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desmond69miles · 8 months ago

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An Artists Eye

I don't know why but every time I try to update a post it doesn't work until I do it three times?? Boo. This isn't exactly how I wanted it to turn out but I'm semi-happy with the finished work, soooooo have fun.

I'm working on a 'part-two' (it's more of a part one, it takes place before this). Not sure when it will be posted, but it'll be out sometime. (Read it here!)

Arno finds your sexual drawings and offers to live them out with you.

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Fluff and smut, Google translated French, oral (r receiving) fem!reader, vaginal sex/fingering, unprotected sex, creampie (I hate that word), grinding/dry humping.

Word count: 3,491. It's been awhile since I wrote something this long.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Three years ago, you had the pleasure of Arno knocking you over. The streets of Paris had been bustling one fall morning, and you were late to a client meeting, scuttling down the street with your sketches haphazardly secured in your arms. You weren't looking - or maybe you were but didn't process it in time - when a man walked straight into you. It was somewhat theatrical--your papers flew up as you fell down. The man immediately bent down to help collect your sketches while muttering apologies, but it was too late; a good majority of your work had fluttered straight into a muddy puddle you narrowly missed.

As the brunette picked up what papers were still preserved, you worked on dusting yourself off. Once the two of you stood, you finally looked at the man's face, one of his gloved hands moving to push his hood back. "Je suis vraiment désolé, madame," he said, "I'll buy you a new stack of sketching papers." You blinked at his offer - somewhat distracted by his handsome face - and politely rejected it. "Non, c'est bon. I wasn't looking where I was going." The man nodded and handed you back your work, dismissing himself with a slight nod and smile before disappearing back into the crowd. You stood there for a few seconds while people passed you, their shoulders occasionally bumping yours, and you moved to put the papers in your messenger bag.

A few days later, the man randomly arrived at your door around eleven at night. When you opened the door, you were no less than shocked - he actually brought you a new stack of sketch paper! Then you asked yourself, how did he find my house? "Bonsoir Madame," he said. His brown eyes danced over your face, the same you had done when he knocked you over, and he extended his hand with the cartridge paper that was wrapped in a thin cloth to keep from dirtying. You take it from him, and your mouth flubbed open in search of some words. Finally, you decided on nothing more than an awkward "Merci... May I get your name?" The man chuckled, "Arno Dorian, and yours, madame?" Arno repeated your name once you said it, nodding along in confirmation. He left after denying your offer for coffee with a goodnight, and after you returned to your sofa, you undid the covers to the paper.

A small card with a fancy gold trim sat on the stock. You turned it around and looked at the fancy swirls of writing--If you wish for more paper, run into me at Café Théâtre. You couldn't help the wide smile that formed on your face.

Now, it will be your and Arno's second anniversary in a day.

You sat in front of your easel that held up your latest work, and one of your hands mixed up a beautiful blue on the wooden pallet held by your other hand. It was seven-ish, the sun hazily setting in the dimming sky, and the warm air of summer blew through the open windows of Arno's chambers. The ambient buzz of crickets and the fuel of early nightlife gave way to your soft humming of a lullaby. Occasionally, you'd hear the claps from the Cafe down below, a recitation of Hamlet playing tonight, and you've seen the show so much that you found yourself rehearsing the lines to yourself every so often. Your fingers plucked through your paintbrush jar until you found a suitable one and began to paint the shading colors of Arno's coat. Shading was the last thing that needed to be done, an easy task that could be completed quickly.

Arno was indeed your favorite subject to draw. Often, when you found yourself unable to sleep, you sketched him while he was resting--or when you found yourself with free time, you drew his body's familiar lines and curves in practice. Sometimes, these anatomical figures found themselves in... precarious positions, such as in nude drawings. Those were your personal favorites, your sexual admiration for him going past just intercourse, but that sketchpad had been stowed away in the very back of your closet in a box. Hiding your drawings wasn't something you liked; you were proud of your work, and you didn't shy away from drawing nude bodies. In fact, Élise's favorite work of yours was of a sexually deviant nun she had nicknamed 'The Sin.' But, you always hesitated to show Arno the drawings and paintings you have done of him. Neither of you was sure why; you argued they weren't perfect, and Arno argued you were worried that he'd judge (in truth, you were a little more than embarrassed to show the numerous sexual positions you had put your lover and yourself in through pencil).

However, you decided to face that embarrassment with your second anniversary, hence your eagerness to finish this portrait of your lover. Hours had ticked by reasonably quickly, and soon enough, you heard the grandfather clock chime twelve times, indicating the strike of midnight. You pause to look over your final work and give a more than satisfied smile, grabbing the canvas sheet you had and covering the painting so Arno didn't see it (you also had to make sure he didn't peek; he seemed fond of doing that). Your hands had been stained with colors, and your apron had a few new splotches--you didn't mind, but you still hung up your apron carefully for washing and quickly scrubbed your hands clean.

With your hands a tad bit achy from the repeated holding of brushes, you stripped yourself of the painter's gown. You didn't even bother with a chemise or undergarments and instead grabbed one of Arno's button-up shirts that had a smear of purple paint. The mark was seemingly impossible to get out of the cotton, so he had unofficially gifted it to you, telling you that he'd wear it if you ever wanted to fling paint at him again. You grabbed one of the two pillows Arno claimed and tucked one between your thighs for comfort--the pillow usually replaced by his thigh. That, sadly, was the reality of being with an assassin; most nights, he wasn't around to fall asleep with. Thankfully, it seemed like you always woke up in his arms, your lover either sleeping soundly or admiring you.

You heard the chime of 12:30 on the grandfather clock before you shut your eyes for the night and fell asleep.

Awaking in the morning was a chore. The bed was so warm, cradling you like your mother did when you were a babe, and when you shuffled to get comfortable, an arm tightened around your waist. A knowing smirk cast onto your lips - Arno was back and pressed tightly to you. "Arno," you whisper, quiet enough so he could hear if he were awake. No response. Good, you hoped he was asleep - allowing you to get up and prepare your present for him.

So, carefully, to not wake him up, you moved Arno's arm from off of you and gingerly rolled out of bed, slowly standing up so as not to make the wood creak. Once your feet were planted on the cool floor, you stretched fully before walking away from the bed. Your easel still sat in the same position with the canvas sheet covering it; the oak stool pushed out to the side with a dirty jar of brushes resting on top of it. You noted that Arno had closed the windows and drawn the curtains, only slivers of sun peeking through. You first moved to open them just a tad so the chambers would be more illuminated--mainly so you wouldn't topple over something. Then, you moved over to your easel.

You took a deep breath and hoped that it looked okay after drying. Your hands gently took the cover off, and for the second time, you smiled proudly, hands clasped together. It wasn't alright; it was... almost perfect. Something was missing, and you couldn't put your finger on it. Then, it dinged in your brain. The drawing of us! You made your way back to the bed, but instead of getting in, you opened the dresser beside it and rummaged around until you found your trusted sketchbook. You flipped through it until you found the page already torn out and signed with a small love note. You paused, though, and your tummy did a flutter.

You forgot about this drawing. It was one of the first sexual ones you drew, a rather raunchy drawing of none other than Arno laid on his stomach, arms wrapped around a faceless woman's thighs and his face pressed to her cunt. This was still when you were too ashamed to draw yourself in these drawings - hence the faceless woman - but it made you fuzzy.

It wasn't like you and your boyfriend never had sex; quite the opposite. Many nights you had been spent on the bed, Arno deep inside you while some serious French kissing went on (not to mention the time when Arno's mentor had walked in on you deepthroating the brunette's cock in none other than the Assassin's base under Cafe Theatre, but you're too embarrassed to talk about it. You still get hot when you hear Bellec calling Arno 'pisspot'). While you've had amazing sex, you've never got the confidence to ask for oral. Arno offered it, but you said no; what if you taste bad or do something Arno doesn't like? The thought of a mouth down there always intimidated you, but that doesn't mean you haven't fantasized about it.

You were so caught up in staring at the drawing that you jumped when a loud crash came from outside, dropping the sketchbook onto the floor. "Merde," you almost immediately cussed, recoiling your foot from the damage of your toes being hit by the journal. It was enough to wake Arno up, and while you bent down to retrieve the book, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Everything alright, cherie?" He said, and you were startled like you were caught doing something bad. "Oui, sorry to wake you." Arno gave you an understanding smile, sliding to the edge of the bed and leaning forward to find your waist. You tucked the sketchpad to your chest as he pulled you in for an embrace, his face resting between your shoulder blades.

"What were you drawing?" Arno muttered, and you tensed for a moment. "Sketches, love, it's nothing too important." You replied, and he hummed. "Everything is important when made by you." You didn't protest when his hand snaked from your hip up to your hands, his fingers grasping the edge of the book and pulling it free. His head moved back but still rested against you, and you heard him chuckle. Your face warmed, and for a moment, you willed the floor to open up and swallow you or for you to turn into a gnat and fly away.

"Is this woman you?" He asked, and you quietly said no. "Then you envision me eating another woman out?" You let out a defeated breath, shoulders slumping. "Non, it is me."

"But you did not draw your face?"

"It was awkward."

"Ah, then we should make it less awkward. Experiencing it may give you confidence."

Your head turns to peer at him from behind your shoulder. He has a cheeky grin that he knew he was doing - and you chewed your lips. "It's our anniversary, too. How will I marry you if I've never tasted you?" You blinked and chose to ignore the marriage comment, but as he pulled you into his lap, you knew you weren't getting out of this one too quickly. "I've heard from other women that it's relaxing if that quells your worry." One of his hands slides up your thigh and rests near the apex of your legs, thumb rubbing small circles into your flesh, and he kisses your cheek. You turn your body, legs swinging to rest on the bed and lean into Arno. He gives you a sweet look, brown eyes filled with what could only be described as love, and kisses your lips. He didn't get far once he pulled away; your hand brought him back in.

Your fingers undo the red ribbon, keeping Arno's hair tied while he bites your bottom lip teasingly. Once his hair was free and you could run your fingers through it, you allowed his tongue to slip past your lips and tangle with his. He tasted faintly of expensive red wine, and you drank the groan he let when your nails scratched his scalp. The hand resting on your thigh slid under the shirt you wore, warm fingertips running over your curves. Your noses bumped accidentally when you moved to tug on the buttons of his nightshirt, and neither of you went too far from the other. Your breaths still mingled as his hands aided yours in tugging his shirt off, the fabric falling onto the floor. Arno then moved both of you, so now you were lying against the pillows with your lover hovering above you. You exchange soft, loving smiles, eyes studying each other. Your hands ran down Arno's arms and rested against his wrists.

"Do you want to try oral?" He asked, genuinely curious, and you pondered. "Will you go slow?" You query, and you get your answer with the gentle, warming kiss Arno places against your forehead and then lips. His hands grab a pillow you are not resting on, and he says to lift your hips. You comply without question, and Arno slides the pillow under your butt, then moves your thighs apart so he can adequately slot himself in between them. The pillow gave a perfect angle for his hips to slot against yours, his semi-hard cock pressed into your inner thigh, and you could feel the wettening of your folds.

His lips find yours for a small kiss before he moves to your neck, sucking in a few light marks that can be hidden, and one of his hands trails down your body to your stomach, resting there patiently until you give the go-ahead. The attention placed on your pulse point made you let out a quiet whimper, and you circled your arms around Arno's shoulders so you could tug his body closer to yours. His bodily warmth was nothing short of what you called home, the south trail of his hand at your happy whisper of 'more,' the press of his thumb against your clit--it gave an almost sentimental feel.

There was loving, and then there was loving.

And he loved you like you loved him.

The way Arno loved you was nothing short of amazing? Spectacular? supercalifragilisticexpialidocious? There was no word for the way he treated you.

After slicking his fingers in your cunt, he pressed a final kiss to your lips before descending your body, leaving kisses every place he could reach. You shifted awkwardly once you two were positioned like the drawing--Arno on his stomach, his cheek pressed into your thigh, hands holding your legs apart. You did have to admit that it was an ego boost to see your lover between your legs with such a hungry look in his eyes. Arno pressed a kiss to where your thigh meets your leg, impossibly close to your cunt, and you felt his breath over your puffy clit. It caused you to shift your hips, a hand coming to rest on his, and Arno peeked up at you from his position.

