there is no other man that I would trust to find these artifacts.”

Shay’s jaw clenches. “Is there no one else to find this, sir? Someone that is familiar with these rumours and whomever has given you this information.”

Another plea that goes unheard. Haytham is set in his ways, and he will not listen to reason.

“I can give you the contacts on who gave me that information. But I have been holding onto it in hopes you would return back with the box. This, I need for my further research into the precursor site I have been after,” Haytham tells Shay firmly but, softly.

A defeated look comes over Shay. He looks over the single piece of paper again with a deeper set frown. He lets out a sigh.

“I’ll do it, sir” Shay agrees. Only because it’s you asking.

And with that, Shay says his farewells and is off before Haytham can blink. A deep ache settles in his cold heart that has him inhaling deeply to try and rid himself of it. It only worsens and he curses to himself for having such feelings towards such a man he has only known for such a little time.

Was it amongst the letters from Shay he realized the origin of the warm feeling whenever he was around said man? Or was it when that Morrigan had disappeared over the horizon when Shay first set out for the precursor box that the first real ache came to his heart. Or maybe when he first saw the broken man at the other end of the table to pledge himself to the cause. He saw a man willing to lay down his life for something greater and for a better future.

Maybe that’s why Haytham has always had an eye watching the Irishman when his back is turned. Or reading the letters he had sent over and over again when he feels the need. It’s such childish behaviour. He can admit that to himself.

But even so, he still finds himself staring and watching the back of Shay disappear around the corner of the room with a longing. He could speak. Say something. Say such few words that he knows would change everything. His tongue feels so heavy. Even when he hears the front door click open and shut, his tongue doesn’t even know how to form words.

Even if Shay had stopped and turned, what would have Haytham had said? For once, he’s speechless with himself. He doesn’t know how long he sits on the lounge for, staring at the empty space that once had Shay. He knows this is foolish of himself, but whom is to judge him? Such a sad man in a foolish world.

-

The animus skips time for Desmond, and he quickly realizes that it had only taken Shay Cormac two years to find the artifact. He was good. Too good for what he does. Took him much less time to find this artifact than the box.

This time, there was no grand entrance at the dock. No long-lost lover type movie thing coming back.

Three sharp knocks come to Haytham’s door, and he looks up from his newspaper. He wasn’t planning anyone coming over at this time of day and he had planned to stay inside for the rest. He wills himself to stand off his lounge and wonders over to the front door in nothing but his white, laced collared shirt. He’s rid himself of his heavy coat and cloak, not needing it in his private home.

He opens the door, expecting someone like Charles Lee or one of his own hired men to come and spill some nonsense to him. He’s all ready to wave them away to tell them to not bother him until later. But Desmond can feel all irritation melt away as Shay Cormac stands at the front door with his back turned.

As soon as the door has opened, Shay turns to greet Haytham with a wide smile. Something that instantly reddens Haytham’s ears.

“Back already, Shay?” Haytham asks with the slightest of cockiness in his tone.

This has Shay scoffing a light chuckle. He unclicks something on his belt, something wrapped up in cloth and hands it out to Haytham. The Grandmaster takes it with a nod and unwraps a bit of it to unveil what’s inside.

“Despite with what little you gave me,” Shay says. “It didn’t take me long to track it down since this thing was actively being hidden away from me.”

Haytham peers down at the unknown artifact. It’s a steely grey with lines that run over that, glowing a bright blue like glow worms. The shape is odd and cube like.

Desmond recognises instantly as the power source for their current precursor sight. So, it was Shay that brought it into Templar hands. Now they just need to pinpoint what modern Templar base has it and they’ll be able to find it.

“I’m going to pull you out now,” Rebecca’s voice sounds over the scene laying out before Desmond.

No! Wait a moment. Desmond quickly shouts out. I want to see where this goes.

“Uuhhh. Okay?”

Haytham folds the cloth back over the power source and looks to Shay again.

“Would you like to come in?” He asks Shay, side stepping a tad with an outstretched hand.

Shay’s brown eyes look into the doorway with a longing, but he shakes his head with a, “I’m sorry,” on his lips.

