Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Rum!" the sea salted voice of Captain Kenway echoes around the tavern - the single world uttered obviously meant as an order for you.

With a grin on your face, you skip over to the drunken captain in question with another tankard ready in your hand.

"You boys and your rum, did your mother not teach you any manners, Kenway?" you chuckle, plonking the tankard on the table before you.

Without warning the rowdy pirate tugs you down onto his lap, and places a sloppy kiss on your lips.

"How's that for manners, lass," he murmurs into your shoulder, nearly spilling his rum down your (f/c) dress.

Although you know this affection is nothing but a drunken haze for Edward, you can't help the butterflies that rise in your stomach at the attention - nor the deep reddening of your cheeks.

"Oi Kenway, let the poor lass go, she's only doing her job," the sweet Irish tones of your friend and fellow barmaid Anne Bonny comes over the rabble, urging the pirate to push you off his lap with a sorry look.

Nodding your thanks to Anne, you get back to serving the other patrons in the tavern. That is, until you find yourself dragged back to the table of pirates in the corner. Most of them have already fallen asleep, or stumbled off with some lucky courtesan - most of them, save for Edward Kenway. Grinning at you, the legendary pirate captain pats the empty seat beside him, waiting for you to sit down.

"Let me tell you a secret, lass," he whispers to you, in an overly loud whisper that is more of a shout than anything else, "I fell for you the moment I saw you, last month,"
Blushing, you avoid his gaze and focus instead on a puddle of spilt ale on the table. He's obviously drunk...unaware of what he is really saying. You can't even imagine a man as beautiful as Edward Kenway looking at you twice - never mind being in love with you!

"You're drunk, Kenway, get back to your ship and sleep it off," you tug him too your feet, ignoring the growing tightening in your chest.
As you haul him upwards, his drunken state sends him flying into you. Luckily he stops himself before he squashes you beneath his muscular form.

His lips attempt to contact yours again, only for you to push him away. As much as you want this, want him... you know that you'll be nothing more than a drunken regret in the morning.
"You are the most beautiful maiden I've seen in all these islands!" He chuckles, standing up on hazardous legs,"And I want to see more of you!"

Shaking her head, Anne comes over to help you usher him out of the door, listening to his lustful ramblings all the way.
By now, the tavern is empty, leaving you and Anne to tidy up the place. Together, you two step outside and glance up to the clear moon, which soars high in the sky signalling the late hour.

"See you tomorrow, Anne," you wave good bye to her, starting to walk home before she stops you.
"You know, (name), they say drunk words are sober thoughts," she winks at you, referring to your run in with a certain Kenway earlier.

With that, she walks away, leaving you with a glimmer of hope in your heart.
Maybe Edward's words weren't just drunk ramblings, after all.

Chapter Text

"Kesegowaase is dead, and my sources tell me that Shay is still on the hunt for us," Hope Jensen speaks first, her voice clear cut and proper.

"He's a changed man now, (name), after Lisbon...he was ruined," the second voice to speak belongs to Liam O'Brian, the Irish twang delicately laced with regret and exhaustion.
Leaning back in your seat, you take in the two Assassins and their information. It has been a fair few years since you were last here, at the Homestead. To be fair, its your own fault, you took a 'break' and went back to Europe to see how the Creed fairs over there. Not very well, it seems. Nor are you prospering on this side of the Atlantic, either.
"And what has Achilles done about this?" you question them, drumming your fingers on the oak desk you sit at.

"He is continuing the search for the precursor sites," Hope says nonchalantly, as if such a thing is like a mere walk in the park. The drumming of you fingers stops, leaving the mutterings of various assassins around the homestead as the only noise

"And you wonder why Shay is hunting you?" you snap, much to the surprise of Liam and Hope, "He never wanted to hurt innocents, and from Lisbon and Haiti we all know these sites are destructive once meddled with, destructive to the point they not only hurt innocents, but it kills them,"

The two loyal assassins grimace at you, both wanting to hear anything but those words at this time.

"You need to forget about these sites, the Creed needs to forget about them, unless you want a repeat of Lisbon," you continue, unaware of Achilles entering the room on silent feet.

"You sound just like him,(name), spouting all this traitorous nonsense - just as he was that night all those years ago. I know you and him were close before you ran off to England, but that does not excuse you acting like him," Achilles interrupts the silence with his anger, leaving you to hide the reddening of your cheeks.

It is true, before you had gone back to you home you and Shay had somewhat started a relationship - one that went to the rocks as soon as you boarded this ship across the Atlantic.

"What I am saying adheres to the principals of our creed, you do remember them, don't you? Stay thy blade from the flesh of the innocent? Remember?" you snarl at all three of them, unable to contain your own anger at their sheer disregard for the tenets.

A short moment of silence as your words sink in, followed by Liam clearing his throat.

"We all need to calm down, (name), go for a walk, clear you head a bit," he orders, and where you'd usually argue just to rile him up, you decide to obey for once.

After retying you (h/c) hair back into its tidy, no nonsense, braid, you make a beeline straight for the stables and hop onto the first saddled horse you can find. As if you'd simply go clear you head and walk straight back into that den of snakes - no, you have somewhere else you'd rather be, and you don't give a shit if it'll take hours to ride there.

New York at dusk is a beautiful thing. It is one of the few times the city can be considered sleepy, since the markets of day have closed up, yet the cretins of night have get to come out to play. Few seagulls soar above you, gliding gracefully on their wings of pure freedom. Patting your horse's flank, you tie it up at the nearest inn then make a beeline for the harbour. At first, you are unsure of what it is you are looking for, but once your eyes spy red sails tied up against a mast in the dying light, you realise that since you left the homestead, you've been heading straight to Shay.

Sucking in a deep breath, you begin the agonising walk towards the red sailed ship known as the Morrigan - Shay's ship. By the time its hulking shape grows closer, you notice how it is docked by itself on the private land of Fort Arsenal - Shay is certainly doing well for himself now.

Despite the dull night descending upon the city, the flags aboard the Morrigan and atop the glorious house fly proudly, the Templar symbol stitched upon them as clear as day.
You risk a glance down to your wrists, to the hidden blades and the Assassin insignia etched onto your bracers.
Walking any close to that Fort will mark you as a target, either for the Templars or the Assassins.

Sighing, you go to the nearest roof to mull over your choices. If you take that plunge into the Fort to find Shay, he could easily kill you, any of the Templars could do so. Yet...if they don't...you realise that in this case, the Templars are right. We should not persue these precursor sites - and if the Assassins continue to do so, the results could be catastrophic.

"I heard a rumour you were back," a rough voice calls from behind you - in your musings you had failed to notice the prescence of another on the roof with you - Shay.
"Have you come to kill me then, like the others?" You huff into the cooling air, ignoring the wince from the Templar,"I tried to explain to them what was wrong, but they accused me of acting like you, of being a traitor - you'll be doing a favour to them,"
"I don't want to kill you, or any of them," Shay still stands beside you, now with his hand firmly clasped on his shoulder,"But if you stand in my way I will have no choice,"

Rolling your head to the side, you take your eyes off the view and face Shay. Words stop before they reach your tongue as you look at him for the first time in years. Your eyes roam over his rugged features, the scars familiar and new to you all at once, and the beginnings of stubble reminding you so much of that sweet young man you knew all those years ago.

"Well, I'm not planning on stopping you. If the assassins want to chase destruction I want nothing to do with them," you try and try to avoid looking at his lips, but you just can't help it once he opens them to reply.
"You're a smart girl, (name), you can see past this senseless quest of theirs," Shay smiles down at you, his eyes shimmering in the dusk moonlight,"The Order could do with more people like you,"
Chuckling, you mull over his words for a few seconds, before standing up to face him properly.

"Did I ever tell you how stupidly handsome you are?" You mutter, pulling him down to your height. A few seconds more and he latched his lips onto yours, embracing you in a long overdue kiss.
"I've been meaning to do that for years," he laughs, pulling away from you,"But seriously, the Order could do with more people like you,"

You consider him for a moment, the memories of all those fun times with him at the Homestead rushing back to you in an instant. Then come the faces of the Assassins, those who you once considered friends. If you take Shay's offer, you'll likely see them dead, if you refuse...

"Shay, I would follow you to the ends of the earth if only to stop the Assassins hurting more innocents, and if it means swapping sides in this war of ours, then so be it," you whisper, pulling him closer for another kiss.

You don't know how long you two stand there like that, entwined in each other upon that roof. But it is cut short by the clearing of a throat below you.

"If you two have quite finished now, would you care to explain what is happening?" an amused, British voice questions. 

You both pull apart with such force that you nearly tumble off the roof, your cheeks reddening with the whole situation.

"Master Kenway! We were just discussing the Assassins, (name) here wants to leave them behind and join us," Shay splutters out to his Grandmaster, no doubt as embarrassed as you.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Templar Haytham Kenway lets out an exasperated sigh.

"You were certainly discussing something," he mutters, "Come down then and let us talk,"

Stifling a laugh, you spare a glance to poor Shay, who just shakes his head before starting the long descent to the ground.

Chapter Text

"Mi dispiace, Mario, but I'm afraid my father died some months ago. I did send a letter, but it mustn't have reached you here," you apologise profusely to the Assassin, who had sent a letter to your villa some weeks before, requesting the assistance of your late father - who was also an assassin during his life. You had no idea how long it Mario had been needing your help, since it had taken you over a week to reach the Auditore villa from your own in the far north of Italia. 

"Had I known, signorina, I would not have sent such an urgent letter," Mario places his arm around you in comfort, which you accept gratefully.

"Nonsense! My father did not train me with the Assassin skills for nothing," you gesture down to you (f/c) robes, and tilt your head to the side in question, "What do you require of me, Mario? Speak and it will be done,"

Waving for you to follow, Mario leads you into the cool sanctuary of the Auditore villa, away from the heat of the noontime sun. You pass through the marbled corridors on silent feet until you reach what you presume to be Mario's work room.

"As you may well know, my brother - and a good friend of your father's - was recently executed under false pretences, thankfully his son, Ezio, escaped alongside his sister and mother. Giovanni did not tell Ezio about the Brotherhood, and I require some assistance in teaching him," Mario explains, sitting down at the desk in the centre of the room.

You take in the news for a second, you knew Giovanni Auditore had been executed, and had assumed all his family had escaped - but to find out that only half of the family still lives is a big blow.

"That does not sound too difficult, Mario, may I ask how old Messer Ezio is?" you ask, wanting to know your new pupil before you met him. Before your father had died, you had assisted him in teaching a few of the younger assassins back at your villa, so you already knew that teaching another young assassin was not a hard task.

"He is a similar age to you, I believe, 17 to be exact," Mario grins up at you from his desk, "And like every boy his age, he is very - shall we say - kind to the ladies,"

A small blush appears high on your cheeks, one that you force away immediately.

"That is interesting to know," you sniff, your earlier confidence dissipating within seconds. He's young, and flirty - and God help you if he's handsome too!

Nodding to Mario, you head out to the training ring where he tells you he will send Ezio in a few minutes, and gives you time to warm up. Whipping out your sword, you begin to gently spar with one of Mario's men, until the sound of a whistle makes you abruptly stop.

"Mario told me I would have another teacher, but he said nothing about a bella signore," the man who whistled now speaks to you, the intrigue clear in his voice.

You turn to face him, and nearly drop your sword when you see how devastatingly beautiful he is. Yep, that's all confidence gone. Ezio just has to tick all the boxes, doesn't he? Training him will either be heaven, or hell.

"I am here to teach you, Ezio, not for you to practice your flirting on. Now get in this ring and show me what you can you do," you order, regaining some of that lost confidence once your teacher mask slips over your face.

"With pleasure, signore, but before we begin, may I ask your name?" he unsheathes his sword before hopping into the soft sands on the ring, the sand nearly the same colour as his pristine robes.

"Best me in combat and I'l tell you," you quip, before openly attacking him. He's quick to parry, and even attempts his own attack on you before you react again. You've got to admit, he's good at this, but he is still no match for you!

Lashing out, you whip your leg out beneath him, sending him toppling to the floor as you catch his sword in your empty hand.

"Who would've thought the bella donna plays dirty," he chuckles from the floor,"But how will you fair at your own game?"

Without warning Ezio has thrown you on the floor by hooking your legs with his arm. He tosses the swords far across the ring, and climbs over you to straddle you.

"I win! Now for your name..." he laughs, a sweet, triumphant smile on his beautiful face.

"Fine, you got me, Ezio," you roll your eyes at his enthusiasm,"(name), I am (name),"

Ezio gets to his feet, pulling you up with him.

"Beautiful name, ti amo! Ready for round two?" he tosses you your sword, and that devilish grin on his face tells you that he knows exactly what he said sounds like without context.

"Well, let us hope you do not tire easily, because I intend to keep you occupied for at least another hour," you chuckle back, enjoying the look of flirtatious surprise that passes across his face. Perhaps that confidence came back, or maybe you decided that surrendering to his flirting wouldn't be so bad.

After all, who doesn't like a young, muscular man to flirt with them?

Chapter Text

Every day, every goddamned day that brown eyed god of a man comes in to your little bakery down a side street in Paris. Sometimes he buys a lot, anything from savoury to sweet pastries, other times he finds the tiniest sweet and buys it. But no matter what, no matter how beaten up he looks, or sad, or happy, he comes in every day - and he always spares a wink for you.

In fact, it's become a bit of a routine between you two, and every morning you wake up excited to see when the stranger will return again. Despite this, you have yet to learn his name, due to the only conversations between you two merely professional before you have to move onto the next customer.

"Merci, merci, enjoy your day," you chirp to the fleeting customer - your first and only one today. The recent unrest amongst the civilians has led to a minor fluctuation in your customers, one that you hope will sort itself out soon - and you don't even want to think about the grain shortages across France!

Sighing, you get back to wiping down the counter top, almost flicking the spilt flower onto your (f/c) dress. It's quiet, to say in the least, but you know that main crowds are just a few streets away.

"I have finally caught you alone," a familiar voice calls out to you, one belonging to that gorgeous doe eyed stranger you see every day. As usual, he wears his deep blue coat and has his chocolate hair tied back in its neat, crimson ribbon.

"Oui, not many customers today, sadly. What can I get you, monsieur?" you ask, keeping up the clipped, professional act you always do before your customers.

"I think I'll sample the apple tartlet this time, it's highly recommended by some friends of mine," he says, after some deliberation.

At his words, a glow of pride rushes through you. People are talking about your baking! Wordlessly, you go to fetch him a tart, and find that you have two left. A small smile creeps up your face as you take hold of both tarts and quietly hand one of them to him.

"I may as well have one myself, if no one else is eating them," you shrug at him and take a bite of your own creation. Oh God. The taste is so delicious, the savoury crunch of the pastry complimenting the sweet tang of the stewed apples is enough to send your tongue into overdrive - enough to make you nearly moan outloud as you enjoy the tart.

Amused, the stranger takes a bite from his own tart, his hard exterior is felled by the immense waves of syrupy goodness.

"That is your best pastry! Are there any more?" he questions, wolfing down the whole thing in a few bites.

"This is the last one, my apologies!" you gasp, wildly gesturing to the tart in your hand.

A small, shy grin laps at his lips, and he licks away the excess sugar left there by your tart.

"Well, I hope you make some more for tomorrow, because we are going to eat them all," he chuckles at you, leaning forwards on the counter and resting his chin upon his hand, "And before you say tomorrow is your day off, I know, that's why I chose tomorrow to take you out,"

"What?" you squeak, surprised at the strangers unexpected words, "But I do not even know your name yet!"

"Ah, well then," the stranger bows to you with a flourish, and takes your hand in his own, "Arno Dorian at your service, madame,"he breathes onto your knuckles before planting a soft, delicate kiss.

"Pleasured to finally know your name, Arno, and I am (name)," you giggle, unable to contain the excitement coursing through you. Not only had you learnt the beautiful stranger's name, but he had asked you out too!

"A beautiful name! Now, I shall collect you here at noon tomorrow, à bientôt (name)," he waves farewell to you before disappearing out of your shop and into the street beyond.

"à bientôt, Arno," you whisper to his retreating form, one hand clasped over your beating heart in a weak attempt to quell the pounding within.

Oh, you need to make those apple tarts again, especially if it gets you dates with beautiful strangers.

Chapter Text

"Oi! Thief!" A voice calls out behind you as you take off at a run through the soot stained alleyways of London.
The young man whose purse you just snatched pounds up behind you - obviously he is no stranger to running. But how will he fare at climbing?

As nimble as any other urchin in these damned streets, you claw your way up the side of the houses and make it to the roof. Though the other thieves you know are lacking in the shoe department - usually because they waste their earnings on some pretty prostitute - you spend your money on more useful things, like boots and clothes.

Its times like this that you are thankful for your boots, however cheap and thinly soled they are, for you find yourself running over all sorts of shattered slate or glass on your run across the rooftops.
Unfortunately for you, it seems your victim is as agile as you, and is catching upto you swiftly.

Time for plan B, you think, and quickly plunge over the edge of the roof. After landing in a nearby hay cart, you roll out and quickly dart behind the corner, hiding in a privy.

"For God's sake! Where did you go?" The man chasing you calls out, tugging down his black hood in despair, "Evie she's gone!"
"Oh stop moaning, Jacob, she can't have gone far," another voice joins in now, one belonging to a pretty young woman of similar age to you and the man who cased you.

"What would your precious Rooks say, knowing their leader has been outwitted by a thief?"  The woman mocks the man now, and you can spot the similarities between them - they must be twins.
The woman, Evie, adjusts her quilted coat and her gloves, taking her sweet time as her brother looks on in despair.
Wait...his Rooks? Their leader?
You know of the Rooks, of how their brutally, but beautifully, liberated the boroughs of London from those damned Blighters.
But...what Evie has said suggest you just stole from their already legendary leader - Jacob Frye.