Your insides became mush--there was absolutely no right for him to look heavenly, and you moaned as his index finger teased against your slit. "Do you want me to?" Arno asked, dipping his finger inside, teasingly curling in a way that he knew wouldn't feel terribly pleasurable. You debated--a new experience and most likely an intense orgasm, or you'll have to listen to your girlfriends rave about cunnilingus without knowing what to say next time you all met up. Most, if not all, your nerves of appearance had vanished and instead replaced by the anxious want of indulgence. Arno pushed his finger deeper, pulling back and repeating those actions slowly, awaiting your response.

"Mhm, oui. I'd like you to."

Arno smiled, and when he exhaled, you wiggled at the cool air against your warm cunt. "Merci," he hummed and leaned in, pressing his lips to your clit. Arno was gentle at first, careful not to overwhelm you. The rough pad of Arno's tongue pressed flat against your clit, and he let you move your hips, allowing you to draw your pleasure in what felt good. Once he thought that you had enough of a taste, his hands moved to your hips and pushed them down into the pillow. Your hands moved between Arno's resting ones or his head, moaning loudly when he sucked your clit with fervor. "Dieu," you exasperatedly said. Your thighs closed around Arno's head, not tight enough to hurt him but snug enough to keep him there, eyes closing when the tip of the pink muscle drew figure eights on your cunt. His finger slipped back in, this time pumping with a little more vigor, and when he curled them just right, that beautiful edge came into feel.

"S'il te plaît, oh mon Dieu, s'il te plaît," you whined and swore you could feel Arno smile into you. Your hips rocking against his face as well as your thighs clamped tight around his head, caused a slight burn from his stubble, but, shit, you couldn't care as long as he kept going. Arno's lips move up once again and slurp your clit, and "There, fuck! There, Arno, don't stop!" pours out from you. Another finger adds to your wet hole, and he gives a rough suckle just before you send hurdling over the crescendo of an orgasm. Arno lets you ride it out by grinding on his face, his nose bumping your clit in delicious aftershocks, and you eventually come down enough to release Arno's head from your thighs.

His head popped up from between your thighs, and he crawled up, bouncing down onto the bed beside you. One of Arno's hands rested on your stomach, and he asked, "How was it?" You gave a weak chuckle, "Le meilleur, fuck, the best."

"Another round?" He suggested.

"Always another round." You enforce.

Before Arno could move, you crawled on top of him and gently pushed your hips down so your saliva-and-slick-ridden cunt pressed perfectly against his hard cock. He gave that devilish smirk, hands finding your waist to push the nightshirt over your head, and you moaned as his hips met yours with equal enthusiasm. In more-or-less semi-clothed dance, you rocked against each other until Arno's hands slowed you, one going to slightly push you back just so he could free himself from his now wet undergarments. The fabric didn't get farther than his knees before you scooted back up and took him in your hand, running the head of his cock through your folds. After a few teasing passes, his tip catches your hole, and you slowly - yet easily - sink onto him. Once your lower half was pressed against his pelvis once more, Arno gave a few shallow thrusts and cupped one of your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh and playing with your nipple.

A few more seconds passed, and with a quick kiss to Arno's forehead, you tensed your thighs, hands pressing against his chest, and you began to set a steady rhythm of riding him. Your lover met your thrusts halfway with quick motions that effectively created a shlick shlick when either of you moved. The friction inside you felt good but just not enough to reach climax again, and Arno knowing this, moved his fingers to rub small circles against your clit. Arno cursed and rolled his head back onto the pillows. You watched his Adam’s apple bob with each thick swallow, and his thrusts became unsynced--a tale tail sign of impending orgasm.

With a few more messy thrusts, Arno pulled your hips flush to his and spilled deep inside of you. The warmth of his cum had made you unexpectedly orgasm, toes curling as you moaned. You stayed still and savored the moment, your spine failing to keep you upright, so you lay down on Arno's chest instead. Arno rolled over onto his side and took you with him, grabbing the closest blanket and covering you both up to keep from getting cold.

"Je t'aime," Arno whispers against your hair, and you softly hummed. "Je t'aime plus," you countered, but he won the battle with an "I love you the most."

"I peeked at the painting," he said after a peaceful silence, "I love it. You'll have to paint me nude next time."

#arno dorian x reader #Arno Dorian #Arno Dorian smut #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed smut #lynns posts

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pixievi · 1 year ago

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THE FRUITS OF HER LABOUR.

𓆩 summary ° ｡ eivor assists in securing your throne and your gratitude lies deeper than a mere alliance

𓆩 warnings ° ｡ queen! reader, throne sex, cunnilingus (r! receiving), fingering (r! recieving), degradation, praise, power play (eivor getting off on fucking a queen while simultaneously teasing them for letting her) usage of good girl, whore, lamb, eivor and reader having big phat crushes on each other

𓆩 wc ° ｡ 2,9k

𓆩 disclaimer ° ｡ this is a work of kink fantasy/fiction. within the world of kink and bdsm, consent is of upmost priority (also in general). even if the consent is not explicitly stated in the work, know and be assured that it is always given beforehand between all participants.

minors, men and ageless blogs dni. you are responsible for the content you read.

“are you not joining in on the merriment, my lady?”

eivor had appeared in the throne room silently, her features illuminated by the flames of the many braziers in the room. she wore a proud smirk, the victory from earlier in the day obviously still sung through her veins. rowdy shouts and songs of battle faintly filled the room from the longhouse. it sounded like the whole town was in there. you were sat comfortably in your new position, on your throne. reading through various letters from the townsfolk, in which most welcomed their new queen. that was until eivor’s gentle voice joined the crackling of the fires. she strolled towards you as her eyes took in your domestic form, pleasantly surprised. she was used to seeing you in noble wear. thick cloaks sewn with delicate designs and with the softest furs, tunics bearing rich colours, thick pants made to withstand the seasons and jewellery that vociferated your status. now, you donned a light nightdress with a shawl wrapped around your arms. you looked soft, she thought, as warmth filled her chest.

“no”, you smiled at her softly. “i would much rather be in my bed”

it had been 3 long months and a half of strategising, travelling, battles, meetings, dealing with ivarr’s bullshit, more battles because of said bullshit….you were ready to sleep for a month. to put it lightly. but having eivor by your side made it all bearable. you were taken aback by her confident demeanour at first, but that same confidence soon became a comfort that quelled your anxieties. without her, victory would not have been possible. she stopped at the bottom of the dais and her smirk grew into a smile. mischief swirling in her eyes.

“perhaps i could keep you company then?”

brazen, she was. your cheeks warmed. damned woman. you wished you had grown used to her teasing, but how could you when everything about her made you want her to plow you until you couldn’t walk?

“would you not be missed by your men in your celebrations?”

eivor shrugged. “we’ve celebrated enough victories together, i doubt missing one with them would be tragic”

“are you sure? celebrating with me is hardly any better, i’m only reading these”, you chuckled, waving the letters.

“it would be, i want to speak with you”, she said, with a hint of softness. you fought down a grin.

“you don’t have to worry, our alliance is secured. ravensthorpe now has a powerful ally”

“i trust that it is. but that’s not why i wanted to speak with you”

eivor’s gaze was suddenly intense. you adjusted, sitting straighter in your throne. “oh, is everything all right eivor?”

she said nothing and stepped up towards you. your eyes followed her until she was looking down at your form. it felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest in anticipation. she beckoned you to stand, with a feathery soft ‘come here’. you took her warm and calloused hands and they held you gently as you stood with her. your gaze shifted everywhere, : to the furs on her shoulders, her thumb caressing your knuckles, the weathered weapons belt that hung around her hips and accidentally, her lips. for far too long, you realised. cheeks warming even more.

eivor chuckled, and cradled your warm cheeks. tilting your head, making you look at her. though her rough hands were scarred and capable of cutting down men larger than her, she held your face tenderly. you've never felt more safe. as always, when eivor was around you. you melted into her affections. she hummed in approval as you softened and relaxed. your name left her lips warmly, making you look away from the scar on her cheek. interrupting thoughts of desiring to trace it.

and when she spoke, you could not believe your ears. surely, this was a dream?? you’re about to wake up and be left with an empty feeling in your chest that walked with longing alongside you for the rest of the day. you’ve had this dream before. eivor wanted you. her thumbs soothing your cheeks as she spoke is what made you realise that yes, this was actually real. because your dreams never got her touch right.

“…and as soon as your eyes met mine, the first time we met, i was yours. and i never want to not be”, eivor finished earnestly, her own heart beating frantically in anticipation of your reaction. she searched your dazed eyes for any sort of unspoken answer, worried you didn’t feel the same, and that she made a fool of herself. the longer you took to answer, the more her hands loosened her grip on you. threatening to pull away completely. really, you were just in shock and struggling to form words. losing her warm touch and the dejected look in her eyes as she fully pulled away is what made you snap out of it.

words were failing you, and there’s no doubt in your mind anymore of eivor’s feelings so…you did what you always wanted to do. you gripped her face instead and smashed your lips to hers. a surprised noise escaped her. you smiled against her lips and chuckled. eivor wasted no time. with her heart soaring she pulled you in again. trapping your mouth with hers and deepening the kiss with a groan. it was messy and desperate. it was like eivor wanted to devour you. spit started to coat both of your lips, some reaching your chin. but you didn’t care, if you didn’t have to stop to breathe, you would’ve gone the whole night tasting her. you both breathed heavily, catching your breaths.

eivor’s eyes were fixed on your heaving chest. she almost forgot she was supposed to be breathing as she focused on the sight of your nipples poking through the thin fabric. how they pressed against it each time you inhaled. her arms snaked around your waist, bringing you even closer to her. pressing your body to her own. she couldn’t help herself. she placed open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of your neck and revelled in the sweet noises you gave her.

it was all too much, her hot mouth on you, her hands gliding across your body and squeezing your flesh almost roughly. possesively. it was all going straight to your core, making you ache. your hips had a mind of their own. desperate for any sort of attention, you grinded against her. hoping she'll do something about it.

eivor smiled against your neck. she'd never seen you like this before. so desperate and mindless. she wanted to never forget it. and drag it out. she ignored your pleas, with a bit of difficulty and continued making her mark on your neck. by this point, your neck was decorated. they wouldn't be going anywhere, anytime soon. and eivor loved that.

you were growing frustrated. and even more wet. you pulled her head away from your neck suddenly and she made a noise of protest, but you shushed her.

"i don't think i properly rewarded you, did i?", you asked, gripping eivor’s chin. her eyes were clouded, and you could easily imagine the thoughts swimming in her mind. eivor shook her head.

you sat back down on your throne. "well, come get it then"

the second you spread your legs, eivor was already on her knees. pushing your legs up, holding them by the backs of your thighs and shoving her face into your dripping pussy. you gasped in relief. finally, finally after so long of wanting her, you had her. and she had you. eivor groaned into your folds as she lapped up your wetness and dipped her warm tongue teasingly into your aching entrance. making you arch into her with a whine.

eivor couldn't believe it. she always imagined what it would be like to fuck you. the sounds you'd make, the pretty expressions she'd pull from you, how you'd taste. but in recent weeks, she was daydreaming about a whole lot more than just that. every time you'd smile at her made eivor think of how lovely it would be to have you at home waiting for her, ready to give her that smile that was always just for her, when she came back to you. it would make her a lot less reckless in her endeavours. it didn't take long for eivor to figure out her passionate feelings for you.

her hand trailed up your stomach and pulled down the front of your dress, revealing your tits to her. she grabbed one and kneaded it as she feasted on you. her black eye paint was still striking on her, even after having it on all day. it lasted proudly through the harsh rain that lashed the battlefield and eivor's sweat. now it smeared slightly on the sensitive skin of your thighs. you always loved when she wore it. feeling your heated gaze on her, eivor met your eyes from beneath your damp curls and winked. bitch. you cursed between whimpers as she added more fuel to the fire in your veins.

eivor was purposefully avoiding your clit, as she wanted to play with you for as long as she could. the wet sounds she was making between your thighs were obscene, and they were extra loud because of the echo. eivor shoved her tongue deeper within you, and tongue fucked you. you whined and gripped her hair, pulling her in closer. desperate for more. her nose bumped against your aching clit while you shifted and you gasped, and made an effort to tighten your thighs around her head. but she still had your legs in an iron grip. your knees were pressed up to your chest and you couldn't move much. you were completely at eivors mercy.

you could feel eivor smile at your struggle, it only spurred her on even more. she quickened her pace as you grew wetter around her. it dripped onto the throne beneath you, helped by eivor’s spit. abruptly, her tongue left you and you whipped your head back to her to protest. but your curses got caught in your throat and what escaped were moans of surprise and relief. eivor sucked greedily, her lips finally wrapped around your clit. it was heaven. you arched into the feeling, babbling a series of 'yes yes yes!'

eivors need for you only grew as your taste coated her tongue and your pretty sounds filled her ears. it was getting uncomfortable at this point, but she will wait. she wanted to see her noble queen fall apart. a thick finger tentatively prodded at your entrance, teasing it, beckoning you to give your permission to be destroyed. you nodded eagerly, already clenching around nothing at the thought. eivor gave one last intense suck before removing her mouth from you, making you shiver.