“I do apologize for this quick meeting, Haytham.” Shay speaks with regret heavy on his tongue. “But I must be heading back to New York to find out what has truly become of my estate.”

Haytham can’t help the silent, “Oh,” the comes from him as he stands fully in the doorway again. He wished to speak more with Shay about all of this. To just, sit with Shay would be a pleasure.

“Is such a matter so urgent?” Haytham asks, his tone stern and rough to hide the neediness behind its meaning.

Shay bows his head, “I’m afraid so.”

“I see.”

“Are there any other artifacts you would like me to look into before I leave?” Shay asks, his voice becoming soft.

Haytham looks to the wrapped artifact in his hand. He doesn’t have any other leads he would like chased up his sleeve. But he wishes he did. He wishes he could make Shay stay a little bit longer.

“No,” Haytham all but mumbles out.

He meets Shay’s soft gaze, one that Desmond recognises as disappointment. Why fall for someone like Haytham? Desmond is real curious on what goes inside Shay’s head. He wishes to know more about him despite being a Templar. In wanting to know more, to see if Shay’s look of disappointment comes with an ache in his heart similar to Haytham’s. Both must be feeling such similar things, yet neither of them wanting to say such out loud.

Shay nods with a sniff. “I’ll be off then, sir. I’ll still be at the ready if you need be,” he says before he turns to leave.

Haytham isn’t sure what he’s doing, but he reaches out and grabs onto Shay’s wrist. He’s curious in his own mind on why he’s done such a thing. But he meets Shay’s eyes once more and sees hope. Shay doesn’t say a word, waiting for Haytham to say something. His crow’s feet furrow together as Shay’s eyes narrow onto him.

Haytham wishes. But not now. He recoils his hand away and places it behind his back. He juts out his chin and straightens his back. The Grandmaster of the American Colonial Rite stands before Shay Cormac, and that is the last person the captain wanted to see.

“I will still want those reports of your contribution to the Templar course, Shay,” Haytham says instead of all the things on his mind.

Shay’s shoulder slouch and he smiles with hurt on his features. He looks Haytham up and down before giving a slow nod.

Haytham you stupid old man.

“Of course, sir.” Shay says. “I expected nothing more.”

Haytham gives a nod back with a frown upon his features.

“Goodbye, Haytham.”

And with that, Shay leaves. He all but disappears into the crowd on the Boston street, his assassin upbringing never truly leaving his blood. Haytham lets out a shaky breath and returns to his home, the door once again clicking softly behind him with Shay on the other side.

Did they ever see each other again?

There’s silence in Rebecca’s end before a sorrow filled, “No.”

[intoxicated-chan]

❝𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬❞ ✠ 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐜

Inspired by “Army Dreamers” by Kate Bush // Best viewed in dark mode

Shay was scared to admit that he had fallen for Liam’s younger sister, he planned to take his secret to the grave and he succeeded for while until he found you years later, this time, possibly on the opposite sides.

Paring ➳ Shay Cormac x Liam’s Sister!Reader

Content Warnings ➳ Female Reader/Assassin Reader, typical Assassin's Creed violence, blood, assassinations, sexual content, death, murder, other tags to be added...

CHAPTERS ↓ Tumblr & AO3 Only

𝐎𝐧𝐞 ✠ ❝𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬❞

𝐓𝐰𝐨 ✠ ❝𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞❞

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ✠ ❝𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬❞

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 ✠ ❝𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬❞

𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 ✠ ❝𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬❞

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. None of the photos used belong to me! Credits to @cafekitsune and @benkeibear for the dividers. I use it all the time.

[sweetcocopowder]

A New Day for a New Year | Shaytham New Years Special

Synopsis: Having been invited to party for New Years, Haytham drags Shay along. He wishes he was at home instead of here where there's no prying eyes. Watching him. Judging him. Not being able to hold onto the only person he adores at this party.

But little does Haytham know, everyone watches the fireworks. Watches their colours against the dark night. Everyone but Shay, who is only looking at him.

Word Count: 2.3K

Pairing: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Assassin's Creed Rogue

Notes: I wish you all a happy new year! 2024 is here! Scary haha

The last time Shay Cormac was at Two Bends, he had assassinated Lawrence Washington.

