Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Good boy,” Haytham had said.

Panting, spent, Connor wondered what it was about such a phrase that could have set him off so – praise for an obedient child, he thought scornfully, trying to be irked by it.

He had never thought of himself as particularly submissive – he was trying to assist a revolution after all! He was a rebel, a dissenter!

But why? A voice prompted him. Had he not spent most of his life obeying the will of others?

Why had he sought out Achilles and become an Assassin? Because a spirit told him to.

Why was he hunting down Templars, his father’s men? Because Achilles told him to.

Why was he assisting a revolution? Because he believed in a free world, certainly, but originally because men like Sam Adams and George Washington told him to.

Was this why he basked in Haytham’s praise, his approval?

So much so that the mere memory of it could grant his body sexual release?

He did not like to think so, but he was literally covered in the evidence.

Don’t you want to be a good boy for your father? the voice asked, mocking now, and tinged with suggestion.

No! Yes! I do not know! Connor thought, confused and frustrated.

The question plagued him, and it felt like an eternity before he was finally able to fall into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: If you're willing to do the three sentence fic may I request a modern AU with Ezio and Leonardo?

Leonardo had been suffering from a month-long spell of artist’s block, so Ezio had taken him out to the art gallery to admire the classics.

“Ah Ezio,” Leonardo sighed wistfully, looking around at all the Botticellis, Monets and Kahlos, “if I were able to produce a work half as great as these masterpieces I could die a happy man.”

“Nonsense, amore mio,” Ezio murmured, kissing his cheek, “the only masterpiece here is you.”

 Anonymous asked: could you do altair and malik in a pacific rim au? thanks!

It had been extremely difficult for Malik to return to piloting a Jaeger after the horrific death of his brother and the loss of his left arm.

Meeting Altair had changed all that however, the man’s challenging golden eyes and scarred smirk rekindling a fire he hadn’t felt in five years.

“Don’t get cocky, Altair,” Malik said, grinning despite himself after they killed their first Kaiju together, “you’re still a novice in my eyes.”

 Anonymous asked: 3 sentence fic prompt: AU ToKW where Connor meets Haytham instead of Ziio. (Wouldn't mind a full blown fic either :D)

While Haytham wouldn’t exactly have been Connor’s first choice of companion in this strange otherworld they seemed to find themselves in, he was nonetheless pleased to see a familiar face, even one as disagreeable as his father’s.

Yet, Haytham seemed different in this reality, less harsh, less caustic, if still not exactly warm.

Perhaps it was the tea of the Great Willow that had rendered him thus, Connor thought, his fingers tracing the triangular markings and sinuous lines that accentuated the curve and jut of musculature and bone - a mirror image of his own - or perhaps Haytham simply recognised that the common threat of Washington was far more important than the Assassin/Templar conflict; either way Connor thought, as a warm hand clasped his own, he was glad to have found a safe mooring in the raging storm, no matter how temporary.

 Anonymous asked: haytham/ziio, soul mates au? <3

For the first couple of decades of his life, Haytham would gaze at his wrist with some despair, wondering what kind of name ’Kaniehtí:io’ was, and where on earth he would find such a person.

As he became more and more entrenched in his new Templar duties however, it became less important to him to know, dismissed as yet another question in a sea of mysteries - at least that was until he boarded the Providence; the ship that would take him to the New World, and he began to wonder once again.

Upon infiltrating Southgate with his new Templar allies, Haytham encountered a Native woman with dark eyes and proud bearing, and he felt a strange pull towards her, though it was not until he freed her from her manacles and saw his own name inscribed upon her wrist that he knew for certain that he had found his Kaniehtí:io at last. 

Anonymous asked: More prompts! :) #1 - During the battle, Connor raises his blade to Haytham's neck but stops, then lets his hand fall away. Haytham lets go of Connor's neck and rages at him.

Fighting for breath, his father’s hands around his throat and choking the life out of him, Connor raises his arm to deliver the killing blow that will sever the life of his last remaining family, hesitates, then lets his hand fall back to the ground.