Where a jolt of fear should jolt through you - after all, you've seen what the Rooks can do to those who oppose them - instead a rush of excitement rushes through you.
Ha! His sister is right! What would the Rooks say?

"Oh shut up and help me get my money back," Jacob frowns, starting the search for you.
Excitement aside, you know they wont take long to find you, and you're too tired to run anymore.
"Found you! Now give it back!" Jacob snatches his money from your hands as you chuckle away at him.

"Admit it, you nearly lost me there!" You giggle, prodding him as he pockets his belongings once more.
At the mouth of the ginnel, his sister rests against the wall, arms folded.
"You're a very good climber, if I may say so, we always need more people like that in the Rooks," she grins at you, small dimples appearing in the midst of her sweet little freckles.
"Oh? And all of a sudden my Rooks are ours," Jacob huffs, before looking at me, "You'd make a great Rook, have you ever considered joining?"
One glance at Evie tells you she's rolling her eyes at him, and a glance back to Jacob tells you his offer is genuine.

"I'd consider, if I got to see more of your pretty sister," you wink at Evie, watching as a pinkish blush spreads across her face.
"Am...am I invisible or something?" Jacob grips hold of his own face in mock shock,"I must be mellowing already!"
"I never said you weren't pretty too, I just said your sister is," you smirk at him before prowling over to a surprised Evie, "So, shall we go find these Rooks then?"

Smiling shyly, Evie takes your arm in hers and saunters off with you, leaving Jacob wide mouthed in the alley.
"Hey! The Rooks are mine! Not hers!" He runs after the two of you, gripping the top hat on his head.

Chapter Text

Silence.
Not even the crackle of a twig underfoot.
Exhaling, you focus your aim again, your eyes glaring straight down the shaft of your arrow, poised and ready for flight.
Tiptoeing between trees, the gentle doe that you stalk unwittingly walks into your line of fire, her spotted hide dappled further by the filtered light through leaves.

Sucking in a breath, you ready yourself to release the bowstring, and send up a final prayer that your arrow may fly straight and true. Your fingers tense, before relaxing and letting the boar gut string whip past your nose, sending your arrow cleanly into the doe's side.
Death is swift for the animal, so fast you are glad she wasn't in pain.

Quickly, you sling your bow over your shoulder and rush over to the fallen deer, your knife out ready to skin the poor thing.
As you work away at slicing away the soft coat of the doe, you fail to notice the near inaudible, cracking of leaves underfoot.

"This is private land, Hunter" someome says, the baritone of their voice reverberating against something deep inside you.
Swearing, you leap up and whip around, only to find yourself face to face with a broad chest.
"Sorry, I didn't realise," you mutter, stepping back from the wall of chest to find his face, "Can I...can I at least keep the deer?"
Your voice rises a few octaves once you see his face, thinking it looks like a chiseled statue.

He considers for a second before awlwardly hauling the doe over his shoulder.
"You're skinning it wrong, I'll show you at the manor, then you can join us for dinner," he offers, beckoning for you to follow him.
The way he speaks, as well as marking him as a native, sends your mind into overdrive and you realise - you find him incredibly attractive.

In silence, you follow him through the forest until you reach a pretty looking manor. He leads you upto the front enterance and into the hallway, where he is greeted by an old man.
"Ah, Connor, you're back! And you made a friend," the old man nods to you, revealing the name of the bear like native to you.
"Yes, old man, I found her hunting on our land and thought I could teach her some skills," Connor replies, slinging the doe onto a large wooden table in what you take to be the dining room.
"Wha- I just cleaned that table!" The old man waves his cane at poor Connor, shaking his head as he turns to you, "That boy has no respect for this house. Now come into the light, let me get a good look at you. What's your name?"

Flinging a helpless look at Connor, you follow the old man into the light of the window.
"I am (name), I, uhm, have been living off the forest for a few months now, I didn't realise this was private land," you gush, hoping these men hadn't brought you here under false pretences to kill you - or worse.
"Nonsense! Don't worry young lady, now it's time for my nap, I trust you two will clean up any mess you make on my table," with that, the old man hobbles out of the room, leaving you alone with Connor.

By the time you turn to face him, he has already skinned the deer and began slicing hunks of meat from it.
"I thought you were going to teach me," you whine, jogging over to the table.
"You were taking too long with Achilles," he sighs, handing you the doe pelt, "If I teach you to hunt properly, will you provide meat for everyone here? I'm sure we can build you somewhere to live too,"
Wide eyed, you nearly bite his hand off at the offer. After your mother's death you have been living alone in the forests of the frontier, the idea of a home...compainionship...a way to earn you place...oh it's like your birthday all over again.

-
Three months later
-

For months now you have been providing the Homestead with all sorts of meats and furs - in fact, all the residents loved you for it! Catherine greatly enjoys making stews for everyone from the choice cuts of fresh meat you bring her.

Sadly, Connor is not always there to partake in the delectable stews and roasts, since is he usually away dealing with his Assassin business. Oh yes, you know all about the internal war between Assassin's and Templars. Achilles has even offered to train you a bit until Connor can do it properly, when he isn't as busy.

Despite being busy, Connor always makes time each week to help you out with your hunting, always on hand with a new compliment about how your hunting is improving, or some tip on how to skin properly. During these trips out you find that your skills as a hunter are blossoming, Connor can see it too, as he keeps promising to train you to be an assassin like him.

Today is one such day, where Connor comes and helps you with your hunt.

As you crawl through the undergrowth, bow in hand, you hear Connor moving slowly through the branches high above you, both of you intent on the stag you have been tailing for some time.

As the stag stops to strip a tree of its bark, you load an arrow onto your bowstring and ready yourself to fire. As you release, you see something swoop down from above and snatch your stag away, leaving your arrow to thud into the bark of the tree.

Looking up, you find your stag hanging from the tree branch above you, with Connor gently lowering the rope down to the floor before he launches himself off the branch.

"Rope launcher," he says, as way of explanation to you.

"You and all these gadgets, Achilles spoils you," you tease him, letting him pull down the stag.

"I'm sure the old man can find one for you," Connor bends down beside the stag, ready to cut through its skin, "Do you want to skin it, or shall I?"

Nodding, you bend down beside him and take the small knife from his hand. Slowly, you begin to cut through the cooling fur, fully aware of Connor's breath on the back of your neck. You begin to shake slightly under his gaze, suddenly embarrassed at your close proximity.

"Steady, (name), slow down," Connor coos down your ear. Unfortunately for you, his attempts at soothing you only serve to shake you up more, your hands wobbling even more until you feel the warm callouses of his hand wrap around your own.

Under this guidance, you quickly and cleanly cut through the toughness of the thick skin. After you have finished, both you and Connor stand up and stare at the stag in awkwardness, before he quietly clears his throat.

"(Name), I've been meaning to tell you something," he stammers, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, "I, uhm, I have admired you for a long time, you are skilled, kind, and sweet. And I wish I could spend more time with you, but I wanted to know, if you'd like to go on a picnic with me,"

"Connor...I didn't know you felt this way," you sigh, approaching him with a big smile on your face, "But yes, I'd love to go on that picnic with you,"

Grinning shyly, Connor takes you hand and pulls you into a hug...a slightly awkward hug due to his unfamiliarity with physical contact. 
However you are undeterred by this, and soon find yourself gently pressing your lips against him. For a few seconds, he pauses against you, before he returns the kiss, hands clasping around your waist.

Pulling away, you giggle to yourself.
"Finally," you whisper, resting your head against his broad chest.
You two remain like that for some time, just holding onto each other in the tranquility of the forest.

Chapter Text

Preferences - How You Meet (Modern)
Altaïr Ibn-La-Ahad
You meet in a bar late at night, long after your girlfriends have bailed and gone home. You sit alone at the dark bar, sipping your favourite drink and losing yourself in thoughts of sunny beaches and handsome men.
You're so lost you fail to notice a certain beautiful man slide up beside you.
"You, um, want another?" He elbows you and nods at your drink, gaining a nod from you in response.
"Not seen you here before, sweetheart, what's your name?" You ask, smiling up at the kind stranger.
"Altaïr, and you are?" He pays for your drink and hands it to you, settling onto a stool beside you.
"(Name),"you smirk at him, taking a sip of your drink in what you hope is a seductive way.
Needless to say, by the end of the night you two are strangers no more - and he even leaves with your number and a promise to text you in the morning.
You grin to yourself as you stumble out into the dawning streets, you have a feeling you'll be seeing a lot more of thos Altaïr.

Ezio Auditore da Firenze
(Bc Ezio would totally be a model)
It was at your first modelling contract that you met him, that steamy Italian model who just about everyone swoons over. After that, you didn't see him for a long time - no, not until your agent called you about a wedding photoshoot.
The dresses you were to model were new takes on traditional styles, experiments with new colours and fabrics, they tell you. In fact, the first dress you try on you love so much you almost want to get married to any old stranger just to wear it.
As you make your way to the set for the photo shoot, a familiar accented voice calls out to you.
"My, if I had known I would be working with such a bella donna today I would have tried harder," Ezio calls out to you, a mocking pout on his plush lips.
"Ezio stop jesting, you always look immaculate! Nice to see you again, its been a long time," you chuckled back, disappointed when your conversation is cut short by the photographer calling you to action.
Most of the shots are generic, run of the mill poses, until you get to the final shot.
"Now, look in love! Kiss!" The photographer calls, and you feel your cheeks burn with the thought of Ezio kissing you.
"Finally!" Ezio sighs, before pulling you into a soft embrace, his lips plastered onto yours.

Ratonhakè:ton | Connor Kenway
It was your first day as a volunteer at Davenport Animal Sanctuary. As a child your parents had told you about the Sanctuary's work, and you had been distraught to find that it had closed down and left to ruin for several years.
Despite that setback, the Sanctuary reopened three weeks prior to your arrival, thanks to the help of a local young man - known to the masses as Connor.
"(Name), I presume?" A sweet looking man waves at you, "Welcome to Davenport,"
"You must be Connor! It is a pleasure to be here, and I think it's wonderful what you're doing here," you shake his hand eagerly, finding yourself extremely excited to start your work here.
Connor looks as if he doesn't expect your compliment, for his cheeks quickly redden and he blinks a few times in surprise.
"Thank you, (name), follow me to the manor, I need to talk through insurance with you then you can begin work. I think you are with me today," he lumbers off on his large legs, beckoning you to follow.
Excited, you skip behind him and try not to stare at his beautiful face for too long.
Oh yes, you are going to be so happy here.

Edward Kenway
Sighing, you glare down at the bulky life jacket around your midriff. There was no point in you being here anyway, you have no interest in sailing whatsoever, you're just here out of politeness after you won a few free sailing lessons.
"Ready for your lesson, Lass?" the voice of who you presume to be your instructor appears out of nowhere, causing to you turn around to find him.
Once you turn, it is as if the whole world stops on its axis. Your breath, laden with the salty tang of the sea, catches in your throat as if unable to escape. Widening, your eyes take in the sight of the man, who ticks every single box ever.
Sandy blonde hair? Check!
Sun kissed skin? Check!
Tattoos? Obviously!
Muscles that only a GOD could possess? You bet your damn toenails he has them.
Swallowing, you attempt to speak to him, only to stand their with your mouth flapping like a fish.
"Oh...I tend to have that effect on lots of people," he smirks at you, holding his hand out for you to shake it, "The name's Edward Kenway, by the way. Shall we be starting?"
Dumbfounded, you follow Edward onto the little boat where you will start your lesson.
Oh...maybe you do have an interest in sailing now.

Arno Dorian
(Sorry but Dorian would totally be that irresponsible carer, who somehow keeps all the children alive)
This softè baguette works in the nursery down the road from you, a nursery which your little sibling attends every day.
Each night they come home, telling you stories of Arno, and each day you think about what he would be like to meet.
Luckily, your mother sent you to pick up your little sibling from nursery, giving you a chance to finally meet the famous Arno Dorian.
"Are you not too young to have children, mon amore?" A sickly sweet voice welcomes you into the foyer of the nursery, a voice belonging to none other than Arno Dorian.
"Oh, no she's only my sister," you stammer, holding the hand of your sister as Arno approaches. Your sister seems to approve of this action, and she turns to Arno with a smile.
"Mister Dorian! I've told (name) all about you! I think you two should get married!" Your sister squeals, sending your cheeks into a flurry of burning embarrassment.
"What? I barely know him!" You squeak as your sister laughs on.
Lucky Arno is unfazed by the whole ordeal, and shoots you a crooked grin.
"Well, I would have to take you for dinner first, at the very least. Is tomorrow okay?" He winks at you, sending your sister into overdrive.
"Uh...yeah, sure," you stammer out, before scooping your sister up and skipping out of there.
"(Name) has a boyfriend! (Name) has a boyfriend!" Your sister giggles and squirms in your arms. You can't help but smile...maybe you do have a boyfriend.

Jacob Frye
The Rook, what a nice name for a pub. At least, it's better than the last one, the Blight. Damn suitable name too.
Since the pub changed hands, and was swiftly refurnished, you decided to try out the new bar to see if the landlord was any better than the last.
"Why on earth did you buy a pub, Jacob? You don't know anything about running a business!" Someone argues from inside, but you ignore it and take the plunge through the door anyway.
"I know a lot about drinking, and a lot of that happens in pubs," the response comes, stopping short when you enter, "Ah! My first customer! Welcome to the Rook! What can I get you?" He continues.
"Just a rum and coke please, it's been a long day," you chuckle, settling down into the first seat you see as one of the pair get to work behind the bar.
Even in the dum light of the pub you can tell he's handesome, with a swagger and smirk to match.
"Welcome, I'm Evie Frye," the woman who was arguing first sits down beside you, "That, over there, is my brother, Jacob Frye. He's the landlord,"
Accepting your drink from Jacob, you laugh as he pours himself a drink and joins you.
"Jacob! You can't drink on the job," Evie sighs, rubbing her face into her hands.
Raising his brows, Jacob shrugs at you, glass in hand.
"Where's the fun in running a pub then, dear sister," he laughs, downkng the whole glass in one go.
As the night crawls on, more and more customers join you until the whole ordeal turns into a jolly drinking competition - which you obviously won.

Evie Frye
(The cliche hurt in this one....but I love Evie)
Libraries, oh how you love them. Their wall burst with undiscovered adventures and unstarted quests, just waiting for you to stumble across them. Turning away from the bookshelf, you accidentaly walk straight into another girl, sending her armful of books scattering across the floor.
"I am SO sorry! Let pick them up for you!" You bend down and scramble for the books, hoping your blush is hidden from sight.
Alas, fortune is not in your favour today, for when you stand up and finally get a good look at her, your blush deepens at the sight of her. Pretty freckles, pursed lips, little dimples! Oh she is adorable!
"Don't sweat it," the girl calls over her shoulder, already leaving the library.

Bayek of Siwa
(I have yet to explore AC:Origins yet, please forgive me if Bayek is out of character)
Smiling, you tickle the eagle some more. It's absurd really, how such a graceful bird of prey is reduced to a soft sweetheart once you give her a few tickles.
You continue for some time, uttering soft words at the bird as you go, until a voice begins to speak.
"She is a beautiful bird, no?" Someone asks, and you look up to see none other than Medjay Bayek of Siwa.
"My apologies, Medjay, I did not know she belongs to you," you stutter, knowing full well the man could kill you at any second.
He waves his hand at you, as if batting away your apology.
"Her name is Senu, by the way. Come, hold out your arm," he whistles, and Senu sets of flying until she is soaring far above your heads.
"Keep your arm still," he orders, whistling again at his eagle.
With a swish of her wings, Senu has rapily descended and landed with a satifying ploof on your arm.
Eyes wide, the stare at the bird close up now, and Senu stares back, seemingly giving her approval.
"She likes you, may I have your name?" Bayek asks, sending the bird soaring high again.
"(Name)," you smile, casting your eyes away from his.
"Well, (name), it has been a please meeting you, I hope our paths may cross again," Bayek finalises, before waving and heading back into his house.
Excited, you run back to your house, replaying the meeting over and over in your head.

Bonus: Templars
Shay Cormac
(I can so imagine Shay on a motorbike...in all his leather gear...oh lord I need a cold shower)
You've known Shay for years, ever since he was a young teenager he's been riding around your town on his motorbike, head to toe in his black racing leathers.
For the three years you go to University in the next city over, you almost miss hearing the whirring of his engine as he speeds down the road. But now you're back, and a familiar roaring is approacbing you.
"Gist told me you were back!" Shay calls from the side of the road, referring to his friend of four years.
"Yeah. Missed me, Cormac?" You taunt, raising your brows over the wide brim of your sunglasses.
Laughing, Shay chucks you a spare motorcylce helmet and nods for you to get on the back of his bike.
"Get on lass, we've got a picnic to get to," he pats the seat behind him.
"It took me moving away for three years for you to work up the courage to ask me out," you giggle, crawling up beside him and wrapling your hands around his waist, before zooming off to the park just out of town for your picnic date.

Haytham Kenway
Your first day as cafe manager was mostly uneventful...that's if we gloss over the poor lad who spilt his tea all over the floor in protest at something his father said.
"Oh for God's sake Connor," he mutters, trying to mop up the spillage with a napkin.
"Don't worry about it! It's what we're here for!" You chirp, sliding over to the table with a proper cloth, "Can I get you a replacement tea?"
"No, thank you, I was just leaving," the younger one, Connor storms out, leaving you and the mam to clean up the mess.
"Teenagers, eh?" You chuckle, wiping away the last of the tea.
"Yes...quite," the man looks at you for a second,"I presume you are the new manager here? Do you know what happened to the last one?"
"Oh, yes Ziio left for another coffee shop, were you two friends?" You ask, picking up the discarded tea cup.
"No no, we just knew each other. Haytham Kenway, by the way," he holds out his hand for you to shake, before swiftly departinf from the shop - no doubt to look for his son.
"Strange," you utter, heading back to tills with the tea.