Haytham would have known that already as far as Shay’s knowledge of him goes. Information around the Templars seems to travel quite quickly. He’s just glad that he doesn’t speak about it to Shay. The guilt of killing a sick and dying man still weighs him down some nights. Despite what Liam had said all that time ago, it hadn’t of help.

Twin Bends hasn’t changed a bit. Still the same old housing, same old dock and same old mansion and garden sitting up on the hill overlooking the bend. People bustle and laugh in the streets and on the dock, all here for the New Years party Haytham has dragged Shay along to. He was hesitant to come at first, but Haytham was persistent. He didn’t say it out loud, but it seemed like the Grandmaster didn’t want to attend alone.

The ship that brought them here wasn’t the Morrigan but instead a private vessel that the host of party had sent out. Mr Shaw -Shay has found out- is a supporter of the Templar cause. He isn’t apart of the Order, he only maintains a friendly relationship with Haytham so that he can stay above the rest. Stay in power and in kindness to that, Haytham receives information and money.

He’s the one hosting this New Years party and the same one that has invited Haytham along. In celebration for this upcoming year for the Order. But that celebration is only for Haytham and Mr. Shaw to know about. All Shay knows is that Mr. Shaw is an acquaintance. A very rich one.  

Haytham leads Shay into the manor’s garden, the Irishman keeping quiet and to himself. The Grandmaster doesn’t bother asking why the normally mouthy man is holding his tongue, he knows the memories these gardens must hold. He can only imagine though, the report on Lawrence’s death had told him everything he needed to know.

And something like that night, the garden is lit with soft orange lamps and flowers bloom on the bushes that line that fences. Everyone is dressed formally, even Haytham and Shay have changed from their usual attire to a couple of suits. Haytham still wears his cloak over his shoulders while Shay has just adopted for a simple black suit with red accents. His hair is done up nicely with a little red bow tie keeping it up. It’s cute but that is something Haytham would never say out loud.

A butler walks past with a tray full of voul-au-vents and with a delicate hand, Haytham picks off two. He holds one of to Shay, but the man’s attention is somewhere else entirely. The man doesn’t normally phase out like this but when he does, he gets caught in his own head very easily.

It takes Haytham twice calling his name to get the man’s attention, “Shay.”

“Hmm?” Shay hums as he looks to Haytham then down at the voul-au-vent being presented to him.

He takes the small pastry from Haytham with a small thanks. It’s gone within a single bite. His nose screws up the slightest but keeping to his good manners at the party, he swallows the voul-au-vent without a word. Haytham takes a bite of his own and silently agrees with Shay, the small pastries aren’t the best.

Haytham peers around the garden with a furrowed brow. Leviticus Shaw is nowhere to be seen. There are some men and women that Haytham recognises but other than that, everyone else are strangers.

“Do you think it’s best to socialize?” Shay asks suddenly.

He keeps his attention on Haytham instead of his surroundings. It seems to help him keep him from diving too deep into old, repressed memories.

Haytham hums to himself as he takes another look around before coming back to Shay with a short, “I think it would be. We should go for a wonder and find the host of this event.”

Shay nods, “Sounds like a plan.”

Despite them looking for Mr. Shaw, neither of them move quickly. They plod through the garden with conversation on their lips. Shay asks of Mr. Shaw, more curious than anything and Haytham is more willing to tell. At one point in their talk, Haytham snatches two glasses of champagne from a passing butler and hands one to Shay without a pause. At least the alcohol is better than the food Mr. Shaw is providing.  

-

“Mr. Kenway!”

Both men turn quick at the sudden shout. Shay looks Mr. Shaw up and down with a hostile sternness in his shoulders. The man is tall and stocky, his suit fitting him snuggly. Shay can almost smell the wealth coming from him and it makes him turn his head away slightly. But he keeps formal for Haytham’s sake.

The Grandmaster and Mr. Shaw shake hands firmly as they greet each other. Haytham looks small compared to Mr. Shaw, the other man as thick as a tree stump. Shay keeps quiet as the two catch up on their lives, then the stocky man’s bright blue eyes lock onto Shay. Like a blood hound looking at a hare.