“Foolish boy,” Haytham hisses, loosening his grip - he is not able to kill his son if the Assassin will not fight back, “you are weak.”

"You are wrong, father,” Connor replies calmly, shoving Haytham back and shakily rising to his feet, “I have never been stronger.”

 Anonymous asked: #2 - Connor finds out Haytham was the one to sever the rope at his execution. Sentiment ensues.

“It was not your Assassins who saved you that day!” Haytham snapped, exasperated during one of their many fights, “oh certainly they came with their bows and shot an arrow at the rope, but it was my knife that severed it in the end.”

Connor stared at him, “Why would you do such a thing?” he asked, stunned.

"Because,” Haytham paused, then forged on, “because I would not see my only son perish at the end of a hangman’s noose, not then and not ever,” - Connor noticed the Templar’s words became an impassioned growl towards the end, but he didn’t think Haytham’s fury was directed at him; instead he seemed incensed by what he could have witnessed that day - it seemed the Grand Master was more sentimental than he’d thought. 

Anonymous asked: #3 - Connor wonders why he doesn't mind being touched by his father, of all people. Can be slashy. ;)

It was a truth now long accepted by Connor that the trauma he had suffered as a child had cursed him with an intense aversion to physical contact.

And yet, he thought, flushing slightly, there was one person whose touch wasn’t so unbearable… - his thoughts stuttered to a halt as he felt lips against his throat, a strong arm circling around his waist, and a voice whispering, “what are you thinking about?”

“You,” Connor answered truthfully, and was rewarded by a low chuckle as he was drawn back into his father’s arms.

Anonymous asked: For the 3 sentence fic maybe? Haytham wearing those pretty women lacey nighties? *hides*

Connor didn’t know what he’d been expecting when Haytham finally returned to the bedroom, but seeing his father standing in the doorway, dressed in nothing but clinging black silk and lace was not it.

Connor swallowed, nervous and aroused, as Haytham approached looking predatory, and inhaled sharply as the older man paused, smirking at the side of the bed.

Haytham opened his mouth to say something provocative, but was interrupted by his son grabbing him around the waist and pulling him down onto the bed, where he proceeded to claim every inch of skin he could reach; the silk stays on.

Chapter Text

Why Haytham had allowed Connor to drag him along for a romp into the verdant expanse of the Frontier, he couldn’t recall.

Perhaps it was the hopeful expression that had crossed his son’s face, or perhaps the suggestive glint in his eye.

Either way, he found himself quite irritable after they’d been walking for fifteen minutes or so. What was the point of this? He had far more important things to be doing.

At last Connor came to a stop.

“I wanted to show you this place,” he explained, indicating the small clearing with a stream running nearby. 

It was a nice spot, Haytham had to admit, though he did not say anything of the sort out loud.

“And what do you intend to do now that we are here?” he asked haughtily, unimpressed.

Connor rolled his eyes. He knew his father was being deliberately abrasive. “A few things come to mind,” he drawled, finding a soft patch of ground and sitting down, spreading his legs slightly.

“And what would those be?” the Templar asked, tone bored, though his eyes followed Connor’s movements intently.

Connor smirked at him. “Come here.”

“If you think I’ll let you get away with ordering me around…” Haytham grumbled even as he obeyed, moving closer and kneeling in front of his son.

Connor said nothing, just smiled at him before reaching forward to tug Haytham closer.

Haytham barely had time to brace his hands against the soft earth before he was pulled down on top of the Assassin who looked up at him hungrily, his eyes darkening.

The Templar rolled his eyes and leaned down to kiss him firmly. “Is this some secret fantasy of yours? he asked dryly. ”To be ravished in a forest?“ 

"Be quiet,” Connor growled, and pulled him back down for another kiss.

Chapter Text

Connor looked on in supreme annoyance as the barmaid sent his father yet another sultry glance from beneath her lashes, bending down just slightly further than was strictly necessary to reveal the low neckline of her blouse.

Haytham didn’t appear to be paying her any mind, Connor was pleased to see, but her attempts to capture his attention were still grating on his nerves.