Chapter Text

"Can I interest you in my flowers, good sir, I can assure you they are London's finest," you wink at the passing man, who smirks at you from beneath his top hat.

"That depends on what type of flower we're talking about darling," he croons, his voice smooth and soft like the silken petals on the flowers in your basket.

Realising what he means, you swat him playfully with with one of your roses.

"We'll have none of that here sir," you giggle, watching as he shuffles around in his pockets for some money.

For a few seconds you take him in, how his sharp jaw is lined with dark stubble, how his thick brows furrow ever so slightly as he finds his gold, how those damned lips of his twist into a smirk as he hands you the money, plucking the rose from your hands.

"Stay careful now, mister, that new gang's about here and I don't know if they're as troublesome as the last," you warn him, referring to the Rooks. Although they haven't done much yet, you are still wary of them - after all, the Blighters were forever making a nuisance of themselves.

Laughing, the man glances around himself in mock fear.

"I reckon they're alright," he laughs, uncaring for the confused look on your face,"Never mind them, more about you. Are you here often, because I'd love to buy more flowers off you,"

Relaxing slightly, you shoot him a grin and nod.

"Every day, sir, from dawn till dusk," you tell him, "The name's (name), by the way,"

"Good meeting you, (name), I'm Jacob," he responds, nearly getting cut off by a green clad brute knocking into him.

"Sorry boss! But there's trouble at the factory again," he half yells, jumping away from Jacob.

Oh...that makes sense now. Jacob Frye, he's the boss of this new gang.

Swallowing, you watch as Jacob tips his hat to you, before folding it up and shoving it quickly into his jacket. One hand reaches up and a hood is pulled over his face, obscuring all features save for his wide jawline.

"When isn't there trouble at the factory?" he whines, before nodding farewell to you, "I'll see you about sometime,"

With that, he reaches up his arm and clicks something on his gauntlet. A rope shoots out and grapples onto the roof of a nearby building with ease, before he too shoots up by use of the rope.

You can't help but gasp at it - he's a brave man to do something like that. But you find that you don't mind it, the danger, and realise you would quite like to have a go of his rope launcher yourself.

God, you hope he does come back tomorrow.

Chapter Text

After your three year stint at University, you came back to your home town, only to be asked out by your friend, Shay. It was a moment you had been waiting for for years...however once you actually got down to the date it wasn't as good as either of you had intended.

"Of course it rains on the day I take you out, typical!" Shay sighs, unwilling to put down the picnic blanket on the soaking grass.

Giggling a little, you fiddle with the basket in your hands and smirk knowingly at Shay.

"Pub?" you ask, clasping a hand on his leather clad shoulder.

He rolls his eyes at you whilst laughing, a happy smirk appearing on his face.

"Obviously, (name)," he heads back to his motorcyle and hops on, "What are you waiting for? Jacob always has a spare table for me at the Rook - and Henry cooks the best burgers,"

"Burgers, pubs, and a leather clad hunk - my three favourite things!" you hop on behind him, shoving your helmet over your loose (h/c) locks.

Soon enough you are roaring back into the city on Shay's motorbike, your arms clasped around his waist in a strangely intimate way. The rain pours, then pours some more as Shay steers you two to the side street where the Rook waits. He pull up, taking a second to secure his bike before tugging you into the warm, dry sanctuary of the pub.

"Shay! Lad! You finally asked her out!" Jacob, the landlord, calls out from behind the bar.

"Good on ye, lad, I'm glad the lass said yes too," a salt roughened voice comes from the other end of the bar. That would be Edward then, a pub regular by all means.

Shaking his head in embarrassment, Shay nods to the kitchen door behind Jacob.

"Tell Greenie to put some burgers on for us, eh?" he asks, before turning to you to see what you want to drink.

Once he orders, and collects the drinks, Shay takes you to a secluded table in the back corner where you officially commence your date. For a while you two talk about anything and everything, and you're so engrossed in conversation that you don't notice your stomach growling in hunger - at least, not until Evie arrives like a food angel with your burgers in hand.

"Here you go, you lovebirds, enjoy!" she chirps, placing down the heavy plates before you.

The sight of the burgers, thick and juicy, complete with a well of molten cheese and even crispy bacon, makes your mouth water with anticipation reach out to lift it to your mouth. Taking a large bite from the culinary masterpiece, you release a groan of delight as the myriad of flavours assault your tongue all at once.

You open your eyes after swallowing to find Shay smirking at you, a glint of amusement in soft brown eyes.

"You're beautiful," he sighs, stuffing a chip into his mouth.

"Thank you," you blush, unsure of how to act in lieu of such a compliment, "And you're not too bad looking yourself, Cormac,"

Chuckling, Shay picks up his own burger and soon polishes that off. It takes you both only a few minutes to consume the delicious food, and you barely wait a few seconds before batting your lashes at Shay.

"Oh, I know that look," he smirks, waiting for Evie to come and collect your plates.

"Anything else I can get you?" she asks, glancing between the two of you.

"Mhm, I think (name) here is after a large portion of apple crumble, with custard," he smiles, the Irish twang of his voice like music to your ears - especially when he says the name of your favourite pudding, "And I'd like some chocolate fudge cake, please,"

Nodding, Evie heads off back to the kitchen to place your order, leaving you and Shay alone once more. Resting your head on your hand, you gaze at him across the table, watching as he summons up the courage to ask you something.

"Y'know, (name), I've liked you for a very long time," he confesses, his eyes locking onto yours, "Would you do the honour of being my girl? My girlfriend?"

"Of course!" oh, how you could burst with excitement! 

Suddenly, Shay is leaning across the table, his lips pressing against yours. Your body responds automatically and you feel a rush of thrill course through you. You want to continue, you never stop this moment - alas the clearing of a throat pulls you, albeit reluctantly, from the moment.

"Sorry to interrupt the moment, lovebirds, but I brought your cakes," Evie giggles, placing the bowls down before running off back to the kitchen.

"I don't know what I love more," you grin, shovelling some custard into your mouth, "Apple crumble and custard...or you,"

It's Shay's turn to blush now, as he too tucks into his pudding.

"Well, if that crumble tastes as delicious as it looks then there's no competition," he jokes, enjoying watching you laugh.

"I don't know..." you stare between Shay and the crumble, barely containing the growing smile on your lips, "You look pretty delicious too,"

Shay nearly chokes on his cake at that, but returns the compliment by pulling you in for another kiss - the joy in your heart mirrored by the cheering from the bar.

"Go on Cabbage-Farmer! Get some!" Jacob chants, his words echoed by Edward.

Both you and Shay elect to ignore them, letting the moment sweep you away.

God...you need to go on dates with Shay more often.

Chapter Text

"Al Maulim did what?" you utter, unsure if you heard Altair correct.

The look on his face tells you all - Altair has truly been stripped of his rank and weapons, yet he been offered a chance to redeem himself. Sparing a glace to you own weapons, you grimace at your friend and fellow Assassin.

"I would lend you mine, but I would rather keep my head," you sniff, picking at a loose thread on your white robes, "Should you need me, I will be in Jerusalem - no doubt pissing Malik off no end,"
Altaïr didn't smile, perhaps the guilt of what he had done to Malik weighs too heavily for him.
"I'll see you soon, (name), should my hunt take me to Jerusalem," he sighs, glaring at the floor.

Shaking you head, you slip out of the old fort, and out into the stables. Soon enough, your horse is saddled and you're riding out of Masyaf, on the road to Jerusalem.

-
A few months later
-

Racing over the rooftops, you attempt to loose the guards that chase you with vigour. Quickly, you lurch to your left and leap off the roof and into a haystack - only to be met with a grunt below you.

"Ow!" Something - someone - yelled beneath you.
Flicking out your hidden blade, you hold it to what you hope is the neck of your haustack company. That's a new one, an enemy in the haystack.
"(Name), stop trying to stab me," the voice is quieter now, having cottoned on to the fact you are hiding.

"Altaïr?" You ask, retracting your blade as you do so.
His response is carried away as a crude sword is thrust between you, forcing both of you to leap from your cosy hiding spot.

Swearing, you begin running again, only to run into more guards. Thankfully, Altaïr calls from above, prompting you to climb up beside him.
In the sanctuary of the rooftops, you quickly loose the guards and head back to the Bureau.

"So, what brings you to Jerusalem?" You ask, stopping short of entering thr Bureau.
"I am after a target, a slaver by the name of Talal," he explains, looking wearily at the Bureau enterance, "There's just the matter of Malik to deal with first,"

Wincing slightly, you think about the tenuous past between the two men - no, Altaïr will not be recieved with open arms by Malik.
"You can always make him wait a few hours longer," you chuckle, folding your arms, "He's been waiting for you for two days now, in lieu of sharpening weapons he has be sharpening his tongue,"

Altaïr shoots you an amused grin, his eyes shimmering even under his aquiline hood.
"And besides, it's what I do when he gets pissy," you snort, waving your arms at the expanse of the city around you, "Now, what shall we do to kill time?"

Pointing to a nearby tower, Altaïr moves away from the bureau with you.
"A race to the top of that tower, and the winner is...a better assassin!" He excitedly jumps up, roaring into a run.
Despite your surprise as his sudden animation, you quickly fall into pursuit and opt to take a different route to Altaïr - after all, you know Jerusalem like the back of your hand, now.

From the top of the tower, the view is glorious, made even better by the faint noises of Altaïr panting as he crawls up the tower.
Grinning, you keep silent as you watch him flop over the edge with as least grace as possible, much akin to that of a foal on newborn legs.
He tugs back on his hood, revealing his triumphant smile and his mop of brownish hair.

"Ha! I made it!" He laughs, winded by his journey up here.
Clicking your tongue, you shake your head at him.
"You slack, Alty! One little tower and you're out of breath," you shake your head, stifling the giggles at the look of surprise on his face.

Pushing back your own hood, you sit yourself down beside the bedraggled assassin, letting your (h/c) hair flow loosely in the dusk breeze.
For some time you two sit there, watching the water sun sink lover in the pink speckled sky. The heated haze of day fades out into the soft, cool embrace of night, ushering the city's denizens into their homes.
Above you, the stars creep out into the vast sky, their everchanging constellations and patters arching over you like pinpricks in the endless void.

You mind is focused on the beauty of the stars, so much so you don't notice his touch at first. It is light, his touch, a gentle stroking along the back of your hand. Soon your hand is wrapped in his own, his callouses clashing against your own.
Taking a breath, you turn to face him, only to find him nervously swallowing at you. Such a change in attitude, you think, he's gone from aloof, cold assassin, to blushing school boy within minutes.

"Alty? Are you alright?" You whisper, noting how the use of your nickname for him only makes him blush further.
"(Name), I...um, I," he stumbles over each word, as if he has never spoken before, "I'm trying to say that I...uhm, well,"

Fed up with his stutterings, your hand flies to his face to grip his chin and pull it towards you. Your lips collide with his swiftly, letting your feelings be known with actions rather than words.
Feeling him relax against you, you can't help but smile against his lips as you pull him closer and closer - so your bodies are flush.

Reluctantly, you pull away from him, only to recieve a whine of complaint.
"Was that what you wanted to say?" You hum, still clasping hands with him. He nods, at loss for words as he admires the sheer beauty of the moment.
"Good," you giggle, "But we should get back...Malik will be throwing a fit by now,"
"Then let him!" Altaïr tugs you back from the tower edge under you are safely nestled between his arms in the centre. He kisses you again, lips locking onto yours with gentle intent.

"Less about that old hag, more about us...specifically you," he sighs against your lips, his kisses multiplying with passion as the seconds tick by.

Needless to say, Malik did have a fit that night at your absences, and he had an even bigger one when you and Altaïr returned in the morning, hand in hand and sore all over.

Chapter Text

"A pie and mash shop? Really Jacob?" You sigh, lifting the skirts of you (f/c) dress as you climb the steps into a cafe.
Of course Jabob picked the most London shop around to take you for your first date - not that you minded. After you recieved that cryptic note from Mr Frye you had been ecstatic, so much so you'd even employed your best friend to help you dress up for the occassion.

The moment the bell dings above the shop door, announcing to all the cafe that you have arrived, you are practically bombarded by Jacob calling your name, and waving you over to a quiet corner table.
"Hey! (Name)! I got us a table!" Jacob calls, happier than ever.
"Something got you so jolly today," you muse, sliding into the seat opposite him.
Rolling his eyes, Jacob waves his arms at you with a smirk lining hos features.
"Why, of course, my sweet (name) has accepted my offer of a date. Now, meat and potato or steak and ale?" He asks you which pie you want - and of course you go with steak and ale! It's your favourite!

Soon enough, Jacob has ordered your pies and mash and they have been served to you with a flourish.
You both eat up quickly, not out of greed, nor out of hunger, but because the pie is so damn good.
"God, we ate that quick!" Jacob laughs, finishing off the last of his pie crust.
"It's too delicious not to," you sigh, already missing the warm meatyness of the gravy.

Jacob considers you for a second, his hazel green eyes flickering across you face, before he leans closer with a wicked smirk on his face.
"Now, I should do the gentlemanly thing and take you for a walk in the park...but I'm not much of a gentle man, and besides, I know of a much better place we can go," he adds, with a wink.
Your mind races with the possibilites of where he could take you. Another pie and mash shop? Out of London? His bed??
A little blush marks your face as you think of the final possibility - his bed.
Would you go there? Hell yes.
Would he? You aren't quite sure yet.

Before you even realise it, Jacob has his arm looped around yours and is dragging you through the crowded streets of London. Eventually he tells you to close your eyes, and you let him steer you deeper and deeper into the heart of London.

When you notice you've stopped moving, your eyes flicker open for a second only for Jacob to clamp his hand over them.
"Don't open yet!" He calls, wrapping his arm futher around you and drawing you closer to him, "And don't open for the next 15 seconds,"
Confused, you begin to question why, only for your words to be cut off by a clicking and whooshing noise. Feeling the ground peel away from beneath you, you choke back a ragged scream as wind whips at your face and hair.

Feeling the security of solid ground beneath your feet, you open your eyes and turn on Jacob.
"What in God's name was that?" You yell, not yet taking in your surroundings.
"Shh, come sit here with me and take in the view," Jacob tugs on your arm, plonking himself down on a ridge of weather worn stone.

Finally glancing around you, your jaw drops as you realise where you are - on the roof of a rather tall building, with all of London going about their lives far below you.
Jacob fiddles with the rope launcher on his gauntlet, and you hark back to when you two first met, and how you'd wanted to try the machine yourself.
"Welcome to Westminster Abbey, dearest (Name), London's finest view for London's finest woman," Jacob flirts, tugging you down beside him.

Your eyes roam over the city around you, focusing on the colourful cacophany exploding all across the streets, interrupted only by plumes of dark smoke and smog stained buildings.
"Well, I'd like to thank London's finest man for bringing me up here. The view is delightful," you thank him, surprising him by settling down on his lap.
For a second there, he stiffens, no doubt surprised by your forwardness, but he relaxes soon enough, his arms coming to rest low around your waist.

"Sweetheart, do me a favour and be my girl," he mutters into your shoulder, causing you to abrubtly turn to face him.
"Really?" You smile, your whole face lighting up with the utter joy of the moment - not to mention the endless rays of sun pouring down upon you.
"Of course, darlin," he pulls you against him, aiming for a kiss - only to be obstructed by the clearing of a throat.

"Jacob, hello? I hope I'm not interrupting," a woman asks, her tone suggesting she isn't apologetic whatsoever. Wait...what is she doing up here?
"Evie! Why?" Jacob groans into your shoulder as you quickly hop off his lap.
You whirl around to gawp at the woman, finding she is dressed similarly to Jacob.
"You must me Miss (Name), Jacob's told me much about you. I'm Evie, Jacob's sister," she introduces herself, nodding at you with a smile, "Now Jacob, Henry has some more work for us, so we need to get going,"

Frowning, Jacob kisses your cheek apologetically.
"Sorry, Love, I need to go now," he sighs, readying himself to descend from the Abbey roof.
You smile sadly as you watch him disappear over the roof edge, his sister following suit.

It's only as you glance around you that you remember - how the hell are you going to get down?
"JACOB!" you yell, hoping he hasn't gone too far.
To your dismay, you find he has already gone, leaving you indefinitely on Westminster Abbey roof.
Shaking your head, you sit back down on the stone ledge, hoping he will come back soon.

Chapter Text

1st January 1500

Twenty four years had passed since you were last at the Auditore villa - twenty four years since you had helped train young Ezio Auditore.

After his victory over the Templar Rodrigo Borgia, Mario had sent you another letter asking if you would come an celebrate with them, an invitation to which you gleefully accepted.

A lot had happened in those twenty four years, fights and battles have been won, yet you get the distinct feeling that more are to come. For you, little had happened, you time was spent looking after your father's estate, and avoiding conversations with your mother - who is desperate to marry you off.

Upon your arrival in Monteriggioni, you had been instantly ushered into the Auditore villa, where your old friend Mario greeted you with a warm hug.

"(Name)! It is good to see you again! You have grown so much!" he welcomes you, "I'm sure you already know how helpful your training was for Ezio,"

"Grazie, Mario. I was hoping to find Ezio, and thank him for his hard work, do you know where I could find him?" you ask, and Mario sends you trotting off to the young Auditore's chambers.

Stopping by the door, you suck your breath in a little. Twenty four years. Both of you will obviously have changed...will he even recognise you? Standing up straighter, and making sure your (h/c) hair is smoothed down, you quickly knock on the wooden door, waiting until you hear the familiar voice to open in.

"Ezio! It feel as if it was only last week I was training you outside...now look at you," you nod to him, slightly surprised to see him lounging in a large bathtub.