“So, who is this handsome man you’ve yet to introduce me to, Haytham?” Leviticus asks with a devilish grin.

With a gesture of a hand, Haytham announces the Irishman formally, “This is Captain Cormac, one of my finest to the Order.”

Shay’s chest swells at the small praise from Haytham. He never would have received such words in the Creed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shaw,” Shay says with a short nod of his head.

Mr. Shaw’s eyes slightly widen. “What accent is that? Can’t quite place it.”

“My parents were Irish,” Shay explains.

“Both immigrants?”

At this, Shay is a little hesitant before answering a short, “Yes.”

Within the second, Mr. Shaw’s demeaner changes towards Shay. It’s a subtle change, but Shay picks up on it straight away. It’s the slight curl in Shaw’s lip and the tilt of the chin upwards that tells him all he needs to know.

Shay wishes to leave. But he doesn’t wish to make a scene in front of everyone. Not while Haytham is right next to him. That’s the last thing the Grandmaster of the Templar Order needs. One of his subjects spewing a bunch of shit in front of someone he respects. Last thing Shay wants is to be muzzled like a dog.

Mr. Shaw turns his attention back to Haytham, his features instantly brightening again. He clasps his hands together in front of him as he asks, “How are you enjoying the night so far?”

“It’s good to be here, Leviticus,” Haytham answers back.

“Good. We have fireworks planned when the new year turns over. Will you still be around by then?” Shaw pushes.

“Of course.”

“Wonderful!” Shaw grins. “I’ll come find you later, I have other guests to find and greet,” Shaw explains, his eyes flittering to Shay for a split second.

“That’s alright. I’ll meet with you before I take my leave,” Haytham instructs.

“Good! I’ll see you then!” And with that and a small nod, Mr. Shaw is wondering off into another part of the garden.

In the distant, in the gazebo, a band picks up a soft tune that fills the night. A complete opposite of the blazing annoyance Shay has buzzing around inside his chest right now.

“Can I speak informally, sir?” Shay asks with a low voice so no one can hear but the man beside him.

Haytham looks to him with a single raised brow. “Not here,” he murmurs.

Shay exhales through his nose and calls a butler over instead. Within three seconds, Shay downs one glass of champagne before grabbing two more and passing one over to Haytham. Shay downs the second champagne without a second thought and gives the butler the empty glass. With a wordless look, the butler offers a third glass. This, Shay eyes before accepting and shooing the butler away.

Out of curiosity, Haytham says, “You may speak informally.”

Brown eyes blink at him. “He’s a prick,” is all Shay says.

Haytham bites his tongue to hold back a smile. “I’m sorry?”

“Is he British?” Shay asks. “Couldn’t tell because he doesn’t have an accent like yours.”

“Like mine?”

“Is he?” Shay pushes.

“Yes.”

“Explains a lot.”

At this, Haytham scoffs lightly at the sudden attitude Shay has developed. Shay sips at his champagne as he looks about the party, trying not to down this one glass. But he fails, his glass tipping up, up and up until it’s all gone. He places the empty glass on a passing butler, scaring the man a bit.

Haytham should be a little hurt being a British man himself. But in all honesty, he finds this amusing. He’s well aware of the conflict between Irish and British and he has never fancied himself to be a part of that. Too much effort to hate someone over their birthplace and birthright. Effort he could put towards the Order. But Shaw, Shaw seems to have some effort to use it.

“Don’t let Leviticus get under your skin, Shay. He’s a rich man that only wishes to be known and liked by everyone,” Haytham says as he gives a small pat to Shay’s shoulder.

This, the simple touch seems to calm Shay down a tad. Enough for his gaze to return to Haytham and enough for his shoulders to slouch a bit. At this moment, Haytham wishes that he could bring Shay closer to him. To hold the back of his head as Shay’s face rests in the nook of his neck. But there are eyes about. And so instead of this, Haytham gestures with his head to continue their walk in the garden.

“Let’s walk it off, Shay,” Haytham softly says.

The Irishman straightens himself up and follows Haytham with a newfound will of bliss. As they walk, Haytham slowly sips on his own drink. The two of them keep to themselves, not too particular in conversating with anyone else but themselves. The only company Haytham wants tonight is Shay. That is enough.