"i need to hear it, princess", she smirked up at you. half of her face was glistening in the firelight with your mess. she kept her mouth close to your pussy as she spoke lowly, the vibrations making you shiver again.

"please eivor", you whined, scooting closer to her.

eivor nipped at your soft skin and you gasped in surprise. she soothed the sting with a feathery kiss. she spoke against your burning flesh. "please what, lamb?"

she wanted you to spill filth. that much is clear. a hungry and dark glint in her eyes urged you to beg and use your pretty mouth to utter lewdness. heat rose to your cheeks.

"eivor please i-i need it"

she feigned disappointment. "need what?"

she constantly teased your hole as she spoke, and while she waited for you to speak. teasing you like this, was really doing something to her. she half hoped you dragged it out. but the other half, was growing needier and needier. her underwear was ruined by now. you swallowed. eivor found herself distracted by your heaving chest again in the warm light.

"n-need you to fuck my pussy p-please", you begged and arched towards her. "take what's y-yours"

take what's yours. a bolt of pleasure and want erupted in eivors belly and she groaned. shit. she shoved her face into your heat again and furiously resumed her onslaught on your clit. you moaned, throwing your head back. she rewarded you with a finger, slowly spreading your velvet walls. she started off at a languid pace to get you used to her. which was sweet and all, but you needed more.

"a-another"

eivor chuckled around your pulsing clit at your orders and you gripped her head, pulling her in even more.

"little lamb wants another", eivor muttered to herself smugly. fuck you loved the names she'd always give you. even more so when she was knuckle deep in your cunt. two more fingers joined the first, stretching you out deliciously.

"f-f-fuck", you groaned. you'd never been this full before. eivor had her bottom lip between her teeth, smiling, watching you suck her in greedily. she stood and leaned over your desperate form. your lips crashed into hers and she swallowed your moan after she curled her fingers in you.

"how does that feel, your majesty?", she whispered against your lips, holding your gaze intensely. you clenched around her thick fingers again at the title.

"really r-really good"

"oh yeah?", she deepened her lazy thrusts.

"y-yes!"

"any more royal requests, my lady?"

you met her wanton stare. "faster wolfkissed"

it was instant. her gentle strokes were replaced by rough, animalistic thrusts that pounded your aching pussy relentlessly. eivor grunted into your sweaty neck with the effort. relishing in your delicate whimpers and the way your breath hitched every time her calloused fingers hit that spot. once she found it, she abused it.

you fisted the furs on her shoulder for dear life while eivor kissed and bit the sensitive skin of your shoulder. intent on marking that side too. after tonight, she wanted no doubt in anyone's mind that you were hers. all hers. especially to your future royal suitors. it wouldn't take long for news of a young, unmarried queen to make its rounds across other kingdoms. oh, she couldn't wait to see their faces when she would treat you like her wife right in front of them. one day, that will be true.

eivor was satisfied by the state of your neck and moved further down your chest while you continued to squeeze her sopping fingers. your juices had pooled under you on the throne and some dripped down eivor's wrist, which flew off onto the floor at her rough plowing. she latched on to your nipple and twirled and sucked around your peak. you hummed in bliss and pushed her head further into you. the coil in you was starting to tighten more and more, it wouldn't be long before you spilled all over your drengr's fingers.

your stomach tensed and relaxed with eivors thrusts, and your legs started doing the same. you wrapped your arms around her broad shoulders, holding her tight as you gasped into her neck. adorable, eivor thought as she trailed her free hand beneath your nightdress and brushed her thumb affectionately against the skin of your hip. just like she had done with your cheeks earlier.

"e-eivor"

"mmm?", she answered, still toying with your breast.

"i'm close"

eivor wetly removed her mouth from your nipple and rested her forehead against yours. she kept up her pace, wanting to rip it out of you. all over your throne. "really, your majesty? right here?"

squelching echoed back to you from the corners of the throne room and you clenched at eivor’s teasing. "right here on your throne? right where you'll sit addressing nobles, your people? where a viking made their queen cum?"

you cursed, shutting your eyes in embarrassment and renewed arousal. you shouldn't like that idea as much as you did. some locals and those outside your kingdom would have your head for having relations with a raider. you creamed a white ring around the knuckles of your raider as she continued to finger fuck you, hell bent on making her teasing come true.

"y-yes!"

"how filthy of you, your majesty", eivor smirked, loving every single bit of this. "wonder what they'd think of their queen being such a whore"

"just y-yours"

"that's right lamb, all mine", she emphasised with a particularly deep thrust that made you keen against her. and she kept doing it. words left you as she focused on that one spot within your soaked walls. her fingers laying claim to it.

"come on sweet thing, give it to me"

and like the good girl you are, you did. you gasped as bliss crashed your senses, your legs tensed and jerked as eivor fucked you through it. she watched in awe as deep pleasure took you, having you make the cutest face. she slowed her thrusts and shushed you, bringing you down gently. kissing all over your warm face. murmuring praise. not that you heard much, it was like your ears had been stuffed. so you only caught snippets of her affections.

"...so good for me"

"beautiful"

she carefully took her coated fingers out of you. you pouted at the empty feeling and eivor only chuckled down at you, before thoroughly and obnoxiously cleaning them off with her tongue. you rolled eyes half heartedly at her teasing display. eivor smiled mischievously and caught your lips in a passionate kiss that threatened to take your breath away. her strong arms snaked under you and picked you up, holding you tightly so you didn't slide down.

"come, time for bed lamb"

you couldn't argue with that.

#eivor varinsdóttir #smut #assassins creed eivor #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfkissed x reader #fem reader #x sapphic reader #lesbian #ac eivor #assassins creed smut #assassins creed women

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bookworm-with-coffee · 1 year ago

Text

AAAAH DBSNDN— MY 🦋 F E E L S🦋!!!

This was so beautiful 🥺❤

Shay Cormac x Reader - Wayward Bird

Genre - Angst, Smut

Word Count: 1,328

Summary: Shay, your previous lover, is still alive. You and Hope are tasked to find and kill him, but as you hide and wait for her to lure him into the warehouse, particularly intimate memories of you and your target begin to resurface.

A/N: Hello, hello! I present this angst-smut song fic inspired by Georges Bizet’s ��L’amour Est Une Oiseaux Rebelle”. Here’s Maria Callas performing it, which I really do enjoy.

Love is a rebellious bird

That nobody can tame,

And it is in vain that it is called

If he agrees to refuse.

The sheer anxiety coursing through your veins solidified itself through the way your leg bounced restlessly. You were alone in the warehouse, at least for now, crouched behind one of the stacked wooden cartons in a corner.

You’ve lost track on how long it has been since Shay stole the manuscript and took off, entirely certain he was dead until word arrived from Kesegowasse. Naturally, you were in for quite a shock. You could not decipher if the inital cause of your heart’s pounding took origin to its gleeful dance in relief; Shay survived. Perhaps it shook in place with fear for his life, or in fury due to his act of treachery. At any rate, it was made clear the Irish lad was still about. Achilles assigned you and Hope out to assassinate Shay.

“Mentor, with all due respect, I believe I can kill him on my own.” You recall yourself reasoning, still listening in the present moment for Hope’s quick and silent footsteps. She was to lead the rogue assassin into the warehouse.

“We must never underestimate the opponent. Now that Shay has decided to align himself with those Templar dogs, who knows what tricks they put up his sleeve. And don’t take me as blind and deaf to the history you both shared.” Achilles nodded at you and walked closely. “Efficiency over emotion, Y/N. Hold it close to you.”

Hope’s familiar sigh played faintly in the memory. “We leave tonight, then. Ready the horses,” An aloof expression fell on her face as she looked at you before continuing, “And remember our practice for air assassinations.”

You took deep breaths to control your feeling of apprehension. Were you truly ready to kill Shay, without clearing up what went on behind rooftop kisses and the intimate fondling behind the stables?

Nothing helps, neither threat or prayer.

One man talks well, the other is silent;

But it’s the other one I prefer-

Shay used to pull you into a bale of hay, with him on top before running his hands underneath your skirts. You would pull him in closer to kiss him, and he’d gladly oblige as your eager legs wrapped around his body for friction. A squeak of a moan would escape from your soft lips when his mouth began to trail kisses from below your navel going downwards, and you bittersweetly recalled the way he would suddenly lean forward as if to kiss you. You remembered how he would laugh and leave sultry, languid kisses on your neck instead.

-He says nothing, but he pleases me.

It was absolutely inappropriate for the heat in your legs to bloom and intensify at the thought of your target licking your dripping slit slowly, before shoving and curling two of his long fingers up inside you. You could still feel the way his tongue slipped inside of your mouth as your grip tightened in his hair. He was a bit clumsy the first time he divested you of your clothing, but every other moment after that was nearly automatic and well rehearsed. Your memories drifted to the way he would lick his lips before sucking on your clit, while his gloved hands would fondle with your breasts. Shay would give them a keen, light squeeze and pinch your nipples slightly accompanied by experimental tugs. Oh, how you could still hear his labored breathing and its warmth grazing your ear. You knew good and well it was all fueled by lust, nothing more than that, but it was all pick-and-shovel to convince yourself it was only a dalliance in those precious, ungodly moments. How could it not come off as affection and adoration when he had you panting his name akin to a Latin prayer?

Love is a gypsy child,

It has never known the law.

If you love me not, then I love you;

Barely a few seconds passed before another obscene memory unfolded, infamously labeled to those who knew of it as “The Camping Incident.” This was when you, Liam and Shay had to camp out in the woods for four nights. Of course, you and your paramour spoke beforehand for no funny business whatsoever, and to sleep in separate tents to avoid suspicion. A reasonable idea in foresight, but a restricting and rather ignored one once the camp took place.

But if I love you, if I love you, you’d best beware!

On the third night, you and Shay slipped away into his tent around an hour after Liam announced he was headed to bed. Shay kissed you roughly and you moaned, quite audibly, desperately tugging on his shirt for him to take it off. One article of clothing led to another, and you both fucked like rabbits until a few hours remained before daybreak. “Hope you lot slept well. Y/N, I do humbly request for you to cover my mate’s mouth the next time you decide to ride him.” Liam had said, slightly disgusted with a groggy tone to his voice.

The bird you hoped to catch

Beat its wings and flew away.

Love stays away, you wait and wait,

Now, here you were, perched in a warehouse to lure in the very bird which fluttered into your heart and, just as quickly, out of your grasp. The memories eventually sifted away as nothing more than insignificant events. Articles of the past which were better off left in their time.

When least expected, there it is!

L’amour,

You were quickly snapped out of your state of wanton nostalgia once you heard Hope’s irate cries heighten, along with another faint pair of footsteps that could only belong to Shay. You fondly recalled how they would become draggier and much heavier when he was angry, but on most occasions he would sneak on you with added secrecy and playfulness to his step.

L’amour,

Peeking from your hiding space above, you quickly took notice of your mentor with her stance on guard. Tears rimmed in your eyes as you readied the blade in your right hand. It’s only a flick of the wrist, Y/N, you’ve done this before. You explained to yourself, palms sweating and legs ready to pounce on his back to deliver the weapon through his throat. It was difficult for you to fathom; you had to slice open the same neck you once kissed and left tender whispers to.

“Where’s Y/N? Still with Liam?” Shay asked, adjusting the mask on his face and unsheathing his sword. Your heart pounded when the sound of your name reached your ears.

Hope lunged forward and punched him in the face, before kicking him down and knocking him over. “She has been displaying true allegiance to the Creed more than you ever had. The girl knows better than to switch loyalties because of an override in emotions.”

L’amour,

“She’s here, isn’t she?” Shay asked again, wiping his eyes, teary from the punch. I spotted blood trickling from his nose, and Hope briefly glanced in my direction as if to signal me to jump.

I took a deep breath and leaped from my spot up above, hidden blade unsheathed and prepared to take away the man’s life. To my surprise, Shay rolled away and pulled his gun nestled in its holster. He aimed at Hope and pulled the trigger, a deafening bang resounding off the flimsy wooden walls. She fell to the ground, tossing a smoke bomb and cried aloud from the pain Shay’s bullet had brought her. Hope nearly glowered at me as she exclaimed, “Kill him, Y/N!”