"If it isn't my bella signora. How long has it truly been?" Ezio plays with the water in the tub, sending some splashing over the edges.

"Too long," you sigh, peeling off your outer layers and moving closer to the bath, "I would suggest we fight again, for old time's sake, but it seems you're otherwise occupied,"

Ezio smirks up at you, a damp hand coming to rest on you cheek. Now you look at him, you can barely see the young lad you used to know, his skin is tanner, and his face is now decorated with a small beard. No, he's not a boy of 17 anymore, he is a man.

"I can think of much better ways to spend the evening...and to show you what I've learnt over the years," he licks his lips, winking at you in a way that melts your legs beneath you.

"You demon," you giggle, playfully pretending to be shocked at his flirtatious attitude. Appearances may have changed, but his personality is still the same.

He stops grinning now, and leans closer to you, his lips parting ever so slightly, and a vulnerable look appearing in his eyes.

"(Name), it has been a long while, but I never forgot you," he begins, tugging your face closer, "Every night, when I lay awake, I would think back to our training sessions, I would think back to you, how calm and sweet you are...how beautiful you are,"
"Ezio," you mutter, surprised at his words.
His response is to silence your words with a kiss, his lips planting on yours with a satisfying smack.
Your bodies interwine, and soon Ezio is out of the bath to be closer to you, carelessly dripping water all over the floor.

His hand drifts up the planes of your back, untucking the silk of your shirt from your trousers. Those hands, calloused and rough as they are, continue their trip across your body, pulling off layers of clothes here and there - his mouth refusing to break contact with yours throughout.
Pulling back, you look at him in shock. 24 years...this is coming 24 years too late.

"Ezio," you sigh, your arms coming to wrap around him.
"Il mio amore, ti amo, (Name)," he whispers into your hair, pulling you back into a kiss.
Before you know it, you two are on his bed, still kissing and holding each other close. And there you remain, in each others' arms, as the stars watch on through the open window.

Once sleep claims you both, your dreams are filled with images of Ezio and the feeling of being encased in his warm, strong arms. But the bliss does not last long, for the morning sunlight brings with it the canons and guns of the Borgia army.

Chapter Text

Smirking, you gaze down at the ticket in your hand as you stand in the queue. Wacken Open Air festival is something you've wanted to do since you were a little kid, and when your parents had surprised you with a ticket for the metal festival you had nearly screamed with joy.

In fact, when they handed you the ticket you had quickly run to your wardrobe to pick out your outfit - even if at the time the festival was months away. Anything flowery or pastel had been thrown aside in your search for clothes, no, Wacken is not a festival of flower crowns and faux leather tassels, or hipster jeans and acoustic nights in yurts. Hell no. Wacken is a godsdamned metal festival, and you wouldn't be seen dead there in anything but your studded leather jacket and chunky boots.

A few girls in front of you compliment your jacket with their limited English, as you admire their fishnets and ripped body suits - they've even gone and dyed their hair for the occasion, with one girl sporting blood red locks. Behind you, a few men dressed in simple band shirts natter away about how exciting the whole thing is, and what bands they hope to see.

As the queue shuffles forward a little, one of the men behind you stumbles into you, managing to catch himself before he sends you and your beloved ticket flying across the festival ground.

"Sorry lass! Are you alright?" the man asks you, turning your shoulder slightly to get a look at you. Your breath catches a little, partly due to finding another English speaker out here in this German festival, and partly due to the fact he is so godsdamned fit. 

Catching your breath, you nod happily at him.

"Oh I'm fine! I could be run over by a steamroller and still be happy! Because I'm here!" You blurt out, your excitement and nerves morphing together as you speak.

The man tightens his hair tie, which keeps his sandy blonde hair from his face, and chuckles with you.

"First timer, eh? Feel free to stick with us, we'll show you all the best bands," the man offers, already clasping his arm around your shoulders and introducing you to his friends.

"I'm Edward, that's my mate Adewale, that's young James there, and this is Anne," he introduces them all, who smile and wave at you, "And you are...?"

"Oh, I'm (Name), it's nice to meet you guys," you chirp, happy to have made some friends. You'd be damned if you spent the whole festival alone.

During the time it takes for the queue to move, you learn more about Edward and his friends. They tell you that they're all in a band together, called the Jackdaws, and they perform music of the 'pirate metal' genre.

No way is that a real genre.

Soon enough you are all through the gates and taking your first steps into the festival ground. Already it is packed with people of all nationalities, and bands have already begun their sets on the various stages around the place.

Edward swiped a programme from the stands and reads it.

"Yes, Alestorm are on in an hour, let's grab food then a place near the front," Edward points first to the stage this 'Alestorm' will be playing, then to the various food stands that little the walkways.

You raise one brow at the band name, having not heard of them before, Edward merely states they are the best pirate metal band around before dragging you and the Jackdaws off to a burger stand. 

Oh, pirate metal is a real genre, after all.

Upon getting, to the burger stand, Edward hesitates.

"Can, um, can anyone speak German? All the English stall have long queues," he asks, unsure of what to do. Luckily for him, and everyone else, you took German classes at school, and so aren't too shabby at the language.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you ask them all what they want, and translate the order in your head before stepping upto the kiosk.

"Hallo! Willkommen zu Wacken,  was darf es sein?" the nice lady asks you, already tossing burgers onto the grill in front of her.
"Hallo, kann ich fünf Burger bitte haben?" you ask, remembering your german lessons from years back.
"Natürlich, möchten Sie auch käse? Es ist kostenlos," she asks again, and you rush to translate in your head. 
"Ja, bitte," you smile, deciding that everyone wants cheese on their burgers - after all, what person doesn't?

Soon enough you've handed over the money, got your burgers and handed them out. And Edward quickly drags you to the huge stage where a large crowd is already gathered.
Together, you all push your way to the front, making sure you have the best spots at the barrier. As you gnaw away at your burgers, you watch as workers come out and set up the stage, testing amps and taping wires down.
The hour passes quicker than any other, with you and Anne exchaning phone numbers to keep in contact, and Edward jealously frowning as you do so.

The band comes on stage in a storm of lights and noise, quickly bursting into their first song with enthusiasm. The whole set is a joyous affair, with beer being strewn about for all to consume - much to Edward's delight.
As the set closes, the band asks for everyone to join in for the last song, and as soon as the first beats kick in, its as if the whole festival is there to see the moment.
The song is simple enough, and despite never having heard it before you fall into the chorus easily.
"We are here, to drink your beer! And steal your rum at the point of a gun!" You and Edward chant, accompanied by the rest of the crowd.
The band thanks the crowd and wraps up, and you all disperse to move onto the next band. You choose to stay with the Jackdaws as you sing the night away, even getting yourself into the biggest pit you've ever seen.

By the time you stumble back to your hotel, the sun is nearly rising, and you don't bother stripping before you collapse onto the silken sheets. When you wake up, some 10 hours later, you find your phone alight with texts.

You groggily turn over and unlock your phone, skimming though the unseen texts.

Unknown Number (1):
"Hey, (Name), it's Anne. Had a great time yesterday, if you are back today come find us at the Burger stand, we're doing a little advertisement for the Jackdaws there,"

Unknown Number (2):
"Hi lass, I got your number of Anne, hope you don't mind. I really liked you yesterday, and wondered if you'd come out for a drink with me before this festival's over. Its Kenway, btw, Edward Kenway,"

Unknown Number (1):
"I'm so sorry (Name)! Edward sat on me and threatened to fart on me if I didn't give him your number! I really am sorry! Btw it's  Anne again"

Smiling to yourself, you quickly add the numbers to your contacts, before reply to them both.

"Hey Anne, don't worry about it! I was going to give my number to him anyway. I'll see you later!"

"Hi Edward, I'd love to go for that drink. We'll talk over details today?"

You giggle a little as you send that last one, your cheeks flushing at the thought of a man such as Edward Kenway wanting to go out with you. Leaping up from your bed, you realise you jave to pick an even better costume today, just to keep the handesome Edward looking your way.

-
Translations:
Hallo! Willkommen zu Wacken,  was darf es sein? - Hello, Welcome to Wacken, what can I do for you?
Hallo, kann ich fünf Burger bitte haben? - Hello, can I please have 5 burgers?
Natürlich, möchten Sie auch käse? Es ist kostenlos - Of course, would you also like cheese? It is free.
Ja, bitte - yes, please.

Chapter Text

Ah, Boston. A city of new beginnings and dreams, one rattled by war and revolution.

The rigid streets please you, they make it easier to navigate through the warrens of brick houses - unlike the winding streets of your hometown back in England. Still, you would much rather be in the comfort of your own home, rather than the unfamiliar harshness of this new world - never mind the fact there's a bloody war going on.

But what you want is never what you get, not since you had pledged yourself to the Creed. At first, you had enjoyed it, and had helped the British Brotherhood covertly operate beneath the Templars' radar. Eventually you'd grown bored of seeing the same faces every day, of repeating missions over and over, and running around in circles as the Templars thwart yet another of your plans.

Your mentor had seen this listlessness in you, and had sent you to respond to the letter sent by Colonial Mentor Achilles Davenport. Achilles' letter was vague, only asking for a helping hand to help him train his new student, and perhaps complete a few missions of the side. You supposed it was better than sitting around doing nothing, and so had accepted the mission with glee.

The trip across the Atlantic had been rough, and you had nearly kissed the ground upon arrival. Now all that's left is to find this Davenport Homestead, but you already know that wont be an easy task. It's not like you can just ask anyone  in the city, not with the Templars absolutely infesting the place - a reign that should end soon, with your help.

Sighing to yourself, you gnaw at the chunk of stale bread in your hand, and gaze out over Boston harbour from your perch on the roof of a house. Your eyes automatically flicker through the crowds, searching for any sign of an Assassin insignia, or even a Templar cross, all to no avail.

Seagulls soar over head, screaming as ships come and go, then you see him - a flash of white and blue in the crowds, hidden beneath a beaked hood. Finally!

The man lingers for a second on the street corner, the shadow of his hulking form reaching nearly across the whole street. Head tipped back, his eyes meet yours with a nod. Then he's gone.

Bastard.

Swearing, you get to your feet and attempt to follow him only to feel a huge hand clamp on your shoulder.

"Miss (Name)?" a voice asks, one belonging to the man who was down on the street, and who is now stood behind you. You have to admit, that's pretty impressive.

Slowly, you turn to face him, getting a good look at the part of his face visible beneath his hood.

"Master Achilles?" you ask, by way of response.

"No, the old man is back at the Homestead, I'm Ratonhaké:ton," he doesn't smile, but lets go of your arm.

"Ratonhaké:ton? A...lovely name, and yes, I am (Name)," you nod to him, feeling tiny compared to his huge form.

"What?" you add, noting his surprised expression.

"You are the first person who isn't a member of my village to pronounce my name correctly, most people just call me Connor," he smiles a little, a sight that sends your cheeks blushing,"Come on, I have some horses ready to take us back to the Homestead,"

Wordlessly, you follow the assassin through Boston and the Frontier, all the way to the Davenport Homestead.

-

The moon is soaring high by the time you arrive, and you nearly drop off your horse with fatigue. Luckily, a young lad runs out of the stable building to deal with your's and Connor's steeds, and you allow Connor to lead you into the brick house where Achilles no doubt waits for you.

"Old man! I'm back!" Connor calls out, finally tugging down his hood in the safety of the manor. The wall lanterns cast unflickering shadows on the wall, as floorboard creak upstairs. Impatiently, Connor stalks into one of the side rooms, leaving you to wait as Achilles shuffles down the stairs.

"Hello dear, let me have a look at you, and see who they sent to me," Achilles squints at you, prodding you with his walking stick, "Hm, not bad. I'm sure we can make good use of you here,"

"Thank you for having me, I was at my wit's end back there - nothing to do but chase dead ends. From what I read in your letter, things are more...interesting over here," you thank the old man, following him into the sitting room just off the hall.

As much as you want to crawl into bed and sleep for days, you know it's only polite to speak to your hosts for a bit - at least you're getting food, coming from the sounds of Connor clanking around in the kitchen.

"Yes yes, especially since young Connor here is the son of a certain Grand Master of the Templar order," Achilles chuckles, as if that little titbit is nought more than playground gossip. Releasing a whistle, you shift uneasily in your chair. I bet their family meetings are awkward.

Jerking back, you barely dodge the plate that flies in your direction, watching as it smashes on the window behind, leaving a smear of whatever stew was on it.

"Hey! That window was cleaned just yesterday!" Achilles snaps, glaring at the brute of an Assassin that stands in the doorway. Unsure of what to do, you lean further into your chair as you watch the argument unfold before you.

"First you claim I am incapable of fighting the Templars alone, then you send for help behind my back, and now you go around telling everyone about my father. What if I don't want people to know?" Connor practically snarls, already storming from the room.

"Young man get back here and clean that stew up! (Name) would have had to know eventually, and we are greatly outnumbered by our enemies, you will thank me for the help later," Achilles rises on shaky legs, resting heavily on his cane,leaving you to awkwardly sit in the winged chair by the pile of steaming stew.

"Why don't you get (Name) to do it, since you're so keen on making her help us," Connor is shouting now, his voice still loud even though he is at the top of the stairs.

Achilles doesn't deign to reply, and merely sits back down opposite you.

"I think it's safe to say that it's a delicate subject," Achilles explains, "He'll come round by tomorrow. Now, would you like more stew, or I can show you to your room?"

You decide to play it safe, and opt for going to your room, knowing you can't stay awake for much longer.

Once in your room, you strip down to your undergarments and tug out your spare clothes from the small bag slung over your shoulder. You dress yourself in them, and go to close the curtains, only to see Connor gazing out to sea from his seat on a rock. You find yourself watching him for some time, feeling a slight pang of pity for him.

Poor lad...his father is a Templar, and he may be forced to kill him one day. You are so distracted in your thoughts that you don't notice him turning back to the house, stopping when he sees you staring. He cocks his head to the side a little, watching you as you watch him, a tiny grin forming on his lips.

Smiling back, you quietly close the curtains and crawl into your narrow bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

Tomorrow you would begin your work, helping Connor and Achilles to defeat the Templars of the Colonial Rite. But that's tomorrow, tonight - you sleep.

Chapter Text

When Achilles had told you that your fellow assassin is the son of Grand Master Haytham Kenway, you had imagined that they were not on speaking terms. Because, you know...being on opposite sides of a bloody war is certainly cause for animosity between relations.

But when you arrived in New York after a day's rest at Daventport, you had not expected to be greeted by the Grand Master himself - even is it is a cold reception.

"Evening Connor, I see you've made it in one piece," Haytham sneers, regarding you coldly, "And I see you have brought company,"

You too stare at the Grand Master curiously, not entirely sure on how to act. God damn Connor, he's working with the enemy! You should be slitting Kenway's throat now with your blade rather than chatting him up in a damp alleyway.

"Recovered from your beating, then?" Connor snaps back, already impatient with the man. Sucking in a breath, you tense yourself for Haytham's reaction: whatever relationship these two have...it's an odd one.

Haytham scoffs at his son's words, and continues to ignore you. Not that you mind, to tell the trust, you don't think you'll be able to keep your words civil if the opportunity arose.

"Benjamin Church is holed up in a brewery on the waterfront, we should be done with this by sunrise," he explains, indicating his hand in the direction of the waterfront.

That's enough information for you, and you are already climbing up the side of the shop you have gathered outside. Once up there, you linger, waiting for Connor and Haytham to join you.

"Good, I would like to have those supplies returned as soon as possible," Connor turns to join you on the roof, shooting a small grimace to you as he starts his climb.

You can't help but feel a little stutter in your heart as you consume the way he looks at you, at the dark glint in his eye that promises violence - not towards you, of course.

"I would't want to keep you waiting from your lost cause," HAytham mutters under his breath, once he reaches the roof too. Had Connor not been there keeping it civil, you're sure you would have gutted that Templar there and then.

Deciding to ignore Haytham as much as he ignores you, you take off at a run across the rooftops, only sparing a glance behind you once - which was only to see Connor deep in conversation with his father. As a result, you arrived at the brewery much quicker than your counterparts, and remained lingering on the roof around the corner. You allow them a few minutes to converse again, before you drop down into the alley beside them.

"I will find a guard who is off duty, and take his uniform," Connor watches as you drop down beside him, "(Name), you should try to find a disguise too, they wont just let anyone in there,"

"Very well, I will wait here then," Haytham sniffs, looking non too pleased to be left behind with you.

"Of course you will," Connor snaps, glaring as his father sits down on a bench.

"Oh I'm sorry! Would you like me to come along and hold your hand perhaps? Provide kind words of encouragement?" Haytham jests, shaking his head as Connor glares back.

With that, he's gone, leaving you to deal with Haytham. Sighing, you reach upto your hair, pulling it from its' tie to loosen it. Once your (h/c) hair is loose and flowing, you move onto your robes, tugging at the clever slits in the side that pull down a small skirt for you to wear. It's quite clever really, you'd stitched it up yourself one night a few years ago, and it allows for you to pass as an ordinary lady when times are dire - like now.

You turn back around, to find Haytham staring at you with interest.

"Never seen a woman before, Kenway?" you spit out before you can stop yourself. God...your mentor would be stringing you up now if he could see you...he would want you to flay Haytham where he stands just for being a Templar. But Connor wants to work with him, for some forsaken reason, so you will comply.

"I was merely wondering why he chose to bring you along, I don't see how you will help this mission," Haytham flicks some imaginary dust from his trousers, as you stand over him, arms folded, "It's unusual of Connor to cry for help of others,"

"It was not Connor who called," you mutter, your conversation interrupted by Connor's return.

Haytham looks his son up and down, checking his stolen uniform will pass inspection. You have to admit, he looks mighty fine in that suit, especially with that tricorn on his head. Oh to see him with just that on...

Wait. No. Stop that.