“Can we go upstairs for a moment?” he asked in an undertone, breaking the silence.

Haytham gave him a questioning look. “What for?”

“I…” Connor hesitated. “I want to tell you something.”

The Templar did not look convinced, but rose to his feet nonetheless and followed Connor to their hired tavern room.

Still irritated by the barmaid’s display, Connor barely waited until the door was shut behind them both before launching himself at Haytham, shoving him back against the door and pinning him there with his weight.

“What’s gotten into you?” Haytham asked, breathless and amused, only to be answered with a biting kiss.

Connor’s lips continued along his jaw, pausing to growl against his ear, “You are mine.”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?” Haytham scoffed, pushing back at Connor in an attempt to regain some space.

Connor didn’t budge. “Say it,” he snarled.

Haytham just smirked infuriatingly at him. “I’ll do no such thing.”

The Assassin bared his teeth in frustration, his grip on his father tightening. “Now.”

His father rolled his eyes at him. “Oh very well,” he relented. His smile turned feral and filthy. “I’m all yours,” he said with deliberate slowness, eyes darkening with arousal.

Connor all but moaned, crushing Haytham against the wood of the door and kissing him hungrily. 

Neither of them were seen at the bar for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

Haytham was not a kind man.

Clever, yes, and certainly ruthless, but not kind.

Connor knew this.

He saw the coldness with which his father operated every day, saw the brutality he resorted to to get his way.

But he knew there was more to Haytham than that.

For beneath the Grand Master’s mask of indifference lay a far warmer, more caring man than perhaps anyone could have guessed.

Connor liked to think he was the only one aware of this little secret of Haytham’s.

He was the only one who knew how tender his kisses were, how gentle his hands.

He knew how Haytham did not fight his son’s naturally dominating nature but instead would arch, groaning, into the Assassin’s eager touch.

When they fought, Haytham’s eyes would flash with barely contained fury, his sharp tongue venomous with insults.

There was none of that when he took Connor.

He preferred to take things slow, gentle, unhurried.

Perhaps it was the only time he felt he was able to.

Either way, Connor thought, as he enjoyed Haytham’s lips dragging heatedly across his throat, he knew this was a secret he alone had been entrusted with.

It was a secret he meant to keep.

Chapter Text

It hadn’t escaped Haytham’s notice that the newest addition to the Order, Shay, was a rather attractive young man.

His eyes were a lovely warm shade of brown, prone to dancing with mischief and often set alight with good humour. His cheekbones were sharp and well-defined, and he possessed a good strong chin.

However the feature that most often occupied Haytham’s attention was the man’s lips. 

He frequently found his eyes drawn to them, wondering what they’d feel like beneath his own, wondering what they’d taste like…

Perhaps he’d been too obvious for finally one day he was drawn aside by Shay and found himself with those same tantalising lips pressed firmly against his, a muffled gasp escaping him as he was kissed long and hard.

When they broke apart Shay’s mouth was curved in an unrepentant smirk.

“Thought I’d save you the trouble, sir,” he drawled, brushing past Haytham without a backwards glance.

For once in his life Haytham was left utterly lost for words, touching fingers to his mouth and feeling rather perplexed.

Chapter Text

It had begun with a series of covert glances, stolen when each man thought the other wasn’t looking. Before long they had begun to catch each other in the act, leading to prolonged moments of eye contact until one or both of them looked away.

This time however… this time it was different.

They had already been standing close to each other when they found themselves caught in each others’ gaze, Connor’s eyes widening when Haytham didn’t look away.

Saying nothing, Connor took a step closer, and then another until he was standing directly in front of his father. 

Haytham wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the situation, but even he couldn’t ignore the feeling of sheer magnetic attraction that seemed to be hanging between them.

But how could be certain Connor felt the same?

“Do you-” he began, just as Connor said “I…-”

They both broke off again. 

Then, as though some silent unspoken signal had passed between them they both moved towards each other. 

There was only a second’s worth of hesitation before they were kissing, tentative at first, then increasing in ardour as they realised they both wanted the same thing.