My previous lover swiftly pinned me to the ground and flicked his own blade out before I even had the chance. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, his blade dangerously close to my throat, “Such a shame I have you so close in such different circumstances, love.”

L’amour!

#shay cormac #shay cormac x reader #assassins creed #ac rogue #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed smut #assassins creed angst #assassins creed x reader

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multi-fandoms-posts · 4 months ago

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X Men Masterlist:

X Men Masterlist 2

Update: 10/06/24:

Charles Xavier:

His Wife

Imagine

Sweet Moment

The Professor and the Stark Heiress

An Unexpected Encounter

Lesson in Obedience (SMUT)

Charles and His Girlfriend High School AU

A Seductive Chess Game (SMUT)

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

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

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

Beyond Control last Part

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

Beyond Control Part 1

Hihgschool AU

A Nighttime Disruption

The Power of Thoughts

A Telepathic Connection

Read my mind (Logan x reader x Charles)

Drunk idea

Training

Just Friends huh?

I will always be by your side

Imagine

Charles If....

Update: 10/02/24:

Cherik:

Equal Power, Equal Passion SMUT

Driven to the Limit

Secrets in the Storm

POV Video

Annoying encounter in the bar

Gun and pressure

The Explosive Mission last part

In the Storm of Love and Rage

The Explosive Mission part 2

The Explosive Mission part 1

Logan's sister

Playful Distraction: A Day of Mission and Mischief

Trouble maker

Training Chaos

two men protect her girl

Between Mission and Seduction

Distractions and Dynamics

Seductive Power Part 2

Seductive Power Part 1

Unexpected Revelations last part

Through the Shadows of Danger

Twin Trouble

Unexpected Revelations Part 3

Unexpected Revelations Part 2

Unexpected Revelations Part 1

dirty mind

Horror movie

Cherik

Update: 10/08/24

Erik Lehnsherr:

Erik's Secret

Someday

Imagine

Little surprise SMUT

In His Arms: A Moment of Peace

A Night of Control and Desire (SMUT)

A Challenge, a Kiss, and a Surprise

Between Magnet and Mind

In the Ruins of Conflict

Hidden Tension

Update: 10/06/24

McFassy:

sick days

Chaos Before the Oscars

Waves of Passion

A Magical Moment at Comic-Con

Update: 10/06/24

James Mcavoy:

The Tie SMUT

A Magical Evening

Video call

Surprise at Comic-Con

Sunrise Moments

A Flirt in Focus

Update: 10/06/24

Paddy:

The Thrill of the hunt

Beg for me SMUT

role-playing game (SMUT)

Imagine

Possession and Desire

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

The Night of Deception and Passion 1/2

Control and Surrender (SMUT)

The Game of Control (Paddy and Cal)

I love my psychopath

Shackles of Desire (Paddy and The Killer)

The Heat of the Moment (SMUT)

Update:09/29/24

Lord Asriel:

Lost Time: The Return of Lord Asriel (SMUT)

Amidst the Battle

In the Light of the Morning

Update: 09/10/24:

Logan:

Mission with Temptation

Uninvited Guest

Unexpected Visitor(but somehow not)

Unexpected News

Inappropriate Comments

In the Shadows of Passion

Read my mind (Logan x reader x Charles)

Scott's sister

Game night

Midnight Conversation

The Bar

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demigoddessqueens · 2 months ago

Note

Hey it’s me, ya boi, a tumblr gremlin.

Remember the pirate boots striptease? What would happen if you show that little idea to said captains of the high seas Shay and Edward? Maybe Connor too seeing as he sails the high seas (or close to said seas).

Ooof stop (but not really!) everyone on the ship will hear 👂

KINKTOBER 2024

Shay

Surprised by what you’re playing at first but smoothly transitions into the scene you’ve set, going so far as to tease you more than you did him

Edward

Oh he’s got that devilish grin to him and completely immersed into your antics, shamelessly loud and teasing you as well

Connor

He’s surprised by such forwardness by you but goes along with it. Even gets more into your role playing if you let him

#assassin's creed #assassin’s creed x reader #assassin’s creed #edward kenway x reader #edward kenway #my writing #shay cormac x reader #shay cormac #headcanons #ratonhnhaké:ton x reader #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway x reader #connor kenway #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #smut headcanons

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kiatheinsomniac · 1 year ago

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──── 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: a commission from @tired-lime who's always a darling to work with 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor Kenway x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 6.7k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: MDNI, NSFW content, enemies to lovers, porn with plot, fingering, handjobs, creampies, unprotected sex

You walk as calmly as you can through the narrow alley, not daring to lift your eyes from where they look straight ahead of you and glance towards the rooftops that cast darkness over you, the silvery moonlight gleaming just ahead as the streight leads to the main road. This place is out of sight of the sparse public that might wander past at this time of night, your vision is limited in the darkness it provides and there’s ample opportunity for an overhead ambush.

All of this puts you at every disadvantage, perhaps, but that’s exactly what you want the man tailing you to think. You keep your eyes straight because Assassins like rooftops. They provide coverage and blindspots, hidden in plain sight as most people simply don’t find themselves looking up with their eyes to the sky as they go about their day and all the tasks that come with it. It’s precisely why you’ll always find an Assassin stalking you from above and never from upon your own level.

In short, you’re baiting the Assassin above you who has gone to so much care to silence his footsteps and conceal his shadow from your sight. But you’re a Templar. You’re trained to know your enemy. You spotted him not long ago, lingering around a crowd outside an inn, trying to blend in. But your purpose for going out at all today has been to bait him, those are your orders.

Your ears are kept vigilant for the sound of something small flying through the air and in a moment's notice, you lunge forward to dodge the rope dart that had been aimed at you. There’s a hissed curse and you draw your sword as the Assassin makes his leap down to you, using a ledge of a windowsill garden to lessen his fall. He stands tall in front of you now, white beaked hood up and hiding his face. His hidden blade shoots out as he parries your offensive blow with his gauntlet.

You’re still not entirely sure what material it is that Assassins make their gauntlets from. Your mentor Haytham has one and he claims that it’s an alloy from a precursor civilization but when your higher-ups start talking like that, you sometimes begin to wonder if you’ve really overstepped your depth as an ex-mercenary and have accidentally joined a cult.

Regardless, the Assassin stands tall before you now. He is Achilles’ new novice, so you’ve been told. The only member of his ranks as your mentor has told you of how a companion of his wiped out the last generation of Assassins here in the colonies, thus giving your Order ample room to plant its roots. Though you have no name nor face to put to this companion of Haytham’s as he is always very quick to change the subject or to remind you to not speak out of line whenever your curiosity gets the better of you and you start to press for details of this mysterious person’s identity if only to create an image in your mind for all of this information that you are given.

His free hand takes out a tomahawk and you’re put on defence. You take a step back but make sure to stay in the alley and out of the public space. The last thing you want is nearby law enforcement or civilians to get involved. But the clashing of metal upon metal rings out in the otherwise quiet night.

He fights cleanly using his sheer strength and towering figure which puts you at a disadvantage. His technique is curated to be quick and efficient but your style often depends on your agility, stamina and tiring out your enemy. You’ve already laid such a foundation by baiting him to follow you from the rooftops – a much more strenuous journey than the one you had taken upon the ground. But there was something to how he was swinging at you with his tomahawk, movements tight to not allow you to get too far, a passion to his every strike and parry.

You know when you’re outmatched and so you’re now put on defence and wondering what could have happened between intel and being given your orders that could have possibly allowed you to go about this mission alone instead of preparing a sort of ambush in order to put an end to this lone Assassin that has been terrorising the Order once and for all.

Had you let the higher-ups flatter you over your skills into thinking you were truly capable of this task they had set upon you? Regardless, you’re in this now and your only priority has suddenly become making it out of here alive. You take a risk and do a rescan of your surroundings, looking for anything that might be of aid to you in order to give you just a slither of an opportunity of getting away. But you remain aware of your enemy’s every move, knowing that even a momentary slip up can be the cause of your untimely demise.

But the Assassin trying to cut you down is just as trained as you are – if not more so – and this subtle scrambling of yours does not go unnoticed by his keen, dark eyes.

“Out of your depth, Templar?” He asks in his smooth and rich tone.

“You wish I were.” You bite back and manage to take swift steps backwards, enough for you to assess that the risk of lowering your sword in exchange for the gun at your hip is worth it in order to try and create a window for escape. You take aim but don’t fire. You should be firing. You should be killing this man.

Why did they send you on this mission alone?

It’s all you can think to yourself as your finger hovers over the trigger. The Assassin knows he’s done for if your finger so much as twitches now and yet he freezes, seeing your hesitation. The two of you are brought to a standstill with you aiming your gun at the Assassin’s head and yet your finger hovers over the trigger, refusing to squeeze. He has no opportunity to strike you down at this moment as in a fraction of a second, hesitation can become a killing blow.

Your eyes narrow slightly as you repeat that question to yourself: why did they send you on this mission alone? This Assassin is clearly far more skilled than you are and even baiting him here after a journey that should have tired you out has not made a dent in his stamina. He’s been cutting down British soldiers and Templars alike, chipping away at the order for reasons not yet known to you other than the simple explanation of ‘we are Templars, he an Assassin’. Why did you believe your higher-ups when they told you that you could handle this solo mission? Have they sent you here as an execution and if so: why?

“Why do they want you to kill me?” You murmur. The question is asked aloud and yet you’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself. This seems to make even the Assassin pause in puzzlement. If they want you dead then what are they doing now? Are you merely a distraction?

“That’s a good question indeed.” The toweringly tall Assassin raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and you slowly lower your gun but keep a good amount of distance between the two of you, each standing at either side of the narrow alley you had originally lured him into. You tap your toes against the ground as you ponder over questions again: is this a distraction or an execution? Either way you’re clearly expendable and it comes as a surprise to you because you were so sure you were in the Grandmaster’s good books.

So what has changed to make Haytham use you as a sacrificial pawn in whatever game he’s playing here in the colonies? Neither of you are sure what to do now, having both arrived here late at night with intentions to kill the other. But now you see that the true plan behind all of this was for you to die all along. It’s enough to make Ratonhnhaké:ton stand down and wish to spare you. Someone is pulling the strings here and part of their plan includes your death. So what’s to happen when this plan is interrupted.

“I won’t kill you today.” He speaks up after finally making up his mind following a few minutes of thick silence wherein you were both deep in thought, trying with your minds to uncover the obscurity of whatever the bigger picture is here. The best course of action is to disrupt the plans of whoever it is that’s painting it. “But when you fall it will be by my hand, Templar.” You shoot the man a glare where his eyes would be, concealed behind the shadow that the beak of his hood casts over his face in order to hide his identity.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Assassin.” You quip back but you hear him scoff as he puts his tomahawk away when you set your gun back into its holster.

“You’re right. Your masters seem to be set on beating me to that.” You open your mouth to protest but he’s already making his way up the wall of one of the buildings you’re between and returning to the rooftops. You’re quick to exit the alley and get into the middle of the main street so that he doesn’t have an opportunity to assassinate you from above should he be bluffing or perhaps change his mind and deal with you now before you become a loose thread. But he doesn’t and you’re left standing in the middle of an empty street at night.

Could you even go back to your quarters now? Perhaps they’ll use the failed mission as justification to finish you off themselves. You need somewhere to stay until you’ve figured out what’s going on and whether or not you’ve been betrayed by the Order that you had sworn your own loyalty to. But where to go?

Your eyes rise up to the rooftops that the Assassin had disappeared over. You’ve been set up by the people who this man is set on killing.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend…” You murmur to yourself as you spot a nearby ladder and use it to make your way up onto the same rooftop. It’s a risk you’re taking but it seems that every path available to you now has some degree of risk to it and so you’re left with no choice but to weigh your options and gamble.

Your foot taps anxiously against the cobble beneath you as you consider your plan. If your Order seeks to erase you, it won’t even be safe to go back to your rented room and pack a bag of your belongings. It’s the first place they’ll go to look for you and with the network of spies Haytham has been building across the city, it won’t take long for word to get back to him that you’ve failed your mission. You won’t get far hiding either. All of your tricks, you’ve learned from your mentor and to try and hide would be to put yourself at a disadvantage by playing the game of the man who had so clearly intended to use you as a pawn in whatever grand scheme he’s hatching; not so long ago, you had thought you knew his plans but tonight has changed your course of events entirely.

Into the belly of the best it is.