During your musings you had failed to notice Connor was too, staring back at you.

"You look...beautiful," he whispers, ignoring the look Haytham gives him.

Rolling his eyes, Haytham leaves you blushing with his son and stalks off to the brewery entrance, beckoning for you to follow. It's only as you approach the gate that you realise: you do not know what part you are to play. You decide to take a punt, and quickly loop your arm around Connor's, hoping Haytham cottons onto your idea.

"The Father of Understanding guides us," Haytham chants to the guard at the door, who meets him with a nod. You and Connor however, he looks the both of you up and down questioningly.

 "You I recognise, not the savage, or the tart," the guard snarls, his voice gruff and lazy.

You flush furiously with anger at the insult. Tart? Tart? What a bastard.

"He is my son, and-" Haytham's explanation is cut off by Connor clearing his throat violently.

"And the tart is my...wife," he yells, already at his wits end. You have to admit, in the few days you'd known Connor you had grown to see him as naive and sweet, if not a little headstrong. You hadn't thought he'd work out your plan when you grabbed his arm.

"Tasted of the forest fruits, have you? Off you go then," the guard steps aside, ignoring Connor's outburst.

Once Haytham is through, the guard shoves his rifle in front of you, stopping you and Connor from entering.

"How do I know this savage isn't kidnapping you? Wouldn't you rather cosy up with me, eh, love?" the guard leers, and you watch as Haytham sighs in exasperation behind him.

"I can assure you, kind sir, that we are very happy together," you reply, allowing Connor to tighten a protective arm around you. If you had your way, the man would be bleeding out right now on the floor for A: insulting both you and Connor, and B: questioning your ruse when the bloody Grandmaster is backing it up.

The guard merely raises one brow, in a look that you translate as 'prove it.'

Glaring at the guard, you think of what could prove to him that you and Connor are married, after all, you don't have a ring or anything to show him. You hesitate for a second, before you think 'well...fuck it', and plant a huge kiss on Connor's lips.

He stiffens for a second, before he relaxes and kisses you back.

Oh lord. You could stand there for hours, just kissing him. But a laugh from the foul faced guard pulls you back to your senses.

"Alrighty then, enough now, I get it," the guard chuckles, letting you past. 

Haytham merely regards the two of you with a raised brow, before leading the two of you to continue the mission.

-

A week passed, an not a mention is made of the kiss. But interacting with Connor was growing increasingly difficult, especially with the growing feelings and thoughts in your head. Hell, even Achilles has noticed the change in atmosphere, and is always pushing for the two of you to speak.

Mostly you stick to solo missions, liberating the people of Boston and New York on behalf of Connor whilst he gallivants about with his father. For once, though, the both of you are at home, and it looks as if you'll both be there for a few days, with nothing to do.

You're hunting down by the Aquila when one of the homesteaders approaches you, Myriam.

"There you are, Achilles is looking for you," she waves over at you, pointing back towards the manor house.

"What for?" you ask, knowing you've already chopped the firewood for him today.

Myriam shrugs her shoulders,"He didn't say, just that it's urgent,"

Confused, you finish skinning the fox you've felled and follow Myriam up to the manor, where Achilles waits for you in the doorway.

"Ah, (Name) come inside," Achilles pulls you inside, ushering you into the dining room, where a table is laid out with roast turkey and candles to boot - and Connor.

"I think it's about time you two spoke to each other properly," Achilles pushes you onto the chair opposite Connor, who looks equally as surprised as you,"It is obvious that you two harbour feeling for each other, so I'd suggest you both confessed,"

Achilles tiptoes out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. Frowning a little, Connor looks at the spread of food in front of him.
"I had nothing to do with this, Achilles sent someone to bring me here, I guess he did the same to you," he breathes, not quite catching your eyes.
"Connor..." you begin, readying yourself to talk.
Achilles is right, there is something between you two, and letting it wither and die is not a good idea. You may as well take the plunge.
However, Connor beats you to your proclamation of love.

"(Name), it is true that my heart harbours warm feelings for you. I had not thought Achilles had noticed, nor that you would reciprocate them," he begins, his voice trembling slightly with the rush of emotion that courses through him,"Since we are here, would you do me the honour of....allowing me to kiss you?"

You grin at Connor from across the table, his cuteness is just too much.
"I do believe we have already kissed," you muse, harking back to your brewery entry,"And I remember it being the best kiss I have ever had,"
You practically leap over the table, nearly knocking over the candle in the process, to reach Connor. His lips are silken and smooth against yours, his touch feather light yet carrying that possessive firmness of a trained warrior. As you two unite, you feel his eyelashes flutter against your cheeks.
Dinner is forgotten as you melt into the kiss, your lips molding against his in a way that makes you think you were made for each other. Hands roam wherever they can reach, and the two of you pull apart for only a second.

That look...that goddamned look in his eye, feral and laden with lust and love for you.
Without a word the two of you abandon the food, and you allow Connor to tug you upstairs to ehat you presume to be his room.
Half a thought is spares for poor Achilles, who no doubt will be deprived of sleep tonight, but that thought is whisked away when Connor's hands find your sensetive areas and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

God, the week of no contact was worth it for this.

Chapter Text

"Oh non! Non!" a voice wakes you from your sleep, one belonging to your fellow assassin (and boyfriend) Arno Dorian.

Yawning, you roll across the bed to find his half cold: he's been up for a long time. You stretch and crawl out of bed, nearly tripping over the pile of discarded clothes you left there last night. It takes you some time to get dressed, and after nearly putting your (f/c) coat on back to front, you finally make it out of the room.

"Non! Non! Where is it?" Arno is yelling downstairs, and you can't help but roll your eyes - no doubt he has misplaced his beloved pocket watch again and is frantically searching for it. As luck would have it, you find the very watch waiting for you on the floor by your room, and you pick it up and dust it off ready for returning to your love.

Once Arno hears the creaking of the stairs beneath your feet, he rushes to the bottom of the stairs with a look of relief gracing his features.

"Aidez-moi! S'il vous plaît, (Name)!" he anxiously picks at a loose thread on his navy blue coat - one that you've sewed up countless times for him.

"Looking for this, mon amour?" you descend the stairs, holding the watch out for him to take.

"Oh, I had not noticed I'd lost that," Arno is suddenly quiet for a moment, before he remembers whatever it is he's panicking about, "But that it not what I need help with!"

Looking around you, you helplessly try to see what on earth it could be that Arno needs help with - the lad is a Master Assassin for God's sake! Without warning, Arno grips your arm and tugs you through the living room of the house you two share, before shoving you into the kitchen and nearly slamming the door on you.

"Can you see it?" he asks, his voice muffled through the door.

"See what?" you groan, silently praying that Arno hasn't hidden your breakfast or something like that - he knows how much you love breakfast.

"The spider!" he squeaks, as if said spider could come out and get him.

Clamping a hand to you mouth, you stifle as laugh as you finally see it. The tiniest spider you've ever seen; the cause of you lover's distress. You shake your head as you approach the spider, grabbing a piece of paper to pick it up and lift it off your table.

"There you go, little spider," you hum as you gently place the creature outside. You turn back inside, knocking on the kitchen door to get Arno to open it.

"Is...is it gone?" he mutters, peering around the door cautiously.

"Yes, you fils du taupe!" you tug him into the room, gleefully showing him the spider free environment.

Smiling, Arno pulls you into a warm embrace, burying his head in your shoulder.

"Mon Sauveur!" he laughs, pulling away from you only to kiss you.

What starts off as a little peck soon turns into a full on make out, with the both of you nearly stumbling into the table as you roam over each other's bodies. Smirking a little, you pull away and prod him playfully on the nose.

"So, now we know what really frightens our Master Assassin," you giggle, "Spiders!"

He nods slowly, slightly embarrassed at the fear. Yes, the man may be a master assassin, capable of taking down multiple foe at once - but facing a spider...that is a feat Arno cannot achieve.

"How did you get on at Sainte-Chapelle? That place is crawling with them," you sigh, pulling him back into your embrace.

Arno places a gentle kiss to your cheek, one of his hands coming up to stoke where his lips just left.

"I was usually too busy trying not to annoy Bellec...or maybe I was to busy trying to annoy him, I can't quite remember," he muses, his arms coming to rest around your waist.
You stifle another giggle, snuggling yourself into Arno's arms.
"Hmm..I think it's the latter," you smile,"Now I've vanquished the beast...can we go get breakfast?"
"Of course, mon amour," Arno replies, already pulling you out of the house to your favourite bakery.

Chapter Text

Altaïr Ibn-La-Ahad 
Although when you first get together, Altaïr is a little shy about kissing you in public - mostly due to him thinking it will make the other Assassin's think less of him because of it. But once he realises no one is watching the two of you, he can get quite intimate with you in open spaces. He's never gone as far as to do something sexual with you in public, but a few kisses and makeout sessions are enough for him - any more and he might explode from embarrassment.

Ezio Auditore da Firenze
From the moment you agree to let him court you, Ezio becomes the human embodiment of romance, often sweeping you off your feet out of nowhere and kissing you smugly, before he disappears again for the day. He wouldn't do anything you're uncomfortable with, but he certainly knows how to make you squirm in public whilst keeping his own face nonchalant. He has zero cares what other people think, he just wants them to know that he is yours and you are his.

Connor Kenway/Ratonhake:ton
On first inspection, you might think that any form of PDA for this man is a big nono - but you are mistaken. Although Connor has no desire to start kissing you out in public, especially when he knows his father is watching from afar, he is quite partial to some hand holding and cuddles. Gods, Connor has even taken down Regulars with his tomahawk without even letting go of you - he even offered to carry you over the body. How sweet!

Edward Kenway
What can we say for dear Captain Kenway? This man may be the scourge of the high seas, a devil in a man's body, a fearsome pirate who strikes fear into Blackbeard himself, but once he is around you, his pirate heart melts into one akin to a puppy. He follows you around when on land, holding doors open for you and even pushing people aside so the path is clear for you. His touches in public are always innocent, with handholding commonplace. When he is drunk...lord does that man hunger for you when he is drunk. The moment the rum falls down his throat, he is tugging you onto his lap and placing kisses everywhere - not that you mind, of course.

Arno Dorian
Arno may have quite a soft exterior, despite his occupation, but that is all merely an act for the public. No, that little old woman across the road doesn't suspect a thing whilst you and Arno walk down the street, a pleasant smile etched onto his face, for although his arm may look like it's slung casually around your back, in actual fact it's down your pants. Don't ask me how he does it, mind you, this man is a wizard who is very, very good at acting like he's doing nothing at all. But hey, all that innocence certainly covered the both of you when Bellec nearly caught you two at it in Sainte-Chapelle.

Evie Frye
Now, if anyone's doing anything in public, it's usually you. After a mission you always make sure to plant a big kiss on Evie's lips, much to the disgust of Jacob, who always yells at you two to get a room. It's rare Evie does acknowledge your and her's relationship in public, mostly due to the fact you both know enemies will see it as a weakness to be used against you. Evie is not one for PDA, but neither are you really, so you don't mind.

Jacob Fyre
Ever acting the cool, suave gang leader, Jacob prefers to whisper in your ear rather than do things to you in public - though it works just as well. It's only when the Rooks get a little rowdy, and he sees them bothering you, that he comes over and tugs you into a bone crunching hug, before smacking a big kiss on your face. From that moment on until the two of you escape back to bed, some part of him is always touching you, whether it be his hand in yours, or his foot caressing your legs beneath the table.

Aya of Alexandria
Aya is no stranger to PDA, then again, neither is the whole of Egypt. For most of the day, you two remain seemingly platonic, and it's only when the sun sinks lower in the sky that you and Aya begin your games. Hands roam everywhere as the two of you chat with diplomats, kisses are sneaked whilst everyone isn't - or is - looking, and fingers go places they shouldn't in public. Needless to say, no one really cares, especially since half of Cleopatra's court is doing the exact same as  the two of you.

Bayek of Siwa
For the most part, Bayek keeps his gruff exterior for strangers, and only touches you when he knows he is in the company of friends. More than once you've dropped something when Bayek has surprises you with a deep kiss as you walk past, and the lingering caress on your backside makes it difficult to walk away, but you do so anyway, with the knowledge that Bayek will no doubt already be hiding behind some corner ready to pounce on you.

Templars

Shay Cormac
Shay really isn't one for PDA, first of all, he's too awkward for that. The most you get from him in public is a little kiss on your cheek every so often, maybe a fleeting clasp of your hand. He's not much better on his own ship either, due to him concentrating on steering the Morrigan and making sure his crew still see him as captain. On the decks of his ship, though, he is more likely to take an arm around you and pull you close - especially when the Northern Lights are high above the two of you. In time though, as he accustoms to showing affection, Shay grows bolder and bolder with his advancements, even going as far as to kiss you properly in front of the other Templars...even though he did blush for at least ten minutes afterwards.

Haytham Kenway
Hand holding is as far as this man will go, even then he seems to take your hand gingerly. It's not that he doesn't want to, oh no this man would happily ravish you in the middle of Boston docks if he could, it's just that - as Grand Master - Haytham has an act to follow, and act he must not break, lest his enemies find a chink in his armour. Behind the scenes he is happy to hold and kiss you, but out in public...he just can't.

Modern Characters

Desmond Miles
Desmond doesn't care what others see or think anymore, not one jot. He is extremely happy to cuddle you in public, and to receive cuddles in public. By now, the both of you have learnt to ignore Shaun's teasing, as you both worked out that by starting to intensely make out usually makes him leave. You two have no limits as to what you do in public, as long as it's mostly concealed from sight.

Clay Kaczmarek
Clay is an actual demon...no matter where you are in public he always has to be touching you some way or another, wether it be innocently or not. Furthermore, he is always a gentleman, offering you his jacket even if you are not cold.

Daniel Cross
Daniel enjoys telling the other Templar agents that the two of you are together - he simply adores you! When he comes back from a mission, bloodied and bruised, you are the first thing he calls for. He doesn't care that the infirmary isn't the most glamarous place, he doesn't even care that people are watching him, but he relaxes as soon as you arrive, and instantly has you caged in his arms, lips plastered to yours. He usually does this through his mission report, much to the annoyance of his leaders.

Chapter Text

Six Months Ago

"I have written to the mentor again," Henry Green tells you, scuttling about behind his counter.

"And? Have they answered our call for help?" you ask him, drumming your fingers on the table. Oh, it's been terrible. For a long time the Templars have had London as their little playground, and most remnants of the Assassin brotherhood here have been wiped out by their brutish gangs. 

Your friend and fellow Assassin Henry has been sending letters to your brothers up north for months now, all to no avail, unfortunately.

Henry merely shrugs his shoulders; he hasn't received a reply yet...and isn't likely to get one soon. Exasperated, you sigh deeply and run your hands through your hair.

"They have to do something! Or will they just let us lose to those bastards?" you mutter, pacing back and forth in the shop.

Henry shoots you a sad look, he's known you since he first arrived in London and can see how upset you are over the Brotherhood's abandonment on London. Knowing you cannot help him further, you plod back to your home around the corner and take off your robes. Back into the chest they go, and although they call to you like some forgotten dream, you leave them there. Your weapons remain in their hidden box beneath your bed, untouched for sometime, and you carry on your life, as if the Brotherhood had never existed.

-

Six months passed, and still you didn't touch your robes. You let yourself forget about the faction war between Assassins and Templars - hell, you even let yourself forget about Henry. You went about your life as any woman would do, you kept at your job as a shop assistant, you courted local lads, you wore long dresses and put flowers in your hair - not once did you even dream about your old life as an assassin.

Not once. Until that bastard Frye turned up.

"Sorry lady, but could you direct me to the Curio Shop. I know it's here somewhere, but I'm just a little lost," he had asked to your boss, an elderly lady who immediately pointed to you.

"(Name) here used to know the man from there, Henry, was it?" she smiles at him, not spotting the weapons cleverly hidden around his body, "She can tell you, I'm sure of it,"

With that, she left you alone with the man you would later come to know as Jacob Frye. It only takes you a few seconds to get a proper look at him, but even with his cap at that jaunty angle you can tell he's a born fighter.

You make sure your lovely boss is out of the room before you step forward.

"Who are you, and why are you looking for Mr. Green?" you sniff, though you man not have spoken to the man for months, you'd be damned if you led harm his way.

Smirking, he shows you his bracer, tapping the assassin insignia on the side.

"If you know Greenie, then I'm sure you've seen this symbol before. It means...him and I are friends, he told me to find his shop, didn't tell me where it was though," he explains, thinking you've never seen the symbol before, "I'm Jacob, by the way, Jacob Frye,"

Frye. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, there is some recognition at the name. He wont be lying then, the Frye family are well known assassins, which means they must've answered Henry's call for help. A pang of shame rushes through you, you had given up your hope so easily when no reply came, you had thought the Brotherhood was leaving you to rot. 

"It's just round the corner, his shop. You can't miss it," you finish, before turning back to your work. The next time you look up, he's gone. Not even a thank you.

More months pass, sometimes you see Jacob passing by, sometimes with Henry and a woman at his side, sometimes alone. But at least, he makes sure to visit you every week, bringing you out on dates and picnics, sometimes merely sending a bunch of flowers and apology if he can't make it. You have still left your robes beneath your bed, unable to touch them without feeling pangs of regret and shame. 

One night, the street is silent. Too silent. Your boss has already sent you upstairs to bed, saying she will close up tonight. The street outside is dark, and darkens further as you put out the candles and slip into bed, unaware of the approaching Blighters.

An almighty crash startles you, and you fling yourself to the window in time to see red clad brutes storming into the shop downstairs. The screams of your boss call to you, and you immediately turn to your bed, under it, where your robes and weapons lie.

Within seconds you have them on, your hidden blades already out. If there's one thing that will make you take up mantle as an assassin again, it's those damned Blighters. Too bad those new Rooks haven't seized control yet.