Tonight, almost never happened. Shay had business in Albany that he was set to sail out for. He had celebrated Christmas loudly with Gist and his mindset had quickly come back to the Order. So, skipping New Years was something he could put up with. But with Haytham’s stern invitation -the only reason he was stern is because he didn’t want Charles Lee joining him- Shay had come along.

Being so deep in the garden, -only a few people pass here and there- the first pop of a firework has both of them looking up to the night sky quick as anything. Red shimmers across the sky, then another pop and a bright blue joins. Haytham watches with a softness for a moment. For he finds his gaze turning to Shay.

Big brown eyes are lit up with the colours of the sky. A small smile is spread across his handsome features, something that is infectious. Feeling the gaze, Shay turns to meet Haytham, his smile widening.

For the second time tonight, Haytham wishes he could embrace Shay. Wishes he could hold him in his arms like so many other couples tonight. He wishes he wasn’t someone so high and respected so that he could reach out to Shay in a loving way. But instead, all Haytham gives is the slightest of smiles, a twitch of a lip, before he turns his attention back to the fireworks.

An ache comes to his heart. A jealousy that he cannot outwardly love like everyone else in this garden tonight. That everything he and Shay share can only be shown behind closed doors and shuttered windows. He isn’t watching the fireworks, his mind thinking of other things.

A faint touch comes to his lower back under his cape that brings Haytham out of thought very quickly. Shay pulls him closer and Haytham reacts with a hand pushing on the other man’s chest. His heart beats in his own chest like the popping of the fireworks overhead, but he can feel that Shay’s is steady as anything. A hand covers his on Shay’s chest and squeezes softly. Shay’s face is so close, he can smell the champagne on his breath.

“Everyone is watching the fireworks,” Shay whispers out with a sheepish grin.

Haytham looks around and the few people that are in this part of the garden, their eyes are up to the sky. No one is looking at them. No one cares for their surroundings. Yet still, a twisted paranoia gnaws at Haytham. What if someone is watching.

All worry is swept away as a small kiss is placed to his temple. He blinks at the touch, his eyes still on everyone. But no one shouts. No one gasps in horror at the act. No one utters a word but at the awe of the colours blooming in the sky.

With a little relief inside of his cold heart, Haytham looks to Shay who hasn’t taken his eyes off of him this entire time. He squeezes Haytham’s hand again, a wordless assurance.

Under the fireworks, for the new year that comes, the two share a kiss in the blooming garden. Haytham doesn’t care that all he can taste is champagne. He doesn’t care that Shay’s lips are a little dry from talking in the cold night all evening. He kisses him softly with a hand on the back of his neck before anyone can spot them. They hold onto each other while the short moment lasts. While no one is watching. No one will know. No one will see. Only they will know of this moment that they both will keep to their hearts for the year to come. For the next day will hold something special. And the coming year will be held with all kinds of surprises.

What a happy new years indeed.

[sweetcocopowder]

Childlike Innocence | Shaytham | Pt. 6

Pt. 5 | Pt. 7

Synopsis: Haytham goes out looking for Shay and only finds trouble

Word Count: 1.8K

Genre: Coming of age/Young Love

Pairing: Haytham Kenway / Shay Cormac

Warnings: Violence

Notes: I am actually so sorry for not updating this series since goddamn November. It's just been wild since Christmas and I've been kicking myself for not finishing this series. I'm literally a couple of chapters from completing this series as well haha. I know this chapter is short, but there will be more shortly

The next morning on the hotel stairs, Haytham tells Birch of Shay and Liam. He doesn’t tell him of their nights out beforehand. But he also mentions the white robed figure he saw with Liam, not thinking twice of it. Only because he’s afraid that if Birch finds out he’s lied to him, he won’t have free reign anymore.

Yet it wouldn’t exactly be lying per say. It would just be not telling stuff to Birch. Like the tin of tea he has stuffed in the back of his pants.

“That boy from the tavern?” Birch quickly as he puts two and two together.

Haytham swallows thickly. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright. And this robed man. Did he look dangerous?” Birch asks.