You decide. Now up on the roof, you look with your second sight. It’s your upper hand and even Haytham has admitted that it was one of his greatest factors in considering you as an advantageous candidate for a Templar. The route he’s taken lights up gold and you begin to follow all the twists and turns he took that would have thrown off anyone else who might have been tiling him. Not you though.

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ ☾　 °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

You find yourself outside a manor upon a homestead. It wasn’t an easy journey by any means and you hadn’t expected him to have covered so much ground either. In the forest, you found yourself wishing you had stopped to hire a horse – you still had some money on you after all. You took a break twice, made a camp once after scouting out the area but you admittedly slept very lightly. You weren’t a wilderness girl and the anxiety of being found by a wolf or bear had kept you from falling into a truly restful sleep.

And so you found yourself feeling both tired from a long way’s travel and a poor night’s rest during the small hours of the morning, all while heading right into the den of your enemy who, currently and ironically enough, seems to be your only possible ally.

The manor standing tall in the clearing above you is built in typical colonial fashion with red bricks and white embellishments. Its large size makes use of the spacious land it is upon and your mind wanders back to the stories Haytham once shared with you about the Brotherhood that once lived and trained here. Looking at the size of the place, it’s easy to imagine so many people living here once upon a time and difficult to imagine that today it only houses the old Mentor and the one and only Assassin who still lives by their Creed here in the colonies.

Though that’s only as much as your Order is aware of. You keep your wits about you, more than aware that you don’t know what you’re walking to, nor do you know how many potential foes reside within those four walls. You may very well be running from one death straight into another.

But your options are slim and you’ve wagered that your odds are better here. Back with the Order, you’re a pawn that should have submissively been sacrificed. Here, you’re either a target to be taken out immediately or a valuable source of information. After all, you’ve been betrayed and they may consider that you have every reason to surrender all of the Order’s secrets that you possess.

These are all just possibilities though and death remains a very likely outcome.

You stand from an awkward distance on the treeline for a while. Surely you can’t just knock on the front door being who you are? Then again, if you take any other route, they might see it as an ambush and you’ll be in combat or even dead before you can open your mouth to explain your intentions. Despite every other instinct within you telling you to turn tail and run to the nearest harbour, to leave the region altogether on whatever boat you can get yourself aboard, you approach the front door.

A shadow falls over you when you raise your fist to knock upon the door. He’s good at what he does, you’ll give him that. Immediately, you feel the warm, sharp edge of a blade resting against your throat. Warm and so it’s the hidden blade that the likes of him keep tucked up their sleeves, a blade like the one your mentor possessed. You’d always found it rather ironic that Haytham always stands so tall beside his principles and yet he fights with the enemy’s weapon.

“Did you come here thinking you could finish the job and go crawling back to your master?” His voice speaks up from behind you. You raise both of your hands in the air in a sign of surrender, keeping them far away from your hips where your weapons are kept around your belt. He doesn’t hesitate in unbuckling it and removing it from your body and moments later, you hear it hit the floor some distance away where he’s thrown it. You’re not unarmed in enemy territory and you begin wondering if this really was the best plan of action after all.

“I actually came with a proposal…” You begin slowly. You’re not entirely sure how to present yourself, your tone. Even you’re unsure if your own plan will work but you need to sound certain or else he may well believe you’re just here to trick him in which case he’ll kill you.

You don’t need to turn around to know that he’s looming over you. You wonder sometimes how a man of his stature can blend into crowds and hide in plain sight the way Assassins are taught to. And yet he does and it’s truly a testament to his skill.

“And what might this proposal be?” You swallow thickly. Your life depends on being able to convince him that you’re being honest, which he has every inclination to doubt considering your current standing as enemies.

“It’s been made clear that I’m seen as expendable, so I’d much rather prove just how essential I was. I have information: contacts, travel routes, locations of higher-ranking Templars. Whatever mission you’re on, I’ll speed it up by months, maybe even years.” You tilt your head back a little more, trying to ease the pressure when the blade presses more insistently at your skin.

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I came here. Because I’ve got nowhere else to go at the moment and I’m risking you slashing my throat just for a chance to try and get out of this ordeal alive after what happened last night.” The blade leaves your neck but the threat is not removed as you then feel it poke at your back, spurring you forwards at a slow pace, hands still raised.

“Step inside.”

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ ☾　 °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

Months later, you find yourself setting up camp in a familiar cave. These meetings have become familiar to you and nowadays this little cave feels like the safest place in the world. You’ve been working as a double agent for the past few months and being in the Order feels like having death loom over your shoulder all the time now. Being a Templar had once given you such a feeling of purpose and belonging, that you had a key, unshakable place in the world, that you were guiding it in a better direction.

But the more you’ve been reporting back to Connor and the chats you have in between, the more you have to take a step back and ask yourself if you were being told a one-sided story the entire time. You haven’t set foot on Connor’s homestead since you first arrived and he had to send you back with a split lip, gashed jaw and sprained wrist to make it seem like you really had fought him and not conspired with him. That gash now remains as a scar across the lower part of your face. Each time you look in the mirror, it reminds you of your new mission as the Assassin’s spy.

And each time, you pray that you’re doing the right thing.

Your attention is grabbed by the sound of feet on dirt and you look towards the mouth of the cave where he stands tall now, moving to sit on the opposite side of your little fire so that he’s facing you. His gloves come off and he rubs his hands together near the open flames. His hood comes down to reveal a face strikingly like your mentor’s and you can’t believe that this man is now your only ally in the world and you can’t even be entirely sure of his loyalty. All you know is that you need to keep yourself indispensable in order to keep breath in your lungs and a heartbeat in your chest.

He reaches into his bag and takes out a small, wrapped package. Scaled fish. They’re skewered and set over the fire to cook.

“Thank you.” You say stiffly. Interactions like this are still so unusual to you. He nods his head in a silent ‘you’re welcome’.

“What’s new?”

“Lee’s on the move.” His dark eyes quickly flick up to meet yours and you can see the deep interest in them. You haven’t asked why he’s after Lee specifically though it confuses you as you would have been sure he would go after Haytham; to cut the head of the snake, so to speak. But you’ve never asked because this vendetta seems deeply personal and you’re next to certain that he won’t open up to you about it. “They’re making preparations to receive him in Boston so whatever he’s come back with must be important… or they know that you’re after him. I’ve yet to find out which it is because I don’t have direct access to such information and I can’t put myself at risk if this is a red herring and they suspect something. But the moment I find out more I’ll tell you – but take everything with a pinch of salt.”

He nods, deep in thought and you wonder what’s going through his head. You always worry that doubt will creep into his mind and will ultimately drive him to kill you. You can only hope that he’s instead thinking about exacting whatever revenge he has planned for Charles Lee. His thirst for revenge currently is what’s keeping you afloat. Without his vendetta, you’re worthless to him.

“How have you been?” You’re not sure if you’re asking out of politeness or loneliness. Are you trying to keep in his good graces or are you seeking out the warmth of a friend, even if what’s between you isn’t really friendship?

“Busy…” He sighs. “Your Order’s been on the move.”

“I’ve heard about your meetings with Washington.” You bite your lip as you ponder your next question. It’s personal but a chance not taken is an opportunity missed. “You… You’re meeting with all these generals, men of influence and yet you work in the shadows. Do you truly have no wish for the world to remember your name? You really want to just vanish?” You had been drawn to the Templars partially by glory, by the chance of making a place in the world, a change where you and your fellow members of the Order would be revered for centuries to come.

“I do not want to be remembered, no. Our creed states that we work in the dark to serve the light. This war will be lost to memory and I will do my part to make sure that it is the Assassins who bury any record of it.” Your first reaction is to think of him as ridiculous: he’s thrown any chance at a normal life away for a battle he will never be credited for. But it’s selfless. He has nothing to gain but what he believes in: no fame, no power, no glory.

Maybe you really have been misled.

The Templars had always preached peace but with that peace came the Order having ultimate power over humanity, domination over free will. You had once focused so heavily on how that absolute control would stop war, would stop suffering. But at what cost? It must be a great one for this man in front of you to be throwing any semblance of a normal life away for it.

“Tell me more about your Creed.” He turns over the fish and glances up at you once again, meeting your curious eyes. You’re sitting down with your legs curled up to your chest, arms wrapped around them with your hin propped on your knees. This isn’t smalltalk or you digging for information, it’s genuine interest. He hadn’t missed your pondering look before, that glint of unsurety in your eyes.

“Alright…”

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ ☾　 °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

Weeks later and you meet again, having shared many more meetings in the meantime. You understand Ratonhnhaké:ton better now, you understand his creed. He seems different from his mentor that Haytham had told you about, so very different. He doesn’t meddle in the first civilisation that your mentor speaks of so frequently and you wonder if it’s for the best after the stories you had heard of while in the Order. Haytham speaks of them vaguely but you still have a comprehensive enough understanding.

The more he speaks, the more you doubt your own order who wish to use these artefacts for their plans to shepard humanity towards its best self, the more you wonder if your superiors in the Order are just set on a path to repeat history. You’ve shared with him all the information you have now. You now feel like less of a double agent and more of a spy – having to give away anything about the Assassin you’ve come to secretly think of as a friend feels like a betrayal, even if it’s only for the sake of protecting your ulterior motives for having returned to the Order at all after that night you first encountered Rathonhnhaké:ton for yourself.

He’s been more open with you too. Haytham is his father – something which both made sense, looking at his face, and shocked you, considering he is an Assassin and his father a Templar. Charles Lee, at Haytham’s command, had burned his village to the ground as a child, killing his mother. You empathise with that deeply. You had joined the Order knowing that you had no family of your own to lose should things get messy. It seems that the two of you are in the same boat for that one.

Now, he’s picking out the bones from your fish while you prepare some water to boil over the fire. But time has moved on and winter draws near, bringing a chill into this little cave that feels like it’s become your one and only sanctuary in the world. You hold your open palms near the fire and try to chase away the chill but it does you very little good.

Connor watches you for a moment before he removes his gloves and hands them to you. As he holds them out silently, those well-worn gloves appear like an olive branch to you. This really is for the best, you think. More and more, you’ve come to realise that you were misled by your Order. You were promised to be a harbinger, to be one of the names that would live on forever as a part of the order who had saved humanity. But you were a pawn all along. Even despite your special abilities, Haytham had been more than willing to sacrifice you for whatever gain. You might have a little more value in his eyes now that you’ve ‘proven’ you can take on the Assassin and get away with your life but you’ve seen your old mentor, you’ve heard how he talks of the first civilisation. He’ll stop at nothing and you’re more than sure that should he see another opportunity where your sacrifice and earn great gain for him and his plans, he’ll send you walking straight into the arms of death all over again.

You take the gloves and slide them on over your hands.

“Thank you.” You offer a smile but you hold back just how happy this small gesture makes you. They’re far too big but they’re soft and warm. They’re clearly broken in, the fingertips especially worn down from what you can only assume is all the climbing he does in stalking around with the stealth of his kind. But it’s the fact he’s given them to you at all that touches your heart.

The two of you eat, drink, you share intel and it becomes late enough that you wrap yourself tightly in a thick blanket and curl up on your bedroll beside the campfire. The cave provides enough shelter to keep out the bitter wind but the temperature has still dropped drastically with the change of seasons. You sit up to wrap your blanket around your feet better and you find yourself wishing you had brought another pair of socks or, better yet, a warmer pair. You then lay back down, curled in on yourself to try and gather as much insulation as possible, and close your eyes to try and sleep. But the cold instead bites at your ears and so you pull your blanket up over the back of your head like a hood and shuffle a little closer to the fire so that your nose is warmed by the flame.

You hear shuffling around you and crack an eye open to see that Rathonhnaké:ton has moved. He’s no longer laid on his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire but has instead moved it right next to yours behind where you’re curled up on your side.

“I thought you’d be used to camping by now.” He murmurs and you can hear him lay down beside you, so close that you can feel the heat from his body.

“Not during the winter, I’m not.” You mumble into your blanket which you’ve pulled up by your mouth so that your breath can warm your face. You feel the weight of his arm lay over your waist and he then presses his chest to your back. You can feel the warmth of his breath over your neck, heating the blanket that’s tucked over the back of your head. You stiffen for a moment, surprised by his willingness to be close to you.

You feel your heart flutter in your chest and you lean into his warmth. How long has it been since anyone held you like this? It’s wonderful and overwhelming and suddenly there’s no more winter, nothing outside of this little cave where you’ve been setting up camp to meet for almost a year now.