Silently, like a ghost, you descend the stairs and disable the two men who are looting the back room. That was easy, the hard part will be the main shop area, where the Blighters are holding your boss hostage as they loot through the till.

You burst out of the back room, taking down another two men before the others round on you.

"What have we 'ere then?" one taunts, his leering face sending veins of anger plummeting through you.

"I'm a little rusty, but I am the death of you," you hiss, dropping down low to swipe at their knees - it's the quickest way to take them down. 

When only one remains, you pause to see what he is doing, and nearly cry with shock when you see him hold the blade to the throat of your boss.

"Now, sweetheart, I don't usually kill old women, but if you take one step closer, then 'er blood will be spilt on this floor," he snarls, not caring for the beads of blood that are already forming on her neck.

You come to a standstill, unsure of how to proceed.

"Actually, I'm a bit bored tonight, so..." the words have barely left his mouth as he's dropped the sweet old lady, the knife already covered in her blood.

Blindly, you launch a dagger at him, hitting him right in the eye. He drops like a log, but you barely notice as you rush forward to grasp your boss, turning her over in your arms. Too late to gasp a final goodbye. She's gone.

"Rest easy," you mutter quietly to her body, before you rise up and look at the destruction you've created.

You walk from the shop, out into the static nothing of night. Not a single tear, not a single emotion. They'll pay for this. You follow the night, follow her misted arms through the cobbled streets until you reach the gang headquarters. Blades out, you slip unnoticed into the heart of the Blighters' domain and begin your silent retribution.

Bodies fall before, and you don't blink. Blood stains your hands, your coat, your face, and you don't flinch. Reinforcements arrive and you don't think. It's mindless. It's painless. It's revenge.

Clear. The base is clear. Void of any living beings aside from yourself. 

Then the shadows appear, on the rooftops near by. Only one at first. Then another. Then another. Two in black, one in white.

"(Name)! You did this? I though you abandoned the assassins, what happened?" they are in front of you know, the shadows, and the voice is vaguely familiar.

"I think she's in shock," a wise, female voice offers, one of the darker shadows.

The first one speaks again, and a name swims into your mind. Henry.

"I don't understand, she's killed before," Henry mutters, his face coming into focus as he holds your face still. It's only then that you realise you are on your knees, blood caking every part of you.

"Jesus Christ, she tore them apart! And I thought she was just a shop assistant!" another voice laughs, Jacob.

The whole haziness of the situation, the shock of the attack, culminate inside you, leading to a wash of black covering your senses, tugging you into sleep.

-

Three Months Later

In the time after the attack, you let the shop go, and you holed yourself up in Henry's shop. There, he told of of the Frye twins' work, and asked you to help. So you did. Little things at first, deliveries and whatnot, until the day you followed Henry onto the Fryes' train.

"A train hideout, that's clever," you muse upon arrival, startled slightly by the sudden jolt as the stain rolls into action.

"Yes, don't you think?" Henry nods eagerly, "Come, we need to speak to Jacob and Evie,"

You smirk a little at the blush that runs across his features at the mention of Evie - like every time she is mentioned. Henry leads the way down the length of the train until he reaches the right carriage, one filled with strings and portraits of the Templar leaders. A few already have red crosses through them.

Evie welcomes you into the cart, and says that Jacob will arrive soon.

"(Name)? What are you doing here?" Jacob asks, striding into the carriage like he owns it - which he does.

You laugh a little, folding your arms across your chest.

"I'm an Assassin, you know," you smirk at him, before turning back to Evie and Henry.

Chapter Text

Ah, sweet Havana. Where the salted tang of the roaring oceans meets the amber infused aromatics of the jungle, only to mingle with the bitter wash of rum and sweating bodies; not to mention the recent influx of sailors, all of whom carry that unwashed perfume about themselves.

For you, this fragrance of Havana is your livelihood, something you've known since...since you arrived here. Truth be told, you should be lording it up over some island somewhere with your family, no doubt waiting to be married off to some admiral somewhere. But, things happen, whether for better or worse, but you're here now, as you have been for the past five years, and here is where you'll remain.

Life in Havana is hard, especially for a lonesome young lady. Drunken sailors and soldiers alike believe they have rights to your body, to your mind - but once you've kicked them right where it hurts a few times, they tend to back off. For your first year here, you lumbered alone, grabbing bites to eat from open shops and market stores.

Then you met your friend, Maria, who was a barmaid in one of the many taverns around the city of Havana. She was kind enough to invite you in, to help you get a job with her in the very same tavern - where by day you clean, and by night you serenade the sailors of the West Indies.

They call you the Siren, they do. For your voice is the most beautiful one they've ever been blessed enough to hear. Once the clock strikes 10 o'clock, you step out from the bar, onto the little stage the Innkeep constructed for you.

All eyes are on you, from the fresh blooded, innocent eyes of shining hazel, to the battle worn, sea green eyes of salt crusted sailors; all eyes are on you.

Your feet are silent as you patter, barefooted, onto your little stage, pulling your (h/c) hair to one side as you go. Maria rushes past you with empty tankards, stopping only to toss a sweet flower crown upon your brow, before she continues on her journey back to the bar.

As usual, you wait a few seconds upon positioning yourself, making sure everyone is gathered and ready. For a moment, your eyes catch those of a sand haired man opposite you. Those irises that gaze upon you ever so intently hold in them all the storms of the oceans, their swirling myriad of iced blue and flashing grey like a hurricane at sea. One moment, and they're gone, those eyes, no doubt back to his rum or wrench.

"Any request for first song?" you ask, as usual, gleaning a rush of responses.

But you only listen to one, the one that slips from the mouth of that weather worn sailor with the typhoon eyes across from you.

"Lowlands away, 'tis a favourite of mine," he chuckles, playfully flicking with something at his wrist. 

At his words, a cheer goes up from the men around him, and it becomes clear to you - he is obviously their captain...even if he does dress odd...and carries peculiar weapons.

"Lowlands away it is, then, lads," you smile, clearing your throat and readying to sing.

The whole tavern, nay! The whole of Havana falls silent as you begin your song.

"I dreamed a dream, the other night," your voice is like a silken knife, cutting through the air with all the grace and poise of a thrown dagger, "Lowlands, lowlands away me John,"

For the first verse, the men around you are silent, in awe of the sheer beauty of your voice. But once you begin the second, more and more voices join in, daring you to pull that handsome captain up beside you to join you.

"She made no sound, no word she said, lowlands, lowlands away me John," you continue, your hand gripping the sailors as Maria joins you on your other side. Soon enough, the whole tavern was joined in some way or another, your voices a chorus of good and bad, all singing the same song.

"And then I knew, my love was dead," your voice swells above the crowd, owning up to its reputation as the Siren, as you all plunge into the final verse together.

Not a dry eye, not a single goddamned dry eye in the tavern left after your finish your nightly spectacle. Some days they are lucky, and you willingly sing for them all night, but tonight, no. Tonight you want something different.

You finish up, letting Maria go to the tug of more rum, and you gently pull the captain aside.

"Well sung, lass," he places a kiss on the knuckles of your hand, and you flush with excitement.

"Thank you," you whisper, voice hoarse already from singing, "May I take your name? You, too, have a fine voice," 

He considers you for a moment, before he pulls you close to him in an embrace.

"Why would a pretty young lady want this sea dog's name?" he asks, his lips thrillingly close to that sensitive spot behind your ear.

"So I have something to scream when you take me later," you murmur, feeling his whole body stiffen against yours for a moment.

"You're a canny lass, you are, the name's Kenway, Edward Kenway" he risks a kiss to your neck, before calling to his crew, "Alright lads, I'll see you all at the docks tomorrow then,"

Then he's back to winking at you, dragging you up the stairs to the first available room, and slamming it shut behind him.

-

A whole year, it has been a whole year since Captain Kenway came into your life. A whole year of rushed meetings, fleeting visits when he docks in Havana. There is love between the two of you, not the tender, romantic love you see between Maria and her husband, but this...strange admiration, this lust, for each other.

-

"I dreamed a dream, the other night," a quiet voice sings, voice barely audible over the heavy silence that hangs over the tavern.

Lowlands, lowlands away me John...

Blood stains the floor, both innocent and guilty. Some still hold in their hands the crimson red cross of the Templars.

A dagger, its iron blade rusted and crusted with drying remnants of blood, skitters across the floor, kicked by the silent boot that prowls across the floor.

...She made no sound, no word she said...

The hooded man bends down to the nearest corpse, rolling the stricken body over onto her back. Maria.

...Lowlands, lowlands away me John...

His actions grow frantically as he searches the bodies, sending up silent prayers that his love is alive...that you are alive.
The stage is reached, on which over a year ago you had sung your heart out to the very man who searches for you. There, a body lays, (h/c) hair strewn about her carelessly, limbs akimbo and all at odd angles.
He doesn't even need to turn the body over to know its you.

...And then I knew...my love was dead...

You are dead.
Killed by the Templars in vain, killed for the little information you know of the Pirate Assassin Edward Kenway.
Killed for the love you dared give to that enemy of theirs.
You are dead.
And now, his heart had died too.

Chapter Text

It was not the legendary Bayek who had recruited you, it had been his associate Amunet.

But your time as a Hidden One in Rome was shortlived, especially after you found you did not get on well with many of your comrades, and it was only on Amunet's orders that you boarded that ship across the ocean to Egypt.

That was four years ago, and since then, you and Bayek have grown close.

"My love, there you are," Bayek smiles, slipping into the bureau with ease,"I've been looking for you all over the city,"
"Whatever for, Bayek? I thought I had completed today's mission," you sigh, even though you love the man, you hate it when he gives you extra work.

He laughs, a noise that is like music to your ears, and wraps a strong arm around you.
"Don't worry, I'm not giving you more work," he teases, allowing you to enjoy that sweet smile on his lips.

"Good, I fear I'll fall asleep where J stand if you give me any more," you huff, leaning into the warmth of his embrace.
The change in his demaneur is instantaneous, all the warmth and softness goes cold and hard, and he gazes at you with a look of concern.

"I did not know you felt that way, (Name), why didn't you tell me?" He frowns, pulling your hands in his.
Sighing heavily, you pull him into another hug and tell him not to worry. Gods only know how much that man worries, he must've spent his entire life doing so!

"Now Bayek, tell me what you wanted me for," you order, curious of his motives.
His teasing grin turns wicked as he procures a scrap of cloth from his pocket, and indicates for you to turn around. Once you do so, you feel the callous fabric brush against your eyes, blocking your eyesight and muffling your senses.

"Keep that on, and hold my hand," Bayek instructs, leading you from the bureau.
Under your sandals, you feel the rough sand of the streets, and you can hear the tussle of the city's denizens despite the strip of cotton across your eyes and ears.

After at least five minutes of walking, you notice the bustle of the city dying down, and the distinct buzz of insects flitting around you. At the halt, you grip Bayek's arm questioningly, but her merely chuckles at you, leaving you stranded in the centre of what you presume to be a garden of some sort.

"There we go," he mutters, removing the cotton from your eyes.

Clasping a hand you your mouth, you gasp audibly as you behold the sight before you. A thick canvas sheet has been spread out between the luscious flowers, laden with duck down pillows and colourful blankets. Between these pillows, at least twenty different plates of food lie, covered with a thin netting to keep the flies off.

"Bayek...I..." you mutter, shocked by the gesture.

"I thought it about time I rewarded you for your hard work," he smiles at you, taking your hand and pulling you down onto the pillows, "Come, my love, let us feast, in honour of you,"

Meekly, you drop down next to him and instantly fall upon the tray of nuts and berries - all handpicked by your lover earlier today. For hours you two munch away, stealing kisses between bites until the stars begin to twinkle high above.

It is then, as the moon begins her nightly ascent, that Bayek pulls you away from the warmth of the picnic. You are reluctant, at first, to leave the food, but once he tugs you out onto a plant filled balcony, with a clear view of the city, your reluctance morphs into curiosity.

Bayek is quiet, uncharacteristically so, enough that it sets you on edge.

"Is everything alright?" you question, placing your hand on his as it grips the balcony fence. 

From out of nowhere he procures a decorated bracer, one holding the Hidden One insignia, and a new hidden blade upon it.

"I would like to give you this, (Name), as a token of my love for you," he sighs, smiling uncertainly down at you, "And I would also like to ask for your hand in marriage,"

What?

Marriage? To Bayek?

"I would be delighted!" you gush, already throwing yourself into his arms - however mindful of the blade in his hand.

A new hidden blade and an eternity with you love? As if you'd turn that down!

Yours and Bayek's return to the bureau is not a silent one, due to your fellow Assassins already throwing a party in celebration of your engagement. It seems Bayek had told them of his plan before speaking to you.

And so the night is spent dancing and drinking in the arms of the one you love, and you already pray that every night is like this.

Chapter Text

"Ah, Altaïr, you are here now," your mentor, Al Mualim, welcomes the white clad assassin - who you already know is a master despite his young age.

"Yes, Master, I'm afraid my return was delayed by some Templars blocking the road, though I am pleased to say that I have dealt with them," Altaïr doesn't deign to look at you as he speaks, but who would? You're a novice, barely trained in the fighting arts, and what's more - you're a woman. All the other mentors refused to train you, Altaïr is your last hope.

"What did you summon me here for?" his voice is monotone, like he can't be bothered talking.

"I have summoned you to ask for a favour, since you are a master Assassin, the best amongst us. I would like you to train (Name) here," Al Mualim points at you, and you send Altaïr your best smile - even though it is a little sheepish.

He opens his mouth to protest, but once he gains a good look at you, he nods subtly.

"Of course, Master, shall we begin now?" Altaïr asks, quickly looking away from you and back to Mualim.

With a nod, Mualim sends you and Altaïr back out into the afternoon heat, where the training ground is mostly deserted.

Once out there, Altaïr doesn't speak, instead he points you towards a training dummy and signals to show him what you can do.
As it turns out, you have impeccable aim with the throwing knives and arrows, so much so you even gather a crowd of assassins and civilians alike.

"Well done," Altaïr praises, as he tosses you a sword and tugs you to the training ring.
Though your throwing skills are amazing, your close combat skills leave much to be desired - not that you're complaining, though, since every time you fail, you end up pinned to the floor beneath your new mentor, who - might I add -is extremely handsome, muscular, and sweaty.

"You fight well, for a novice," Altaïr mutters as he floors you for the umpteenth time.
From beneath him, you groan as you feel a sore stiffness in your limbs, no doubt from the day of training.
"Who are you calling novice, novice?" an annoyed voice calls out from seemingly nowhere, prompting Altaïr to swivel his head around to look at the intruder.

"Malik, I might have known," Altaïr snaps, rolling off you and offering a hand to help you up,"What are you doing skulking about here? Can't you see I'm busy training (Name)?"

This new man, Malik, who is dressed almost exactly like Altaïr, merely rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. (Yes this babe still has two arms rn...this is before the game)
"Training...is that what you call it? All I saw was you on top of the poor girl," Malik laughs, even more so when he sees your cheeks burning.

"Oh piss off, you,"Altaïr swings his sword in the air a few times, missing you by only an inch.
Still, you stand and watch the two men as they bicker, and you realise you have yet to thank Altaïr for taking you on.

"Fine, fine, I get it, this conquest is yours," Malik holds up his hands and prowls off, no doubt to terrorise someone else.

Altaïr merely shakes his head, knocking the thick hood off his hair in the same movement. Oh...he's even cuter without it.

"Master Altaïr..." you begin, only to be cut off with an order to call him just Altaïr,"Altaïr, I want to thank you for helping me when no one else would...I just wanted to know, why?"

Considering you for a moment, Altaïr sheathes his sword and plays with his hidden blade for a few seconds - an image that makes you wonder when you will recieve your own.

"I saw potential in you, and I believe that anyone who wants to fight, should be able to do so, regardless of whether they are a woman or a man," he speaks in a pious tone, as if admitting the secrets of the world to you, but then he adds in a much more boyish tone: "That, and the fact I think you're beautiful,"

Your smile drops off your face in an instant, replaced by a worried blush. Please don't be joking. Please don't be joking. Please don't-

"Ha! That didn't take you long!" Malik's back again, prodding fun at Altaïr, who launches a dagger at him without even looking - praise God Altaïr's aim is not as good as yours, or Malik would currently be missing an eye.

The danger is enough though, and Malik hotfoots it out of the training ring, cackling as he goes.

So...he's not joking?

"You think I'm beautiful?" You whisper, as if by repeating the words, they will become less true.

Now it's Altaïr turn to blush, as he goes from hard hearted Assassin Mentor to frantic young man is seconds.

"Yes, I think you look amazing," he sighs, "I would like to know you more, not just in a training ring,"

"Oh Altaïr! I would love to know you more too," you blurt out,"And I think you're very beautiful too!"

In a second, the flustered boy is gone, and he's back to his usual cocky self.

"I am beautiful!" He cheers, "Meet me up in the tower at noon tomorrow, and we can see whether we'd rather train or chat,"

With that, Altaïr is gone, leaving you to scurry back to Al Mualim to report on your first day of training, with your heart hammering a thousand beats in your chest.

Tomorrow noon...

Chapter Text

Halifax is cold enough at the best of times, never mind when the winter storms roll in. Luckily for you, your house is tucked in the far corner of the town, sheltered by the deep ridges of the coastline.

Despite this natural security, all you can hear is the deep rolling and crashing of the waves down by the harbour, and the whip and snap of trees caught up in the wind. But that's not what's on your mind, no, not with your lover out on those rough seas with his ship, the Morrigan.

Come to think of it, it must be at least three years since you and him first met. Well, I'd hardly call it a meeting as such, since Shay was drunk when he stumbled into your house, and he did think your house was his tavern, and he did think you were his quartermaster - the same one who picked him up the next morning after you dragged Shay down to the docks.