Neither man said the words aloud, but the message was clear nonetheless.

Despite everything, it seemed they were in love.

Chapter Text

They were having one of their arguments again.

“I don’t know how many times we must exhaust the point until you are satisfied, Connor,” Haytham snarled, already feeling a headache beginning to form. “Freedom does not automatically signify safety or happiness or wellbeing!”

“But the people must have the right to choose!” Connor snapped back. “It should not be the responsibility of the few to decide the fate of the many!”

It was a path they’d travelled many times together, but this time Haytham had had enough. Irritated beyond belief at his son’s inability to see, to understand, his blood was running hot in his veins, his frustration simmering dangerously below the surface.

Luckily he had a far more constructive activity in mind to release some of the pent-up anger the two of them were experiencing.

Haytham stepped closer and took a firm hold of Connor’s chin in one hand, pleased when the Assassin didn’t stiffen but instead met his gaze squarely.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Haytham said quietly, “and you’re going to be silent and I’m not going to hear another word on this matter for the rest of the day. Am I understood?”

Connor looked at Haytham’s mouth and licked his lips. “Yes, father.”

“Good.”

But when Connor made to lean forward and initiate a kiss himself, Haytham simply stepped backwards out of reach, earning a scowl from his son. 

Haytham smirked, but before Connor could come up with a suitably scathing comment he was being pulled towards the object of his ire so the Templar could kiss him hard on the mouth.

It was certainly not the gentlest kiss they’d ever shared - Haytham was still annoyed - but Connor liked how rough it was, relishing the feeling of his father’s tongue as it violated his mouth.

When they broke apart they both felt a lot calmer.

Except…

“Freedom is still better,” Connor said with a grin, then was up and out of the window before Haytham could start yelling again.

Chapter Text

The sound of thunder never failed to make Connor homesick.

Among his people, the first thunderstorm of spring was celebrated with a ceremony, with tobacco thrown on the fire so that the resulting smoke would be sent up to greet the spirits.

Sitting by himself within the wilderness of the frontier, Connor watched the heavy clouds roll overhead, saw the wild arcs of lightning and heard the powerful crashes of thunder that followed. 

His throat tightened.

Long past were the days he would rush out of his mother’s longhouse to greet the pouring rain with open arms.

Long past were the days that the pungent scent of tobacco would assault his nostrils as it filled the air, combining with the smell of wet soil.

Those days were over.

He was alone.

Chapter Text

It was no secret that Haytham and Connor didn’t exactly get along.

They were too different, and yet too similar in all the wrong ways.

Stubborn, headstrong and argumentative as they were, it was no surprise that their conversations devolved into arguments more often than not. As a result, any kind of cooperation between them was rare and chafed at both of them, accustomed as they were to working alone.

Indeed the only time it seemed they were able to reach any true kind of coordination was when they were either fighting or fornicating.

After all the principles were rather alike, whether it ended with one of them trapped between a wall and their opponent’s blade, or slammed against a solid surface and fucked into submission.

They were equals in both rage and lust, and it didn’t matter who won their scuffles for dominance because if it was Connor who won this time, it was just as likely to be Haytham the next.

The truth was that they lived for the thrill of it, the surge of adrenaline, the pleasure of facing an equal.

It was satisfaction they couldn’t attain anywhere else, so they kept coming back.

Again and again and again.

Chapter Text

Approaching Connor had been a mistake. Haytham saw that now. If his son’s odd wolf-skin garb hadn’t tipped him off that something was different, the feral, predatory way Connor had stalked towards him should have been enough.

And yet he’d continued forward anyway, hoping against hope that Connor was a beacon of normalcy in this surreal alternate landscape he’d found himself in.

Once they were within shouting distance, Connor braced himself as if to pounce, followed by a quick flash of shimmering wings that were upon him within the blink of an eye. Haytham had no chance to react before they were upon him, disappearing again as the heavy weight of Connor barrelled into him, knocking him bodily into the snow.