“Thank you…” You say quietly. Whether for the warmth, or the touch, or for the new path he’s opened to you that you’ve set your life upon now, you’re unsure.

“There’s no need to thank me.” He replies just as quietly. The two of you lay there for a long time and your heart doesn’t slow, beating like a rabbit’s. He’s so close and you hadn’t expected such a thing to be so exhilarating. Rathonhnaké:ton is a toweringly tall man and you’ve always viewed it as an advantage for when he needs to intimidate. But now, you feel safer than you’ve known since that night of your first encounter when your illusion about the Knights Templar was shattered.

After a while, you can’t take it anymore and you turn around just enough to be able to look at him over your shoulder. Your faces are very close and you can feel his breath fan across your lips. When you look to meet his eyes, he does the same as he had previously been looking at your mouth.

“Feeling warmer?” He asks, his voice a rumbling murmur. You give the slightest little nod and your eyes very obviously glance at his pillowy lips again. You don’t try to hide it and nor does he miss it. You’re unsure which of you leans in first – perhaps it had been the both of you, little by little, while you were both preoccupied in imagining how it might be to press your lips to the other’s – but he’s warm and the touch of his lips against yours fills you with a bubbling heat. You turn your body to face him and he pulls you closer by your waist, thumb pressing into you through your clothes and stroking over your body while your lips press and meet again and again. One of your hands goes up to cup his face, feeling his chiselled jaw and cheekbones, then your fingers slide into his silken hair and tangle gently into it when your tongue slides against his.

You pull away for air for a moment but it’s short lived as his teeth pull gently at your bottom lip and his mouth then grazes against your chin and traces the curve of your jaw in kisses. The cold that had previously bothered you is completely forgotten about and he tugs the collar of your layers of clothing aside so that he can kiss against the pulse of your throat. Your hands find his chest and press to try and feel the contours of his body through his clothing but all the buttons and straps get in your way. Your fingers start working to undo buttons before you realise how caught up you’ve got and you pull away for a moment.

“Is this ok?” He gives a small nod and leans in to kiss you again as you remove his clothes. You leave his shirt and jackets open, revealing scarred, bronze skin to you. His body is shaped like an ancient statue of legendary heroes. You can’t help but take the opportunity to rove your palms over each contour and feel him in his beauty.

His large hands slide down to your hips and pull you a little closer. To accommodate him, you move to straddle one of his muscular thighs. He lifts it just enough to press against you and feels a deep stirring below his belt when your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you let out a soft moan.

You had never imagined you would find yourself in this position with Rathonhnaké:ton and yet now that you’re here together, it feels so right. It feels like you really have grown close enough to be like this, like stars in their orbit being pulled to one another. His mouth is on yours again in an instant while he presses his thigh between your legs and he starts to pull at your belt to remove the clothing on your lower half. You help him by tugging off your boots between messy kisses. Once your pants are off and your lower half is bare, you shiver as the chill begins to creep over your bare skin. Connor simply pulls you closer and wraps the blanket firmly around your body while you straddle his lap, taking care to tuck it under your legs in an attempt to keep in as much warmth as possible.

His fingers dance their way down to your mound where he can already feel the intense heat radiating from you.

“Do you want to keep going?” He asks as his mouth moves to press wet kisses beneath your ear, breathing over the sensitive spot and making you shiver as a result. You nod your head and unintentionally let a needy sound slip past your lips.

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s fingers glide through your slick folds and he lets out a little breath of wonder at the feeling of touching you in such an intimate place. Experimentally, he pushes one finger inside of you and watches how your spine arches and your body then bows to lean against him. He pushes it as far as he can go and begins moving it in and out. Letting your bodies take over, allowing words to become of little importance, you begin to grind your hips against his hand so that the heel of his palm catches your clit in a sensation that feels like a delicious burn. He adds another finger and you tug at his pants until his length, thick and heavy in your hand, is freed. You gently squeeze and hear how he sucks in a hiss through his teeth. You then begin to massage up and down, matching the pace of your hips moving to meet his fingers as they draw out soft, wet squelches from your pussy. You swipe over the slit at his tip with your thumb and hear how it makes him groan lowly. You glance down to see a little pool of your arousal gathering in the dip of his palm and decide that enough is enough.

You raise your hips up until his fingers slip out of you entirely. You then remove your hands from him and loop your arms loosely around his neck instead. He understands your intentions clearly and strokes himself a few times, covering his length in the slick from your pussy. You bring your hips back down and he guides himself into you. You’re quick to press your mouth to his in another messy kiss in order to muffle the moan you let out upon feeling the stretch of him pushing into you. You pause shakily along the way, deciding you can take all of him once you’re a little more adjusted, and start to ride.

Connor’s large hands slide beneath your ass to grab at the soft flesh that spills between his fingers and he uses his hold to support you in moving up and down, holding a lot of your weight with his strength. As you continue to move your hips rhythmically, one of his hands leaves your rear in favour of pulling at the buttons and ties that keep your chest hidden. Once it’s revealed, he lets out an appreciative groan of approval and his mouth latches onto one of your breasts as he pulls you closer and you ride him. Your head tips back to the ceiling of the cave and you pant as the wind whistles outside, joining with the crackling of the fire, the shift of the fabric of your clothing and blanket and the slick sounds of his cock filling you up over and over.

Ratonhnhaké:ton is big and consequently manages to hit all the right spots at once as he fills you again and again, your hips angled just right for him to brush against the places that have you curling your cold toes. His mouth slathers your breasts in kisses, pausing to nip or suck at your plush flesh and he works your blood into a feverish heat. The two of you pant for breath, moans and groans echoing off the stone walls.

After a while, his arms wrap around your waist as he lays back, bringing him with you. He kisses you firmly as he brings his knees up and you almost feel the breath get knocked from your lungs when he begins thrusting up into you. You rest your head on his shoulder as he pounds up into your sensitive pussy and your sensitive, teased nipples brush against his chest as your body shakes and wavers with his movements.

A pressure builds in your abdomen, growing tighter and more intense until your whole body is flooded in pleasure, walls squeezing tightly around his cock as though begging him to come with you. And you’re successful in sending him over the edge, hearing him moan, the whimper in his tone as he releases into you and holds you close as the two of you catch your breaths.

But then the cold starts to kick in again. He carefully lifts you so that his softening cock slips out of your messy pussy. You watch as he searches his pockets and takes out a handkerchief which he begins to clean your inner thighs with. He looks to you as if asking if you’re comfortable with him looking after you like this but he finds your head tilted back, eyes closed as your legs twitch at having him touch your sensitive folds to clean you up. He helps you redress and dresses himself before helping you into his coat and throwing some more wood onto the fire, wrapping the blanket around the both of you again.

Once more, you snuggle into his chest for warmth and neither of you are quite sure what to say, hoping the words will just come to you in the morning.

Ratonhnhaké:ton presses a kiss to your forehead and holds you a little tighter as he closes his eyes, listening to his own pounding heart, the crackle of the fire and the whining wind outside.

He decides to make sure that the Templars won’t ever have an opportunity to sacrifice your life again.

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intoxicated-chan · 8 months ago

Note

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 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 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.

#x reader #x female reader #fluff #assassin’s creed smut #assassin’s creed x reader #shay cormac smut #shay patrick cormac #shay cormac x reader #assassin's creed #assassin’s creed #assassin’s creed rogue #shay cormac

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neon-junkie · 1 year ago

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OMFG ITS A WIN FOR THE FUCKING GAYS!! ONCE AGAIN!! If you want to do any requests for fem eivor I’d love your takes on her kinks/ general sex headcanons you may have ❤️❤️

Hell yes!!! I started being down bad for fem!Eivor the second I began playing as her. She's just so... *clenches fist*

I don't see Eivor as being the type to go wild when it comes to kinks. She's definitely not vanilla, but not extremely taboo either.

Outdoor sex is an obvious one, given that she spends 90% of her time out in the wilderness, and fucking in the longhouse isn't as private as she wants it to be.

Nothing beats lounging around in a meadow, cuddling in a bed of flowers, watching the clouds drift overhead as Eivor holds you in her arms.

She's a switch. Always happy to take the ropes, or submit to you. It's your call, really.

There are times when she needs you to care for her, such as after a devastating loss in battle.

And other times when she needs to be in charge, fuelled by the adrenaline from a bloody victory.

Eivor is a giver. She's going to go down on you, drawing orgasm after orgasm until you're literally having to peel her off you.

"You want me to stop? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't continue picking you apart, using my tongue alone."

Over-stimulation? Yeah, you better get used to it. Eivor isn't going to stop when your thighs are shaking around her head. She wants to see you utterly debauched.

And if you try to give her the same treatment? Good luck. She's a strong woman who will literally pick you up and throw you around like a rag doll. That is, if you want it.

"You're so adorable when you try to boss me about. You seem to forget which one of us is taking charge tonight. Here, let me remind you..."

Skin contact is appreciated, but not essential. There's something feral about having Eivor pin you down whilst she's still in her full gear, blood stained and all.

However, when Eivor wants to be tender and romantic, then the clothes are coming off!

A little bit of bondage may enter your sex life. Nothing too wild, just your wrists tied together, or a makeshift gag whenever you're being too loud.

Eivor isn't going to go out of her way to introduce toys. Why bother? Her fingers and mouth work perfectly fine. But if you suggest it, then Eivor will listen, although she knows they will never compete with her skills.

After care is very essential to Eivor. Nothing beats a kiss and a cuddle, no matter if you're out in the wilderness, or cooped up in a bed of furs.

Expect a few courting braids to be in your hair once Eivor is done with you. It's a key part of her after care routine.

#acwriting #assassins creed valhalla #assassins creed #eivor #eivor wolfkissed #female eivor #eivor x reader #fem!eivor x reader #eivor wolfkissed x reader #reader insert #AC valhalla #f!reader #smut

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acc--deactivated · 1 year ago

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𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨

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

featuring: edward kenway

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

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

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

18+ content - MDNI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

„Sly little thing, aren't ya?“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

„That it, darling? That the spot?“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

„Fucking heavens, you're perfect.“

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

#assassin's creed #edward kenway #edward kenway x reader #assassin's creed x reader #smut #oh to be one of the girls he's with in the trailers agfhfjsgxhs #assassin's creed black flag

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gaycragula · 8 months ago

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Assassin's Creed Masterlist

Account Navigation Request Info

Bayek of Siwa

Smut- Bathhouse Shenanigans- M!Reader Smut- Some Man Tit Appreciation- M!Reader

Jacob Frye

Smut- Nice Tits- GN!Reader Smut- In the Alleyway?- M!Reader

Alexios

Smut- Late Night Cuddles- M!Reader Smut- Taking Care of the Misthios- M!Reader Smut- The Amor Stays On- M!Reader

#x reader #x male reader #x gn!reader #male reader #reader #gn!reader #assassins creed #ac origins #ac syndicate #ac odyssey #alexios #jacob frye #bayek of siwa #smut #masterlist

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elfven-blog · 4 months ago

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Milking Session

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#assassins creed #assassins creed 2 #assassins creed revelations #ezio auditore x f!reader #ezio auditore smut #ezio auditore x reader #ezio auditore #assassin’s creed ezio #assassin's creed 2 #assassin's creed x reader #ezio auditore x fem!reader #assassin's creed smut #assassin's creed brotherhood #assassin's creed hybrid au

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desmond69miles · 7 months ago

Text

The Catch

This is sort of a prologue to 'An Artists Eye'. It uses the same way of meeting/Élise and Bellec are still alive, but reading the previous fic is not necessary! This is supposed to be after the game (but obviously a different ending), it more so came out as a completly different timeline- what the hell it's fiction anyway

Arno offers to show you around the hidden assassin base below Cafe Theatre. He also offers a risky sexual time in a small, curtain-drawn study in the archives.

Warnings/Tags: Google translated French, GN reader (no descriptions listed), oral sex/blowjob, risky sex, getting caught, probably ooc Axeman but IDK anything about him (he 'flirts' with you).

Word Count: 3.4k (rounded up)

AO3 LINK: Here

Enjoy.

---

Arno Dorian was a man of many suits. He drank like a monster, risked his life daily in more ways than one, and fought like a madman. But, he was an attentive lover. Caring and somewhat good-natured when it came to you.

You were wary of Arno's regular disappearances and injuries once you started dating him, perhaps a little more worried than a normal partner would be. You weren't sure if his gambling was getting him into fistfights or if he got into one too many scraps with local drunks, but you could never recall a time when he didn't come back to you unharmed.