Even though you know he's a capable sailor, and fighter (and lover), you can't help but worry about him when he's not with you - especially when it's storming like this.

Sighing to yourself, you watch the lone candle on your bedside table flicker and wane, the pearls of wax sliding down the sides like the rivulets of ice on the insides on your windows. From beneath your pile of thick blankets - most of them a gift from Shay - you snuggle down and try to sleep, even if the constant screaming of the wind is keeping you awake.

You start to drift off asleep, ignoring the faint banging noise in your drowsy state, and write it off as a loose branch or something. Until a vile yell rouses you from your rest.

"(Name), open up!" you recognise the voice as Christopher Gist, Shay's right hand man. What on earth is he doing here?

"For God's sake (Name)! Shay is hurt!" he calls again, prompting you to race down the stairs to let him in.

Once your door is open to the wilds of the raging storm, Gist throws himself inside, lugging the semi conscious body of Shay with him.

"Clear your table," Gist orders, and you comply immediately, allowing Gist to place your lover gently on the rough wooden surface.

"What happened?" you question, assessing the damage along Shay's midriff.

"The sails were straining to hard against the wind, one of them snapped and a piece of rigging flew into Shay," Gist is already ripping Shay's coat and weapons off, "It was a clean hit, help me clean it and stitch it up,"

Swearing softly to yourself, you run and grab a kettle of water, kicking up the reanimated embers of your fire to warm it up. Gist makes quick work of your spare bed sheet for bandages, and you scurry about in the kitchen finding cleansing herbs and whatnot.

Gist proves a dab hand at removing the splinters, some nearly three inches long, and you tie a neat bandage around the wounds after cleaning them up.

"Master Gist, thank you for bringing him back to me," your voice cracks, nearly at tears at the closeness Shay was to death - and he still has a long way to go.

He waves it off as if it's nothing, and offers to stay and watch over him whilst you sleep.

"Thank you, but I don't think I can sleep after this. You go instead, I'll watch Shay...the spare room is at the top of the stairs," you spy the tiredness in Gist's eyes and opt to watch Shay instead, even though you know every second will be agony.

-

At some point during your watch, you drifted off asleep, only to wake a few hours later with Shay stroking your hair gently as you half lie on him.

"Shay...you're awake," you hum softly, "I thought I was going to lose you,"

He's pale still, to say in the least, but he's awake now - and more importantly; alive.

"Ah...I'm not as young as I once was, and I can really feel it now," he mumbles, "But I'm glad you helped me, and Gist,"

You don't say anything is response, just contentedly smile against his broad shoulder. Gist must've come down and covered the both of you with a blanket at some point...how kind of him.

"You know, (Name), in my line of work, I walk a fine line between bravery and idiocy, between life and death. And I can safely say that you, my love, is what has kept me brave and not reckless, alive and not dead...I love you, (Name), I love you with all my heart and my soul,"

Tears, warm and wet, glisten in your eyes as you rise up to take Shay's face in your hands.

"God, I love you Shay," you sniff, pulling him forward into a kiss to end all kisses. 

"I love you," you murmur again as you snuggle once again into his chest, already half asleep again, "I love you,"

And as the storm wages it's war with the streets outside, you and your lover fold into each others' arms, allowing sleep to consume the both of you again.

Chapter Text

"Ah malaka!" You hiss at the sight before you.
Of course those thieves picked today to steal your weapons, the weapons you have painstakingly forged yourself for the Spartan army.
Today of all days, the day you must deliver your weapons to the Spartans...they're like to murder you if you don't have them.

You don't realise you're swearing aloud until you hear an amused chuckle from your doorway. Praying it isn't another thief, you whirl to face the darkened figure in your doorway and...oh. Oh.
She is broad shouldered, with arms that burst with strong muscles. On her chest, a thick piece of Spartan armour lays, protecting her from the trials of the Greece wilds...and oh Gods her eyes are the brightest, most glittering ones you've ever seen.

"Ah, they told me you worked the firey forges, but they did not tell me you had the vocabulary to match," the muscular woman chuckles, placing her hands on her hips in a way that draws attention to the weapons that weigh her down.

"Ha! Whatever townsman told you this has probably yet to feel the brace of my words," you can't help but smile at the woman - after all the stranger does have the sweetest smirk you've seen,"If it's arms and weapons you're looking for, you've come to the right place,"

"I should hope so, I presume you are (Name) the blacksmith?" She asks, waiting for your approval, "Good, I broke my sword in a skirmish with the Athenians...I don't suppose you could fix it up for me, could you?"
"Well, I'm sure I can...but only if you do something for me in return," you look beyond her shoulder and into the courtyard, where the soldiers and the civilians go about their lives, unhelping and uncaring to you.

"You see, I had a ship load of weapons ready for the Spartan soldiers, and as you can see my forge is empty: I want you to track down the thieves and retrieve my weapons before the soldiers have my head," you announce on the womans prompt.
"That seems an awful lot to do just for a sword," she sounds uncertain now, and you just happen to know there is another blacksmith just across town who probably doesn't have his weapons stolen.

"If you do this for me, I will fix and forge any weapon or armour you want for free for the rest of our lives," you plead, desperate to get your property back,"Or...or if you want to visit me again tonight...and we can see what those muscles of yours can do,"
The misthios grins at your forwardness, and perks up at the idea.

"My muscles? We should be talking about yours, (Name), all day spent in this hot forge, wielding that hammer of yours. Oh, the mind goes wild thinking of the things you can do with them," she smirks, crossing her arms across her chest, "The name is Kassandra by the way. I'll go and get your weapons..and we'll see about tonight, shall we?"

With that, your saviour is gone, leaving behind only her sword for you to mend.

-

"Damn you blacksmith! You promised up weapons and you have failed to deliver!" The gruff soldier snarls.

"Please, sir, I have already explained! Thieves took my stock, but I've sent someone to retrieve it, they should be back soon," you plead, all the time worrying about where Kassandra has got to.

"Not good enough!" The soldier barks, slamming his fist on your empty table.

Heart racing, you take a quick step back, praying to the Gods that Kassandra returns before the soldier paints the forge with your blood.

Luckily for you, the Gods are smiling today, and your saviour returns with with a wagon of weapons.

"I'm back with your weapons, (Name), it seems the bandits were funded by the Athenians...but they're not a problem anymore," Kassandra looms in your doorway, her muscled form blocking out the sunlight and putting the soldier's own muscles to shame, "You have your weapons now, soldier, now take them and go,"

The soldier is no fool: he takes his oppurtunity to leave quickly, leaving you and Kassandra alone.

"Oh, thank you Kassandra...I feared that man would make paste of me had you not returned when you did," you thrust her fixed sword towards her,"Here, I fixed this for you,"

Smiling, Kassandra takes the sword and inspects the fix. She nods in approval then sheathes it at her hip.

"Do you know how to defend yourself?" She asks outright, her arms crossed across her chest.

"Uhm, I learnt some defensive moves when I was little, but I spend more time making weapons than using them," you struggle to drag your eyes away from her defined biceps - oh what God sculpted her so perfectly? Didn't they realise it's not fair?

"Right, then come out in the courtyard and let me teach you some more," Kassandra takes your arm and tugs you into the bright light, which you squint against.

"Hey! You've already helped me alot today, whatever can I repay you with if you keep helping me?" You ask, harking back to your previous offer.

Kassandra considers this for a moment, before taking your chin in her hands and gazing directly into your eyes. Close up she's exactly like a Goddess, with a soft smattering of freckles across her cheeks, and a few loose strands of hair trickling down her face.

"Repay me with your company; I'd like to get to know you more...in a romantic way," she muses, her face lighting up as she watches you blush a deep crimson.

"I would be happy to," you whisper, still shocked at the turn of events.

It's only as Kassandra is showing you how best to stand when fighting, with her body pressed up close behind yours, that it really sinks in what Kassandra said.

She wants a relationship with you - Kassandra the merc who looks and acts like a damned Goddess wants a relationship with you!

Praise the Gods!

Chapter Text

Ah, the yearly Autumn ball. 

Oh how you hate it.

It's not just the fact you don't have a choice in going - since your father utterly dictates everything you do - and it's not the fact you hate wearing ballgowns, nor is it the fact  it is absolutely freezing around this time of year.

No...it's the fact that Fort Arsenal, the castle in which the ball is to take place, is creepy as balls.

I mean, come on, if it's spiralling towers of ethereal darkness, eternally shrouded in swathes of sweet smoke and silence, aren't enough to put you off, then the tales of the place sure will.

Oh, oh, how those tales sent frosted shivers down your spine as a child, oh how they still do! For the denizens of Fort Arsenal are rumoured not to be human...but to be vampires!

Your mother had always been the one to smooth your curls and wipe away your tears, to tell you that they are only stories. But as many times as she told you this, as she comforted you and assured you there is no such thing as vampires - least of all in Fort Arsenal - you always found that darkness within her eyes, a darkness that she could never hide.

A darkness that warned of lies.

Even so, you found yourself drawn to the castle each year. And although you never harboured much love for any social gathering, you always found some comfort in the fact that this ball was always the same, every year...

Smoothing down your (fav colour) gown in the silver backed mirror, you sigh quietly to yourself. Another year, another ball: another 'opportunity' for you to find a suitable husband.

"Why do you sigh so, my sweet?" your mother hums from behind you, as she ties black ribbons into your silken hair.

"Nothing, mother, it's just balls again - you know how I hate them," you murmur back, wincing at the sharp tug to your hair.

"Well, don't, it's not becoming of a lady to do so," your mother finishes up with your hair, and turns you around in her arms,"And is there not at least a little excitement this year? The old count is gone, and we have a new one in the castle,"

That piqued your interest a little, the old count is gone? You always heard little of the comings and going of the Castle, and to learn of a new Count is surely good news - hopefully there will be less lies, less awkward silences when Fort Arsenal is mentioned, less garlic.

"And I suppose you want me to be ever so sickly sweet and soft with him," you can't help the malice that lines your words, not whilst your mother is giving you that look, which usually means she wants you to be betrothed by the end of the night.

"Yes, of course I do, as does your father," she takes your hands in hers,"And it's not just about you finding a husband-"

"But that's part of it, isn't it?" you snap back harsher than you intended, and instantly regret it.

"A new Count means new business, if you smile and be nice to him it will put our family in good standing with him," she drops your hands and turns away, coldness now running through her voice.

Every year you two go through the moves of this toxic dance, one that widens the ever deepening rift between the two of you, one that makes you truly feel like what you really are to your family: a pawn.

Shaking your head, you leave the room behind your mother, and descend down the stairs into the candlelit hall. Your father and brother wait for you by the door, which is open to the cool, dark night. Beyond that door lies the gilded shine of your family carriage, it's horses decorated with an ice white plume above their brows. And beyond that...the long ride up to the castle that is to be your prison for the next few hours - albeit a pretty one.

-

After the awkward silence of the carriage ride, interrupted only by your brother procuring a bottle of fine wine from his dress coat, which your father promptly confiscated once he started chugging it, you are almost glad of your arrival at the castle - which, you might add, has been decorated and changed beyond recognition.

The gardens, which once were barren and bare, are now soft and green, filled with breathing trees and bushes. The winding pathway from the freshly gilded gates is lit with tiny lanterns, which cast a honeydew glow across the gravel path, much like the fireflies which dance amongst the branches not too far away.

A pristine butler bows to you, as he escorts your family up the gardens and deposits you at the base of the castle stairs. Last time you has been here, these stairs were showing the signs of their age, with wobbles and hazardous cracks littering the majority of the stairs, yet now...now these stairs gleam as if they are brand new, the dark marble of them painted with veins of frosted white, and a velveteen carpet of the deepest blood red leads the way up to the open doors.

Your father follows the lead of the family in front of you, and soon you are all ushered into the main ball room. At least, this room hasn't changed much, for it's grandeur was immaculately preserved by the previous Count. 

Your father edges his way to the base of the grand staircase, right beneath the grape vine chandelier, which spits out endless seeds of crystalline light upon you. Your mother is quick to take an elegant flute of champagne, and declines one for you on your behalf. You know without looking that your brother has already wandered off to find the bar room, and you father is no doubt shaking his head in exasperation at his son's attitude.

Overall, you cannot hear yourself think, due to the gentle strummings of a string quartet in the far corner, and the bubble of chatter surrounding you. However, this suffocation of senses is short lived, as the lights above you suddenly dim a little, as a herald announces the arrival of your host.

"May I present to thee, our esteemed Count Shay Patrick Cormac," the herald announces, as silence befells the ballroom.

No sooner as the words silence, the crowd begin clapping, as the black clad Count despends the staircase, and - oh. Oh. Oh, he is beautiful.

Shay Cormac's skin is pale, yet not so pale it washes him out, his deep brown eyes survey the crowd critically, like a predator eyeing up his prey. Those coffee eyes of his pass over you, lingering for a moment as he runs his tongue over his thick lips, before they pass on to the next young girl in line.

"Thank you all for turning out. I'm sure old Count Kenway would have loved to be here," Shay begins, his accent foreign and familiar to you at the same time, his voice like melted honey and chocolate...hmmm.

"I'm sure many of you are wondering who I am, and how I knew my predecessor. And I'm not a man for keeping my friends in the dark, so I shall tell you," Shay pauses, his eyes drifting back to yours as a warm thrill settles over you,"My name is Shay Cormac, as you all know, I worked with Haytham - Count Kenway, that is - for a few years, and he named me as his ward. Unfortunately, I received his estate prematurely as Count Kenway was in an unfortunate accident, which led to his death,"

A moment of silence as the crowd sucks in a breath. Poor Kenway...even if he was a bit strange.

"But tonight should not be a sad night, I want you all to be happy. So, if the musicians would strike up a waltz - I'd say we commence the ball," Shay raises his arms just as the strings begin to play, and descends the stairs.

He has barely even got near you and your mother is already shoving you towards him, fortunately - or unfortunately - for you, another girl in a billowing pink dress gets there before you, and snatches him away for the first dance.

-

The glittering sunset wanes into a still night, and you're forced to dance with a dozen men from your town who you don't care to remember. Eventually, as you tire, you manage to slip away from your parents and come to rest on a rose decked balcony. The mournful, full moon gazes over the garden in unison with you, where young couples sneak away from the dazzling lights of the ball to frolic amongst the trees.

You think you're all alone up there, on the breezy balcony, until you feel a hand brush against your elbow, the skin of your company icy cold and smoother than silk.

"I saw you slip off up here, I'd been hoping to speak with you, (Name), I had to glean you name from your mother, who is very eager for us to meet," your company smiles at you, and you know before you turn your head that your company is the new Count.

"Oh, Count Cormac-" Shay cuts you off before you can finish with an order for you to call him 'Shay'.

"Oh...Shay, how, um, nice of you. Did you want to speak about anything specific?" you ask, unsure of how to act in such proximity to a Count, and a goddamned beautiful one at that.

Shay leans over the balcony railing, the black sleeves of his fitted blazer bunching up on the worn stone, and swivels his head to the side to look at you.

"Nothing much...just to say I think you're...beautiful," you blush at that, never before has a man said anything of the sort to you and sounded like he meant it,"When I saw you as I came down the stairs I knew that I wanted to speak with you, to dance with you,"

Shay straightens up, offering his arm to you.

"So, care to have this dance with me? It's the last one of the night," he smirks, a devillish smirk that makes your knees weaken and your insides turn to jelly, a smirk that leaves you unable to speak aside from a quick squeak of 'yes'.

You don't bother looking at your parents as you reenter the ballroom, but you know they are probably both bursting with the prospect of you and Count Shay walking in together, arm in arm.

Together, you take your places in the centre of the ballroom, as the quartet strikes up the final tune of the night. Together, you whirl together across the polished marble tiles, as if the dance was made for the two of you and the two of you were made for the dance. It is only as you both reach the edge of the floor, right before the grand mirror, that you spy your reflection.

And let me specify; your reflection, not his, only yours.

Freezing, your mind flashes back to the tales you read as a child, the rumours surrounding this very castle. You freeze, eyes frantic as they look at the mirror, as they look at yourself, alone.

You bolt. Back to the balcony, muttering something to anyone who cares  that you feel a little off, that you need fresh air. Once you get out there, you lean against the wall, panting hard, hand clasped over your chest.

"So...you saw," Shay calls out of seemingly nowhere, having followed you on silent, swift steps.

"The rumours, the stories I was told as a child about this place," you can't bring yourself to look at him as he gets closer and closer to you,"They're all true, you're a...a,"

"A vampire, yes," Shay is now pressed up against you, wedging you between his broad chest and the wall behind you, his lips deliciously close to your ear. He pulls back just enough so you can see the elongated teeth in his mouth, that don't just stop at the canines, all his teeth are pointed, feral, yet elegant.

You whimper as he closes in on you, not to tear your delicate throat to shreds, or to suck the blood from your body, but to press a soft kiss to your lips.

He pulls back slowly, his eyes flickering open to search your face for fear, for discomfort, for rejection. Seeing there is nothing on the sort on your face, any surprise now replaced by enchantment in your eyes, he learns closer and moulds his soft lips against yours again, this time with much more urgency. 

Swiping along your bottom lip, Shay's tongue presses for entry, as his hands slide up your sides to rest around your back. Your own arms raise up, your hands tangling themselves in his dark hair.

When the two of you surface for air, Shay grazes his knuckles across your cheeks, pressing his forehead close to yours.

"Let me turn you," he mutters fervently, his words almost carried off by the final melodies of the music inside.

"What?" you nearly shriek, as his arms pin you to the wall, holding you still.

"Let me turn you into a vampire, like me," he whispers, as if some feral instinct has taken hold,"Please, I can feel it in my very bones; your blood sings to me, it calls for me,"

"Shay..." you whisper uncertainly, as his lips come precariously close to your throat, just at that oh so sensitive spot where your collar bone meets the soft skin of your neck.