“Connor-” Haytham began, startled, only to growl in annoyance as he found himself swiftly turned over and pinned on his stomach.

“Are you with Washington?” Connor snarled, breath hot by his ear.

“What nonsense is this?” Haytham replied, irritated. “I have never offered you anything but criticism of Washington, let alone allied with him.”

To his surprise, he sensed Connor relaxing slightly, though he did not release him. “What is the last thing you remember?” he asked, more calmly.

Trying to ignore the indignity of being pinned, Haytham let his mind wander back. “We were fighting at Fort George,” he remembered finally, wondering. “I- you killed me. But then how...”

With a huff, Connor finally released him, shoving him away and sitting back on his haunches, apparently unbothered by the snow despite his bared arms and chest. “I do not know either,” he informed him gravely, eyes striking behind the decorative streaks. “But somehow Washington has a Piece of Eden he is using for ill. I thought I was the only one who remembered the other time. But... you are from there too.”

Tempted as he was to mock what sounded like insane ravings, Haytham bit his tongue. He thought he understood. “You don’t look like the Connor I am used to,” he commented instead.

Connor nodded. “My village... they were still there,” he said haltingly, clearly trying not to say too much. “They gave me these clothes. My mother...”

Haytham’s gaze sharpened at once. “Ziio is alive?”

Connor bit his lip, shaking his head. “She was. Washington...” he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish. The wound was still very fresh, Haytham surmised.

Haytham sighed, moving closer to where Connor sat. Connor, watching warily, let him.

“So you – we- have lost her twice,” Haytham said, mildly surprised to feel a genuine pang of fresh grief. He thought he had managed to put that behind him years ago.

“I do not know what to do,” Connor murmured softly, looking oddly vulnerable despite his fierce appearance. “I have been granted these powers...”

Powers... that explained the wings from earlier.

“I am not sure it is enough. Washington has an army, all controlled by his Piece of Eden.”

Haytham turned slightly to look at Connor face-to-face, watching him closely before gently touching his cheek, the gesture as natural as it had been in their better-known timeline.

“Listen to me, Connor,” he began seriously. “If you are able to take down my Templar operation single-handedly and without powers, I can only assume you’ll decimate whatever shoddy operation Washington is running.”

Connor smirked ever so slightly at that. “You speak very highly of yourself, Father. As far as I know, you did not ever have a Piece of Eden at your disposal.”

Haytham was somewhat mollified by Connor leaning into his hand and didn’t respond.

They looked at each other for a long, lingering moment, and then Connor leaned forward, taking Haytham’s face in his hands to kiss him as hungrily as he used to, back when they were neither friend nor foe, and yet both at the same time.

Haytham groaned in relief at the familiarity of it and allowed his son to control the kiss, pleased that at least this strange realm they found themselves in had one thing in common with the old. Connor was deliciously relentless too, kissing him deeply, possessively, until Haytham felt as though he were being consumed by those newly-sharpened fangs.

When they finally pulled apart for breath, Connor ducked his head and said nothing for a long moment. Haytham watched him quietly, wondering where his thoughts lay.

“I killed you,” Connor said quietly. “You may be alive here, but in another life I watched you breathe your last. I cannot just... forget that.”

“Then don’t,” Haytham advised, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “But in the meantime, if Washington rules this world as you say, I doubt he will have any more love for me than he does you. To that end, I believe I shall have to fight by your side.” He paused. “If you will have me, of course.”

Connor raised his head, and Haytham was alarmed to note the dampness about his fierce eyes. “I already lost my mother again, in this world. I do not want to see you fall too.”

Haytham scoffed. “I am not particularly easy to kill, if you remember,” he replied, teasing, but Connor’s thoughts looked far away.

“You are no threat to Washington at the moment,” he said bluntly. “I would not have been either, but for these powers. I do not think the trial will accept you, as you are an outsider, but perhaps there are other ways you can be useful.”

Haytham looked at him sharply, unimpressed by the implication, but Connor just smiled cheekily at him, giving Haytham no choice but to kiss him again, silencing his son’s foolish words.