At first, you’d thought him a thief or maybe a smuggler. To your surprise, he was neither (or both) but an assassin. You laughed at him then, giving him a look of disbelief, but when he stayed stone-faced, your look of humor soon turned into panic.

“Arno,” you had said, “you cannot be serious. An assassin?” He gave you a slight smirk that you can still picture perfectly today and took your hands in his. “Yes, an assassin. I’ve been one since I was twenty-two.” He said it so plainly that there was no other truth besides that- a killer. You weren’t scared, though, and perhaps you should have been. You trusted him not to get himself captured or, worse, killed.

Despite your trust, he did come home wounded quite often. The unexplained injuries suddenly made a lot more sense, especially the stab and slash marks from a sword--and, god forbid, a bullet hole once in a blue moon. While you weren’t thrilled about becoming skilled at suturing your lover, you got exceptionally good at it. In return, Arno affectionately called you ‘mon infirmière.’

My nurse.

“Arno,” you sighed nervously while threading a needle. “You know that you’re supposed to stick them with your sword, not be stuck by their sword, right?” He laughed and winced after, fists clenching at the two-centimeter-deep slash wound on his right side. “Oui, mon amour, I’m well aware. Sometimes, it’s a bit difficult while fighting three people at the same time.” You side-eye him then, tutting. “I have you, though, mon infirmière. You are much more gentler than Elise and not as scrutinizing.”

You also missed him a lot, even when he was right beside you. The constant fear that he might one day leave and never come back haunted you. Every time he returned in the dead of the night, you couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. You would thank him, your voice barely audible as he quietly removed his boots, careful not to disturb your sleep.

It’s been six months since you’ve started dating Arno. Your worry decreased dramatically during that time. Partially because the longest missions Arno’s been on are only a few days to a week at most, partially because he’d always spend a day or two before that mission with you doing things he’d know would quell your stress. This time, though, he’d be traveling to Toulouse for three weeks: six hundred and seventy-eight kilometers, a day and a half carriage ride away.

Arno was going to leave in two days, and he had been spending time with you in between the preparations. You sat in a chair by the fire, scribbling around your sketchbook. Arno was gone—probably below Cafe Theatre or in the study—the only thing keeping you company was the gentle crackling of the flames and the songbirds chirping outside in the terrace garden. Summer was coming to its final stretch and starting to transition into fall. Leaves were turning into gorgeous shades of red and orange, the temperature just warm enough to leave without a coat, and the apple trees were blooming to make the perfect apple cider.

A beautiful time of growth and change, and you’d be experiencing it with mostly Elise and your best friend (not that you had anything against Elise or your best friend; you did love them, but something about fall was so romantic).

“Mon amour,” a disembodied voice said, “what are you drawing?” His hands rested on your shoulders, squeezing lovingly before he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “Eurasian jays,” you replied, moving your gaze from the crisp paper to your lover. He stole a chaste kiss and looked at your page of elegantly drawn birds. Arno recognized them as the bird that stole a piece of your bread a few months back, a smile drawing to his face.

Arno sighed through his nose. “How are you?” he asked, his voice ever more soothing at this peaceful moment. “Alright. How is your work going? Are you still leaving in two days?” His slight noise had confirmed, although he did not speak, and he moved one of his hands down, carefully taking your sketchpad away and setting it down on the table next to the chair.

“I have something that might put your mind at ease during my mission,” Arno said softly. “The Council has permitted you to visit our headquarters. You can meet my mentor and our fellow assassins. While you can't go there alone, I thought it might comfort you to see where I spend my time.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, quickly taking his hand as he helped you stand.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I weren’t certain,” he replied, reassuringly smiling. “There aren’t many people there right now, maybe my mentor or a few friends. We could go now if you’d like?” You chewed your lip briefly, pretending to ponder before nodding. “Alright, let’s go.”

Arno led you down the familiar hallways of Cafe Theatre, but this time, he stopped at a spot you had never taken much notice of before. With an odd-looking key that you’ve never seen before slotted into the lock, the dark wooden door swung open with a quiet groan. Inside was a dimly lit staircase that descended into a stone hallway with a red rug lining the middle. “This way,” he said, taking your hand as he guided you into the dimly lit corridor.

The passage trailed downward, the air growing cooler and damper as you descended. The walls were lined with old, worn stone, and the faint scent of old books and earth made up the air. Arno walked with the confidence of a man who’d traversed these halls too many times to count, his gloved fingertips brushing against the bricks while his arm that didn’t wield the blade held your hand.

Eventually, you arrived at the bottom of the staircase. The hallway was much grander than you had seen from the top of the stairs--curtains framing big paintings of what you assumed were important figures in the assassin world, numerous pedestals holding silver or iron statues, and a large red tapestry with a white emblem on it hanging from the tall ceilings, the Creed’s sigil. The room was illuminated by torches mounted on the walls, casting a warm, flickering glow that danced over Arno’s face and shadowed a beautiful gleam on him.

Once the hallway ended, there was a room containing a long table surrounded by haphazardly pushed-in chairs. On all four sides of the room was another hallway, but the one in front of you led into a vast room resembling a courtroom. It was no less magnificent than the hallways—possibly a little more—such as the oak table covered in various maps and documents and the walls lined with weapons and other neatly organized tools of the trade.

Arno turns to you with a gentle smile, speaking in a tone that feels a little too loud for the setting, “This is where I spend much of my time when I’m not with you. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

You took in your surroundings with a deep breath. There was a strange comfort, as well as uncertainty and awe, seeing where Arno lived most of his life. You had talked about seeing the creed’s hideout when you first found out about his position, and honestly, what you saw now was not what you envisioned in your mind. When you think of Assassin, you think of torturing and other dark things. While you were sure it did happen, there was no hint of it here.

True to his word, there weren’t many people in the hideout. In fact, there wasn’t a soul around. “Is it normal for there not to be people?” You ask, looking at Arno as he wraps an arm around your waist. “No. Usually, there are many people, but most of us are out on missions, and the council is out on a meeting with-” “Arno!”

“Axeman, mon ami!”

You turned your head to the right to see a man walking towards you, an axe strapped on his back. You rolled your eyes playfully at the ‘clever’ name of his friend. Axeman slapped his hand on Arno’s shoulder in a hello, his brown eyes meeting yours. “And half of us thought you made them up,” he jests, sticking his hand out for you to take and gently kissing the back of your hand. “How could I make someone so great up?” Arno smiles, and his arm briefly squeezes you closer.

Axeman chuckles while running a hand through his pushed-back brown hair. “As much as I’d like to stay and chat with your lovely partner, I do have a mission to get to.” He gives you a small smile and Arno a playful smack again, turning to walk the way you came in. “Bellec’s around, so be on your best behavior.”

Once his buddy left, your lover turned to you, giving you a frisky smirk. “Let me give you a tour,” Arno grabbed your hand again with a slight squeeze and led you deeper into the underground hideout, his hand warm even through the worn leather glove. “This way,” Arno said, pulling you to the left hallway. This passage was thinner than the others and dimly lit by candelabras placed every five feet, occasional carvings etched into the stone walls between large pillars. Large wooden doors started after the fourth pillar, and Arno took you to the second one on the right side, swinging open the heavy door and nodding you inside.

“This is the main training room.” He gestured with a flourish, letting you step inside and look around. The space was huge, with mats covering the floor. Wooden dummies and targets lined two of the four walls, some riddled with throwing knives and arrows, some looking so broken it was just remembrance of rough training. Three assassins were sparring, one sitting down to the side drinking water and two practicing their knife skills.

“Care for a quick lesson?” He teased, knowing full well that you weren’t one for battling people, instead gnats or annoying flies that buzzed around. “Maybe later,” you replied with a grin, “What’s next?”

He followed you out and closed the door behind him, leading you across the hall into the next door. “Here is the armory.” The room opened to reveal wooden walls lined with weapons of every kind: swords, daggers, pistols, rifles, smoke bombs, bomb bombs, and, of course, things to maintain the hidden blade. Each was meticulously maintained and ready for action. “Most of us have our preferred weapons, so this is mainly for recruits or people who have lost a weapon. Pick any weapon, and it’ll have a story,” Arno said, following you inside.

His fingers brushed an ornate-looking sword, the beautiful engraving on the blade glinting in the candlelight. You reached out, touching a dagger with an intricate hilt next to the sword Arno was looking at. “What about this one?”

“Ah, that belonged to Thomas de Carneillon, an assassin in the 13th and 14th century,” Arno explained, “he tried to steal a sword of Eden, the same one that killed Germaine.” He gives you an inquisitive look and lets you wander around the round room, watching as you observe the weapons with a curiosity that makes his stomach twinge in an absurd kind of attractiveness.

Once you circle the room and return to Arno, he offers his hand again and leads you out of the room and deeper into the hallway. “You’ll love this,” he assures, motioning towards the end of the hallway where a huge arch opened up to a library. “This is the south archive,” he said, smiling at your giddy smile.

It smelled like old parchment, ink, and worn leather-bound books, a scent that engrained itself in your brain. Shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes, scrolls, and books lined the walls, going up to the ceiling where a giant metal chandelier hung. Maroon velvet curtains lined the arch, and when you slipped into the library, you didn’t notice Arno tugging the golden rope that held them back. The drapes made a soft noise as they closed, dimming the room just the slightest bit, and Arno watched as your fingers trailed over the spines of the books.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “You said that this is the South archive?” Arno hummed a ‘yes,’ coming up behind you as you pulled one of the smaller books off the shelf. He wrapped his arms around your hips and kissed your temple, scanning the book you opened. “This library isn’t the biggest one here, but this one is always empty, perfect for us.”

Arno watched the trail of your fingertips against the worn paper, gentle like your fingers when you trail them over Arno’s back. His eyes followed your hand as you turned the page, forefinger and thumb pinching the page like when you pinch your nipple while he’s fingering you. He should not be turned on right now.

“Arno,” you said, head turning to look at your lover behind you. His eyes caught yours, your pretty eyes that always glistened right before you orgasmed, and right then, he made up his mind. Before you could speak again, Arno had pressed his lips against your soft ones, maybe just a little too roughly, the leather of the book in your hands creaking with how hard you gripped it.

His hand grabbed the book from your hands and placed it back on the shelf with a little bit of struggle. Nipping your bottom lip, Arno’s hands gripped your hips and slipped his tongue inside your mouth. He tasted like wine and something sweet--something him-- and god, you’d be lying if it wasn’t intoxicating for the both of you. When you did pull away, a slim bridge of saliva connected your lips and snapped when he licked his. You were suddenly very aware of the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into--his erection pressed into your behind and his needy hands wandering your body.

“We’re in the base,” you un-needily whispered, sucking in a small breath as his lips moved to your jaw and pressed a kiss just behind your jawbone. “Oui, but we are alone. No one is near us, and we’ll be quiet.” You shakily breathed as he continued to kiss along the side of your neck and fuck; if the thought of risk didn’t set a throbbing between your legs, you weren’t sure what did.

With an enthusiastic nod, Arno grabbed your hand and pulled you to one of the curtain-drawn study rooms off to the side. As he did with the entrance to the archive, Arno pulled the rope holding the drapes back off and dropped it to the floor. The ambient candlelight under the curtains, the only light in the ‘private’ study room, set a surprisingly intimate aura as Arno’s hand cups the side of your face and kisses you again. This one was headier, making your mind swim as his other hand grabbed your butt, pushing your hips into his.

Your hands that had been resting on his shoulders slipped down his chest and to his belt, one palming his obvious arousal and the other fiddling with the belt buckle. He groaned into your mouth, hips chasing your hand as you moved it up to help undo the buckle. His hands joined yours in a messy struggle, and once his belt was undone, you immediately sank to your knees.

Arno swore--a short, breathy ‘merde’ that sent every single ounce of blood that was in your brain rushing south, and with that blood came a fleeting thought of how easy it was to get you to suck him off in a place with people. It wasn’t the first time that you had sexual interactions in a public place--far from it--but it was the first time that you’d be on the giving end.

His hand came to rest on the back of your head as your fingers unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down with his undergarments just to free his cock. Even in the darkness, you could tell that he was fully hard, your hand that didn’t rest on his hip coming to stroke him teasingly slow. Your thumb swiped over his tip that dribbled precum, and his hips twitched with a soft groan that was nothing short of heavenly.

You softly pressed your lips against his head and trailed them down his shaft, letting your spit dribble against his heated skin and slicking him up with your hand. His quiet groans and the schlick of your hand made up the space--an erotic opera--and finally, your lips slipped around his tip and gently sucked. “Dieu, fuck, don’t stop,” Arno groaned, hips rocking in time with the drawls and push of your head. After enough saliva drips from your mouth and down his cock you took him deeper in just so the head of his cock was resting against the back of your tongue.