"Let me turn you, for I am condemned to this eternal life," he mutters,"Follow me into the darkness between the abyss and light, we'll burn all doubts and forget the time, I'll cover you with my shadow and carry you wide; you're the wonder that's becoming reality,"

As he whispers those words to you, you feel it, the gentle prick of his fangs against the pure skin of your neck. A single tear rolls down you cheek as you grip his hair, your breathing becomes shallow, but not enough to drown out your consent.

"Do it," you whimper,"Do it and let me spend this eternity with you,"

No sooner as those words escape your mouth, you feel the harsh sting of his teeth sinking into your neck, then a strange, suckling sensation. Then it is done, and Shay pulls his teeth out long enough to lick up the spilt blood from your shoulder.

Shay adjusts the neckline of your dress to cover the bite marks, and tugs you off the wall. For a moment, your legs buckle beneath you with a strange weakness, but Shay is on hand to steady you.

"The change will take place over the next few weeks, it will be a slow one...and you may feel weak at times, but you will emerge powerful and strong at the end of it," Shay dares to press a soft kiss to your cheeks, before he spins out of your arms in time for the arrival of your parents, who beam with joy at finding the two of you together.

"Ah, my apologies Count Cormac, we were just coming to collect our daughter for the return home," you father clears his throat, and Shay takes a hold of your hand.

"Ahh, thank you for coming tonight good sir, I must say you've raised a fine, beautiful daughter. In fact, I think she was the best dancer tonight, I'm a little upset I only managed to get one dance out of her," Shay smiles softly at your parents, ignoring your brother who stumbles in behind them...no doubt stupidly drunk.

"You really think so, Count Cormac?" your mother gushes, her smile almost manic.

"Yes, quite," Shay rubs his thumb across the back of your hand, eliciting a soft giggle from you,"In fact, we were just discussing the future...our future,"

Okay, this is news to you, but you keep smiling anyway.

"I was hoping to propose a union between our families, between me and (Name) here," Shay bows to you, pressing a deep kiss to your knuckles,"But, the details are not urgent, I shall come visit you all in the coming days, but for now, I bid you all good night,"

With that, the count pushes his way through your family, leaving your brother to retch against the doorway as your parents smile at you wildly.

At last, they are proud of their daughter for earning the hand of a man in marriage - and the Count's no less!

Ha...they would surely weep if they were to know what you are to become in the coming weeks.

Numbly, you follow your parents out of the house, on legs that are already feeling stronger and smoother than ever before.

As you sit in the carriage, you glance up to the castle high above, and fancy you see Shay smiling down upon you from a darkened window. For a moment, your hand strays towards the hidden scabs on your neck, and you jolt a little as the carriage pulls away.

Hmm, maybe balls aren't so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Ah, sweet sunset over the island of Lakonia. The unending buzz of Sparta is but a distant dream as the swathes of waves wash over the fine sands, and cooling breezes ripple across the soothing ocean, the salt tainted tendrils of which gently caressing your bare skin and whipping your hair from your face.

You sit there on the damp sands, waiting and listening for the aquiline cry of your lover's eagle. The lazy beating of wings reaches you first, followed by a victorious screech from the soaring eagle, which in itself if followed by footsteps padding gently down the beach, before they come to a halt by your side.

"Ikaros!" your lover speaks clearly, his voice deepened by his authority over the bird.

Wings whistling, Ikaros dives towards the two of you with a screech, and lands on Alexios' arm with a large plop. Peeling your eyes from the streaked sunset, you gaze at the bird before you, who ruffles his feathers with joy at the mouse Alexios feeds him.

Once Ikaros is satisfied, he takes off into the sky, off on some hunt of his own. Now you can get a proper look at Alexios, without his eagle getting in the way.

"Good evening, my love," Alexios greets you with a kiss as he lounges beside you, his fingers finding yours and tangling your hands together.

"You took your time, couldn't pull yourself away from your fantastical adventures?" you tease, knowing full well it'll make Alexios feel just a little bit guilty - guilty enough to treat you like a goddess for the next few days, at least.

"(Name), I am truly sorry that I have to be away a lot...though I did bring something back this time to make it up to you," Alexios smiles mysteriously as he pulls you to your feet, "Rhea!"

Confused, you follow his instruction and hold out your arm, the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rising as he leans his body close to yours, his warm breath interrupting the iced evening winds.

High above you, you hear more wings flapping, and you look up just in time to spy another eagle soaring towards you, it's creamy feathers painted gold and pink with the dying light of the sun.

With a cry, the eagle lands on your arm, and you look to Alexios with shock.

"I saw how much you love my Ikaros, and thought you might like the company of your own eagle," Alexios hands you a dead mouse to feed your new companion, "Her name is Rhea,"

Once Rhea has taken her food and raced back into the sky - no doubt to play chase with Ikaros - you turn to Alexios and take him in your arms.

"I love you!" you blurt out, your heart touched by the gift you have just recieved.

Chuckling, Alexios buries his face in your hair, his muscles rippling with each laugh.

"I love you too, (Name)," he hums into your hair.

Together you stand there on the beach, watching the sun sink below the sea, hand in hand.

-

It's been well over a week since Alexios returned, and since then he's taken you to your favourite beach just outside Sparta to train you on how to handle your eagle. Also, it should be made clear, that there wall little training going on, as the two of you often descended into a heap on the sands, either with laughter or with love.

However, there is one such day that your session is cut short, by your lover turning to you with a pained expression on his face.

"My love...I...I've been called away again," he sighs, taking you into his arms and pressing a light kiss to your nose.

You know he can't help it, but you feel dissapointment at his announcement - it's a little selfish, but you just want to keep him by your side all the time.

"Alexios, I wish we could stay here together, in Lakos forever, without you having to go away all the time for missions," you murmur, burying your face into his shoulder,"I never know if you're safe until you come home again...I worry so much,"

Softly, Alexios pushes you away from him, only enough to look into your eyes properly.

"Do not worry, my love, for I have every intention of coming back," he grips your hands in his, the callouses on them worn and rough in all the right places,"Because when I get back, the first thing I'm doing is taking you to the temple to marry me, how does that sound?"

At Alexios' words, you burst into a torrent of joyful tears.

"I thought...you'd never ask!" You cry between sniffles, to which Alexios sweeps you into his arms again, before he claims your lips with his.

"I love you, (Name)," he mutters against your lips.

"I love you too, Alexios," you whisper back, already dreaming of your marriage to him.

High above, Ikaros and Rhea soar through the wisps of clouds, both keep a wary eye on you as they circle overhead. Needless to say, the eagles approve.

Chapter Text

Books, books, and more books - that is and has been your life for as long as you can remember. Even when you aren't working in your local library, you are browsing your local bookshop for new titles or curled up in your bed reading your new favourite - ah, you live and breathe books.

Whether they be fiction or non, you name it, you've read it.

Yet, as much as you love working in your little library, just on the edge of a university campus, you can't help but feel bored. Bored of seeing the same faces day after day, bored of watching the same students falls asleep over research tasks and waking them up over and over, bored of the nothingness provided to you by your empty job at the library.

One day, you notice a new student in your library. A woman, narrow shouldered yet strong and broad, her deep coffee hair neatly braided and wrapped around her head, almost like a crown. During those silent moments within your work you find yourself watching her, watching how the band of dark freckles across her porcelain cheeks crush together as she wrinkles her nose in frustration at what she's reading, watching how when she is deep in thought, she gently taps out a tune on the table with her elegant fingers.

She stays for only a few minutes at first, but after a few days, those minutes turn into hours, hours where you slyly glance over your shoulder to watch the woman work. She fascinates you, in a strange way, a way that makes you tingle a little inside every time she looks up from her work to smile at you. Wait...she's smiling at you? Does that mean anything? Is she dropping hints? Ooh lord you hope she is dropping hints!

As you continue your laborious work of labelling books, you notice she throws a few more soft smiles your way, but the next time to sneak a peek at her, she's gone.

Well, not gone. But moved, to stand right in front of you.

"Uh...c-can I help you?" you stammer, slightly spooked at how silently she moved to stand this close to you.

"Yes, you can help me," the girl giggles, the noise sounding like peals of bells from out of a church - ooh, wedding bells! Wha- okay now you're getting just a little carried away, but...um, what did she say again?

"Oh, er, hello? Are you alright?" the girl waves her hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your train of thought.

"Yes, yes I'm fine thanks, are you?" the words leave your mouth before you can keep them in, and you watch with utter fear as the sweet girl raises a single brow at your nervousness. Idiot.

"I'm Evie Frye," the girl blurts back, only now showing some nerves at talking to you, "I noticed you...looking, so I thought I'd introduce myself,"

Starting, you nearly drop the labeller you are holding. Oh shit...she saw you!

"Oh gosh I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to stare really! It's just you're...well you're really cute!" you gush, mortified in case she thinks you to be an utter weirdo.

Fortunately for you, Evie blushes a little, her pearl skin tinting a gentle rose pink as a shy smile creeps up her face.

"I'm (Name), by the way," you extend your hand to Evie, who takes it and shakes it in earnest, only letting go when she has held on for an abnormal length of time, "Do you have a phone or anything? Well, what I meant to say is - do you, wait, can I get your number?"

Evie opens her mouth to reply, only to have it cutoff by a rude interruption in the form of a well known troublemaker on campus: Jacob Frye.

"OI, oi what we got here then? Our Evie is on the pull," the dark haired man slides into the narrow gap between you and grins down at you.

Raising your brows, you watch as Evie rolls her eyes at who is obviously her brother, and shoves him out of the way.

"Get out, you! Can't you see I'm talking?" Evie brushes him off with an experienced hand, and whirls back to face you, "Sorry about my fool of a brother, I guess he's messed something up and wants me to clean up after him again,"

"Right you are!" Jacob cheers from the doorway, where Evie is already heading.

At her retreat, you feel as if a heavy weight has been placed upon your shoulders...no number then...

"Oh, and (Name)?" at her words, you flick your gaze back up, "Meet me by the fountain in the park at midday tomorrow,"

With that, she's gone, leaving you shivering a little with the sickly warm feeling overtaking your heart. You may not have gotten Evie Frye's number, but you did get a date with her!

Chapter Text

“Red sails on the horizon, Kenway,” you murmur, your shining eyes trained on the distant form of crimson sails slowly drifting towards it’s home at Fort Arsenal.

Haytham barely looks up from his seat at the wrought iron table, his glass of cooled ale long since warmed despite the shade from the rose strung garden house.

“Earlier than expected,” he muses, pausing at the cry of an eagle overhead, “Good,”

Shifting, you sigh as your eyes follow the path of a pale butterfly, it’s wings fresh and damp, as if it has only just burst from its cocoon. You are silent for some time, letting your breaths match the ebb and flow of the sea against the garden walls, then;

“I can’t wait any longer, I’m waiting for him on the docks,” you huff, trying to push down the bubbling excitement inside you.

At your words, Haytham merely nods, still not looking up from his documents at the table. Well, you can’t blame him - it’s not as if the love of his life is about to make land again, after what feels like forever. With a swish of your Templar robes, you make your way around the garden, nearly skipping down the stairs with glee as you see the scarlet sailed ship much closer than you had anticipated.

By the time you reach the dockside, the Morrigan has come to a stop, the wolf head at her bow meekly gazing out to sea, guarding her ship fiercely.

“Hello there Mrs. Cormac!” an ever happy voice calls out, and Gist waves at you from the wheel, joined by a few of the crew who know you well.

Grinning, you wave back - but you’re not looking for him, no. Your eyes search the deck for a certain, bronze eyed man, who practically hurdles over the side of his ship to get to you faster.

“My love, my love, I missed you,” he breathes, lunging at you from nowhere and wrapping you in a crushing hug.

Soothed by his warmth, you crumple into his arms, wrapping your own around his broad shoulders and clinging for life. Eyes shuttered to quell the tears, you bury your nose in his chest, smelling first the oiled leather of his overcoat, then the sharp tang of seasalt - not to mention the stench of not having a proper wash for weeks.

You resurface for air, only now realising the speed your heart is beating, and gulp down some fresh air. Dark bags line the skin beneath his eyes, and a dark smattering of stubble lines his jaw - he looks worse for wear, and in need of a good night’s sleep, but he’s yours...and he’s damned beautiful.

“You stink,” you giggle, pulling him down for a kiss before he can reply.

Shay practically melts into you, his lips soft and gentle yet yearning and needy. Oh how he’s missed you.

“We’ll have to take a bath together then, wont we?” he gets out between kisses, his voice oh so delicious to your eyes, like molten honey on sweet cakes.

“Oh, together?” you raise a brow in mock anger, “Are you saying I smell?”

Laughing at your words, Shay brings his lips close to your ear - these words are for you and only you to hear.

“No, love, I just think it’ll be a lot more...interesting with the two of us,” he sighs, his breath hot and cold against your skin at once.

Still in Shay’s arms, you smirk at him, leaning your head in the general direction of the house. Your fingers walk up his arms, and you find yourself rubbing your thigh against him.

“Well, if that’s the case then, we’d best get to it before Kenway kidnaps you for your next mission,” like a sly vixen, you slither out of his arms, and take his hands. A swish of your hips and a silent wink later, you have him following behind you like a lost puppy, his thoughts already turned on the night ahead.

Ah, he should come home more often.

Chapter Text

Putting down the pen, you sigh as you watch the dark ink dry on your letter. From your desk, the view of Paris is framed by the budding roses that coil around the lattice of your window, painted dark a deep honey with the light of the evening. The letter is for your mother, to whom you’d promised to write to every day since you left for Paris - however you’ve still yet to tell her about your new living arrangements.

On the floor below, you hear the clientele of Cafe Theatre natter the evening away, a cheer arising when - you assume - the patron of the establishment returns; Arno Dorian.

Since you were robbed on your arrival here, Arno was so kind to you has remained so since. He even went as far as to offer you a job and a room to stay in, in return for helping out at the cafe - so much so you’d deemed it too good to be true at first.

In the weeks since then, however, you’ve discovered that the offer is very, very real...as are your feelings for Arno. You can’t deny them, especially not after those secret dates, those little gifts - those shared kisses beneath the moonlight.

As you gaze out of the glazed window, watching the silent, dusky streets - a rare sight these days - you hear the distinct click of your door opening, and you don’t even have to turn to know it’s Arno.

“Evening, (Name),” he chirps, his navy robes swishing in the air as he approaches you.

“Good evening, Monsieur Dorian,” you smile up at him, adoring the way the sun illuminates his hazel eyes, turning them into molten bronze, “It’s lovely and quiet out,”

Resting his hand on your shoulder, Arno strokes at the lace of your dress with his thumb, almost absentmindedly. For a second, you wonder how the delicate touch of those fingers would feel against your skin, or even between your thighs...

“Please, how many times must I say it: call me Arno,” he laughs, “But I must agree - would you- ahem - would you care to walk out with me? I’d like to show you somewhere,”

Grinning at him, you graciously accept the offer, wanting nothing more than to spend time with the silken haired - and tongued - Frenchman.

Before long, the two of your are strolling through the streets of Paris, your arms intertwined. Golden light filters through the streamers of tricolore that waft from windows, and the sweet aroma of baking bread diffuses from the bakery on the corner. You know this part of Paris, having spent the last few weeks here, but Arno has warned you about the rising tensions, about wandering too far from the Cafe.

Eventually, you find yourself in unfamiliar territory, one hand gripping the light mint of your skirts as the other clings ever so tightly to Monsieur Dorian’s arm.

“Not far now,” he assures you, his pace picking up as he pulls you over a bridge. Before you reach the other side, however, he pauses, ordering you to close your eyes until he says so.

“Okay, climb onto my back, I need to get higher,” he asks, crouching down to give you a piggyback.

“What?”

“Just do it, mon amour,” he sighs, half pulling you onto him.

Seeing you have no other choice, you cling on tight, your eyes still screwed shut as Arno scales the building. Once he stops, and you are safely deposited on the roof tiles, Arno gives the go ahead for you to open your eyes.

“Arno...it’s beautiful,” you breathe, unable to tear your eyes away from the view of the Notre Dame at sunset.

From the rooftop, the aurel light of the sun refracts off the stained glass between the two towers, sending streamers in a myriad of colours shining across the square. It almost shimmers in your gaze, as you grip Arno’s hands, disbelief at the beauty you see written across your face.

“You’re beautiful,” Arno hums, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

His lips are so tender, so soft, making you shudder with delight as he presses another kiss your hands, this time moving further up your arm, all the way up to your shoulder - your neck even…

Then those plush lips of his flutter against the skin at your jaw, your legs nearly turning to jelly as you feel the warmth of his breath against your own lips.

“You’re lovely, you know that,” he smiles, “Lovely,”

Giggling, you pull back, searching his eyes for a moment.

“I’m glad I came here,” you hum, wrapping yourself up in his arms to watch the sunset.

Together, the two of you watch the sun sink lower and lower, the blue of the sky fading into the fires of dusk as the Notre Dame glistens in the evening. Eventually, as the sun retreats, the blank blackness of night takes over, it’s darkness consuming your sight like blinding smoke from a fire.

In the shadow of the Notre Dame, you gaze up at your lover, summoning up the words to speak until he gives to a questioning look.

“Are you alright, mon amour?” he strokes your cheek, his skin soft despite the callouses borne from carrying swords and climbing all day.

“Marry me, Arno,” you cling to his chest, “Marry me,”

The poor boy loses use of his lower jaw as he stares at you, wide eyed, until he finds the strength to speak again.

“Oui! Yes! Of course!” he splutters, taken aback by your request.

Feeling the joy bubble up inside you, you forget your position on the roof and throw yourself at him, coiling your arms around his shoulders to pull him close. In a final flare of brightness, the sun shines through the stained glass once more, showering Arno and you in all manner of colours once more.