“I didn’t feel in danger,” he confesses.

“Hmm.” Birch thinks of it.

He walks up the stairs halfway before turning back to Haytham, as if reminding himself the boy is there. He looks at Haytham as if there’s a million things going on in his head. But he doesn’t speak a word of either of those thoughts. Haytham wonders to himself sometimes what truly goes on in his head. Then other times, he couldn’t give two shits what Birch thinks, it’s only what he says that matters.

“Go off. Just be careful is all,” Birch inquires before leaving, hiding his smirk from the boy.

But with that, Haytham is off successfully hiding the tin of tea in his pants. How? He doesn’t know. Maybe Birch noticed and didn’t say anything or maybe he got caught up thinking about the robed man. Maybe Haytham should keep an eye on him if Birch is interested. Or maybe he should mind his own business and worry about himself? Haytham moves on from those thoughts as quick as he makes his way out on the street.

He remembers the way Liam took him to Aunt Bridgette’s. She was a lovely woman and Haytham had found out she had used the last of her tea on the boys yesterday. So, being the gentleman Haytham is, he’s giving her his own supply. Birch won’t care. They have much more back home and can simply purchase more without a bat of their eye. Unlike Bridgette who has to keep a close watch on her spendings.

He gets to the small apartment no problem and doesn’t hesitate to go inside. He may have only been here once, but he shouldn’t be afraid to wonder around. Especially of one that looks like him. A little first class boy would be easy to rob.

Lightly, Haytham knocks on her door.

After a moment, similar to yesterday it opens and Bridgette stands there. She looks down to Haytham and it takes her a second to recognise him.

“Oh, Haytham my dear boy. What are you doing here?” Bridgette asks sweetly.

“Is Shay about?” He responds softly.

She shakes her head. “Oh. No sorry, dear. He’s at the docks with Liam and his father.”

“Thank you, miss.”

Haytham goes to run off but he stops at the top of the stairs and quickly turns around. He holds out the tin of tea for Bridgette.

“I noticed you ran out of tea yesterday. So, I brought you some more,” Haytham offers with a shy smile. “It’s from London.”

This gets a hearty laugh from the old woman. One that has Haytham’s heart swelling. She takes the tea and looks at the patterns on the tin. It’s a lovely pattern of flowers and plants. Something often seen in London in the high class stores.

“Oh, this is lovely. Thank you, Haytham,” she says with a wide smile. “You truly shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” he interjects. “But I best be off now ma’am. I don’t want to be late to catch, Shay.”

“Be well!”

With the goodbye, Haytham is rushing down the stairs and out the building. Without even thinking he begins sprinting to the docks. He doesn’t want to miss Shay. His feet move quicker than his body at times and he almost slips over while weaving in between people on the street. Last thing he wants to do his get his fine clothes dirty.

When he arrives at the docks, he doesn’t spot the Irish boy straight away. There’s quite a crowd on the Greenwich docks today and it seems as if everyone has decided to be out. Haytham pushes and shoves through people to try and get a better look but, everywhere he goes there’s no sign of Shay nor Liam.

It begins to worry him. Last thing he wants is to get lost in a place like this. He must admit it isn’t entirely all that smart to come out here alone and he was hardly thinking. He blushes when he realizes all he was thinking of was Shay. He rubs a hand over his face, hoping to wash away the red.

Haytham grunts as he runs into a crate near the docks, his right arm now aching where the edges of the wood dug in. He rubs it as he glares at the crate, swearing it off in his head. But in the midst of his frustration, an idea comes along. He can get a better view from up there. With a huff, he pulls himself up on the crate and is looking about the docks from a new found height. Up here, he can see everyone. What they’re doing, who they’re talking with and much more.

He spots Liam first. Next to a small, docked ship that looks a bit battered around the edges. His bald head tall over others. Hard to miss such a man like him. If Liam is there, then Shay should be as well.

Haytham hops off the crate and begins pushing his way towards the direction of Liam. He just hopes that he doesn’t move on and such.

Yet, the closer Haytham gets, the louder yelling becomes.

“I TOLD YOU TO KEEP OFF OUR SIDE OF THE DOCK!” Liam bellows out.