Arno moved both of his hands to the side of your head and gently held you in place, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and he began to thrust into your mouth. At first, his thrusts were shallow, but as your hands came to his thighs once again, Arno gave a chuckle and picked up his pace. You slid your tongue against the underside of him, and he let out a groan, one that was a little too loud. “Good job, mon amour, good job…”

No matter how many times you took him in any way, there was never a time where he failed to make you so painfully aroused.

“Suck,” Arno said, stopping his movements rather deep inside the constrictive heat of your throat and petting your head. And just like he said, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. His head thudded against the wall he had his back rested on, and, oh, that groan. Primal and needy and wanting in every sinful way known to man. “S'il vous plaît, continuez, putain, juste comme ça. Tu me prends si bien- si bien, fuck!”

His fingers threaded through your hair and gripped the strands, holding them tight as he rocked against your mouth. Arno was so, so close, you just needed to suck a little harder and-

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ARNO?!”

You immediately pull off of Arno, who seems equally surprised but, strangely enough, not embarrassed. You wiped the back of your mouth with your hand and turned around, face mortified at the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. He shook his head and turned around, letting the curtain fall behind him, and you could still tell he was outside due to the shadow from under the drapes. Arno haphazardly tucked himself back into his pants and offered you a hand up off the ground. When he pulled you up, you gave him a look, one that said Arno, are you fucking kidding me? but all he did was chuckle and step out of the study.

“Désolé, Bellec.” Your lover said, utterly unphased by the fact you had just been caught in a very precarious and intimate moment, and you heard a sigh from not Arno. “You never fail to amaze me, pisspot,” The man- Bellec- laughed.

You stood in the study for a good fifteen minutes with your face aflame, too embarrassed to even walk out of the hideout.

Thankfully the second meeting with Bellec was not when you were sucking Arno off and instead over wine (that doesn’t mean you weren’t a hot-faced mess with an embarrassed smile on your face throughout the whole thing, though).

#arno dorian x reader #arno dorian #arno dorian smut #assassins creed x reader #ac unity #ac unity x reaer

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sweetcocopowder · 8 months ago

Note

"I've missed your touch" Haytham x Reader? 👉👈

Prompt 3 | Haytham Kenway x Male Reader

Synopsis: You've been away for far too long and you come back realizing that Haytham wants you more than you realize.

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Le smut. Blowjob. Hand job. Slight manhandling. Marking.

Notes: Thank you for the request!! I hope you don't mind that i chose to go with a male reader, was just easier to write with. Please enjoy!!

Thomas Hickey’s bark of a laugh makes you visibly wince. Even though you try your best not to, the sound is horrific. It’s more on the lines of a hack with mucus stuck in the back of his throat than anything else and you find it revolting. You can’t help it but your lip curls up ever so slightly as your eyes drift over to him. He swings back on his chair before coming back with the legs coming down with a loud clash. It’s as if the Green Dragon goes silent for a moment before the choir of voices arise up again.

Hickey points at you with a finger while still holding his ale in hand, “You got chased by dogs!?” He shouts out a little too loudly.

“Singular,” you correct. “It was one dog.”

“Mate,” Hickey grins wickedly, “I don’t think that makes it any better.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help but catch the Grandmaster’s dark blue gaze appointed to you. He has his hands clasped together in front of his mouth and his tricorn sits low over his face. But you can still see his gaze fixed upon you.

Lazy like, he looks away and gestures a hand out to Hickey, “And what have you done in the month while my tracker has been on his trek these past six months?”

That cuts Hickey short. He’s the only one at this table with you and Haytham and you don’t understand why? Well, you do to some degree. He’s here for the women and the ale fifty percent of the time. The other fifty? You have no clue what he does for Haytham’s cause or how he keeps his worth but he obviously does something right.

You’ve met Gist once and as much as you wouldn’t put them in the same category, that man is a drinker himself. Yet, he’s still able to keep his worth clearly to any passerby. Goes about travelling with that Irishman most of his days now. Haven’t seen him in a good few years.

Hickey tries to defend him, “I’ve been-“

“I know what you’ve done,” Haytham says with a raised hand. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Hickey looks to you up and down with a scowl and sets his ale aside. He stands from his chair, making it scratch against the floorboards loudly before dismissing himself to the Grandmaster. You’re quite surprised that no one else has showed up yet for your arrival back. Maybe most have forgotten about you. Or they’re away.

You can’t truly blame them though. You’re not a true part of the Templar cause. You’re a messenger, an information collector that gets paid by how important the job is. You wouldn’t compare yourself to that voyager Captain Cormac but the others have. But only by the way that both of you skip and hop around the place like a rabid dog. Unable to stick to one place for too long.

But it’s what you get paid for. Heading all the way out west and south to retrieve information for Haytham. It can be tiresome some months but most days it’s worth it. Seeing all the sights that America has to give.

But all of Haytham’s attention is on you now. He stands up slowly before looking you over. Something he’s been doing all day ever since you jumped off your horse coming back into Boston. You had to come all the way from Lower Louisiana with important French intel. Something Cormac wasn’t able to do since he’s up north. Probably still is since he’s not currently present.

You don’t want to hold a grudge against the poor man but it’s very hard when you’ve barely seen Haytham. The urge to reach out and touch is an itch that won’t go away. But, for the sake of Haytham’s reputation, you keep to yourself. The last thing Haytham wants is someone to see him with a man. You adjust your specks, pushing them up your nose. Maybe one day things will change.

The Grandmaster holds out a hand, gesturing towards the stairs. “Walk with me?” He asks with a small hint of amusement.

You nod your head gently, “Of course.”

Leading the way down the stairs and out the door, you can’t help but let your shoulders ease with relief. A brief touch on your upper arm has you looking to Haytham with a solum expression, even though you feel your chest constrict within you. It’s been too long since you’ve seen him. He hasn’t changed a bit but you may say the lines around his eyes have gotten a bit more prominent. But it suits him.

“Come,” is all Haytham says before making his way down the street.

Blunt as always. That’s something you haven’t missed. With your hands behind your back, you walk after him. You keep your tongue still, not wanting to overstep or speak out of turn. Despite him telling you that he’s a high society man in the past, you’ve seen him break into too many places to count, kill without remorse and cause chaos in the middle of the street. Something that has you rolling your eyes every time.

But something you did not expect is for Haytham to step down the way of his own estate. You’ve only been here once and that was a good few years ago now. All your other little inquiries with Haytham have been held… elsewhere. It should leave a sour taste in your mouth but with each passing travel, you find yourself yearning for the man more. Even though sometimes he feels so far away when he’s right beside you.

Haytham Kenway’s estate is a two storey building on the outskirts of Boston. You can only guess to keep away from everyone else. But with the rate this place is growing he soon might be surrounded by other houses and properties. Most likely outshining Haytham’s in every way possible. But that’s the future.

You bring your eyes down to Haytham opening the door for you. His tricorn is off his head and he gesture inwards with it for you to enter first. You hum softly as you enter into Haytham’s home. And instantly, the smell of foxing books and tea leaves invades your nose. It’s almost overpowering but it’s almost familiar. The door clicks behind you softly.

“So, what matters did you want to discuss, sir?” You ask as you loosen your cravat from your neck.

A hand presses into the small of your back and you can’t help but stiffen up. You look to Haytham as he comes to your front, feeling around your waist until he stops on your stomach.

“There are no, important matters,” Haytham slurs out. “Only you.”

You can’t help but stifle out a laugh as you place a hand over his. He raises a brow to you, that concerned look coming over his features. This is not the man that you met earlier today. His eyes are too soft now, not the hard dark blue that could stop anyone in their tracks.

“You haven’t missed me that much have you?” You asks with a lilt of cockiness in your voice. It’s hard not to have it there, not with the way that Haytham looks to you now.

“Hmm, I would say as much,” Haytham hums out.

With nimble fingers, the hand on your stomach comes up and plucks your specs off your nose. You watch intensely as he folds them up in one hand before putting them off aside. You truly hate it when he does that because everything becomes a little fuzzy around the edges. But the way he looks at you is something that’s worth the minor inconvenience.

You finally reach out and unclasp the clip to his coat. It falls heavily to the ground with a heavy thud. Your hand touches his neck before caressing up his cheek. He grips your hand and pulls it away to kiss your palm. What a sweet man.

“Do you wish to-“ before you can even finish your sentence, Haytham brings you closer for a desperate kiss. One fill with teeth and tongue. But, you return it all the same with a hand gripping into his dark hair undoing that red bow he always has tied in it. He groans into the touch, a sound you savour all the same.

He pushes you backwards into the wall, almost knocking a painting off its hook. Haytham never parts from you though as his hands waver and venture down your chest, undoing every button on your vest in his path. The vest is discarded with your shirt coming next. You suddenly feel very exposed as his dark eyes look over you.

“This ain’t fair, Haytham,” you push him backwards with a hand on his chest. He complies, taking small steps backwards into the living room. Inches away from the fancy lounge he has, he grabs your hand and takes it from his chest.

“Many things aren’t fair, dear,” Haytham says.

You can’t help but scowl as he turns you around and pushes you backwards onto the lounge instead. You land with an oof onto the soft couches. You should be upset but the way that Haytham grips onto the back of the lounge as he leans over you with that look, it’s very hard to feel that way. Especially when everything you’re feeling is travelling down below, filling out in your pants.

Haytham comes down onto the couch, a leg coming between your own and pressing against your crouch. You can’t help the hiss that escapes from mouth. It’s been a while since you’ve let anyone touch you. And when a large hand kneads you through your pants, the groan that comes from your throat is savoury.

“What have your thoughts have me been? Since I’ve been away all this time?” You ask with a grin.

Haytham looks to you and you can see so many thoughts run behind his eyes. He leans down and kisses your neck, your jaw and then your lips.

“Many things,” he whispers deeply.

You lightly grab his face, making him look at you. “Show me,” you whisper back before kissing him deeply.

Clothes are striped off at an alarming rate and Haytham’s actions become desperate. His calloused hands run over your frame as soon as you’re free of your clothing. And the shivers that run down your spine has goosebumps littering your skin. He kisses you again deeply, biting at your bottom lip and sucking. His bites and kisses venture to your neck where it almost feels like as if he’s tasting you.

You grab onto the back of his neck and drag him down further onto the couch. He has to hold onto the back of the lounge to stop himself from falling over you. You bid yourself to think and open your eyes to take in the view in front of you. The muscles on his back twitch and move as his hands feel every inch of you. You take him in the best you can as he sucks and latches himself onto your neck. A hand wraps itself around your aching cock and your eyes roll up to the ceiling.

“Haytham,” you breathe out. “Please.”

He comes up and latches onto your lips again, deep and wet. His mind is probably a blur right now because yours is too. You get lost in the pure pleasure swirling in your gut and fogging your head. You grip onto his sides, your nails digging in as the hand that’s on your cock quickens it’s pace. Your back arches slightly off the couch as he squeezes at the base before stroking back up and flicking the bead of precum that’s leaking from you. It has you panting and holding onto him as if your life depended on it.

Haytham breaks off, breathing heavily into your cheek. He grinds down onto you and you can feel his own excitement rub up against your own.

“I’ve missed you,” you breathe out into his skin. “I’ve missed your touch, Haytham.”

Haytham returns that with another kiss as if he can’t get enough of you. You grip onto his hair, tugging at his locks that earn you a deep growl. Being like this, you miss it so damn much it hurts. You earn for him too much when you’re off on your little expeditions that it’s becoming a problem. You just hope that Haytham doesn’t send you away again on another six month journey. Because you don’t think you’ll survive this one with the way he makes you feel.

And seeing him like this, desperate to touch you. Desperate to taste you. Oh, it does so many things to you. And with him moving off the couch and guiding your hips with him, your heart does a flip. He sits on his knees in front of you, the Grandmaster of the Templar Order with your cock a breath away from his kiss swollen lips. The sight is something that no one will ever get to see but you.

“This is what I’ve wanted, dear,” Haytham almost whispers. “I’ve missed this too much for my own good.”

Only you.

You grip a hand into his hair again and guide him down onto your cock. He takes you beautifully and you grind your teeth, hoping to hold out for a few minutes more. But the way that Haytham sucks and bobs his head at your bidding is almost too much. His hands grip into your thighs painfully and you know there will be bruises there later. But it’ll be a reminder to today. Something you love to see in the mirror.

All for you. And only you.

;)

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