“This ain’t your dock, O’Brien!” Another man shouts back.

“I know it ain’t mine but you’re interrupting our flow of traffic here!” The young irish man seethes back, his voice raising with each word.

“Bah! We are merely using the dock as it’s intended to,” the other man exclaims as he gestures up and down the walkway with two hands. “We can dock our ship here because we paid for it!”

Liam swings and lands the first punch. The sound of fist striking jaw is loud enough that it has Haytham’s own jaw hurting. Then, chaos reigns. Men shout, more fists are thrown.

Haytham becomes caught in the middle of it as both sides of this fight come head on. The boy is pushed aside to the edge of the dock. His foot slips and he nearly falls ass over head. He flails his arms about like some blabbering chicken when someone grabs the front of his vest.

Shay holds onto with both hands, straining as he has to use his entire body weight to hold Haytham up. It always feels like this Irish boy pops out of nowhere. Haytham laughs out a smile as Shay gives a strained one back. It’s a balancing act and Haytham doesn’t know how much longer Shay can keep this up.

“What are you doing here?” Shay wheezes out.

“I came to find you,” Haytham says truthfully.

Shay’s eyes widen something soft, his ears turning a bright red. He tries to pull Haytham up, but from behind a sailor is pushed their way. The sailor knocks into Shay, tipping the balancing act and sending both boys into the drink. Shay lands on Haytham heavily in the water, his elbow digging into his hip.

Haytham gasps to the surface and Shay follows too long after. The fighting ensues up on the dock and Haytham can’t help but laugh. What on earth was Liam thinking. He looks to Shay who has the widest grin on his face. His hair sticks to his face, showing just how long it is.

“What was going on?” Haytham asks.

Shay flicks his hair from his face with a small grunt. “I’ll tell you when we get out.” He looks up to the dock. “And I guess once they’ve all settled down.”

“Okay,” Haytham nods as he begins swimming.

-

Once out of the water, soaking wet and dripping all over the docks, the boys watch from a far as red coats break up the fighting. Some red coats get punched in the process and dragged into the fight. A gun shot rings out, a bullet being fired into the air and the chaos stops. Men flee that aren’t in cuffs and some even dive into the water and begin swimming away.

On a dock across from the fighting, Haytham and Shay sit on the edge, dangling their feet over the water. Liam is nowhere to be seen within the crowd as sailors are arrested for public disturbance and violence on the street. He must of run off somewhere. Lucky bastard.  

“So, why was Liam fighting?” Haytham asks without taking his eyes off the crowd.

Shay wrings his shirt of water the best he can as he answers back, “Liam’s father, good man… I think. His crew like to pick fights for the crew that shares that dock. British. But like, stupid British if you get my meaning.”

Haytham nods, not being offended at the slightest.

 “I don’t see the fuss in it all when they can just move out of each other’s way. But Liam has become caught in the middle and for some reason, he shares the same hatred towards the other’s crew.”

“Oh. It’s a, ‘oh you hate him so I must hate him as well, even though I don’t know why,’ type of thing,” Haytham mocks.

Shay chuckles brightly, “Yeah!”

This has a laugh from Haytham has well. Something so innocent. But, after a few passing moments, Haytham groans into his hands.

“I can’t go home like this,” the British boy grumbles.

So much for his clothes.

“Like what?” Shay asks a little oblivious.

Haytham stands as he gestures to himself. “Like this. A soaked rat!”

Shay looks the other up and down with a little, “Ooh.”

“Can’t you sneak in?” Shay asks with a cocked eyebrow.

Haytham only shakes his head. “I won’t make it as far as the front desk.”

“What if, I try?” The irishboy grins from ear to ear.

He stands up as well as he pushes his long shaggy locks out of his face. Haytham only stares at him with furrowed brows. He doesn’t think that would work.

“You?” Haytham asks.

Shay nods. “I’m the sneakiest boy you’ve ever known!”

“I don’t know many people.”

Shay slaps his chest with a loud, “Exactly!”

[intoxicated-chan]

I just realized that one of my posts of Shay Cormac x Reader isn’t showing up in one of the tags. 😭😭 You guys can find it here.