He has called you in to his study. He is the Grandmaster and the boss; you have no reason not to go. Standing in the dim, candlelit room, he paces around you, boot heels clicking softly on the hard wooden floor.
His posture is ridged, hands clasped firmly behind his back as he saunters around you. You don’t dare turn your head to follow him when he moves out of sight, but you can still hear the click of his shoes and his soft breathing.
Haytham is dressed neatly and formally, as usual. You notice he has allowed himself the luxury of removing his hat, something he does not often do, even when in doors. His dark ponytail is flecked now with grey, a few more lines around his mouth and eyes but he still has the speed and stamina of a man half his age. You swallow, memories creating a sudden pang of arousal throughout your body. God! You can certainly attest to his stamina.
‘You have been naughty.’ His voice is deep, rich; you can almost feel it caress your skin like a silk glove. Haytham appears back in your line of sight. ‘Nothing to say, hmmm?’
‘Um-‘ You trail off, wondering just what response he is looking for.
He smirks at you, the corners of his mouth rising ever so slightly. In one step he has closed any kind of distance between your bodies; you can now feel the hem of his long navy coat brush against your legs.
It is very distracting having him so close. You inhale deeply, slightly spicy cedar wood smell of him. You can feel the warmth radiate off his body. He barely raises his voice above a whisper, ‘Your behaviour has been…unacceptable.’
You clench, his tone a distinct threat. The back of his hand slowly rises and he caresses your cheek lightly. Long, elegant fingers caress down to your lips, thumb trailing over your bottom lip before he leans in to capture your mouth with his own.
You melt into his kiss, his mouth moving under you, lips firm and wet and full of passion. You can’t help your reaction; he has always been so damn attractive and arousing to you.
Haytham pulls away looking pleased with himself as your eyes flutter open, lips slightly parted. Smiling, you know what he wants, what he has called you here for and it has nothing to do with the Templar Order. You inch forwards, trying to close the gap, looking for another lovingly hot kiss but he pulls back further, a smugly arrogant smirk playing across his face.
‘I said you are in trouble.’ Turning his back on you, you watch those broad shoulders head further towards his desk. He casually glances back, tone playful, ‘You think you deserve a reward for such behaviour?’
You chance rebelliousness and aim for a flirty response, ‘Yes.’
The Grandmaster halts and turns fully, looking at you, amusement filling his eyes as a small smile plays across his lips. He enjoys your backchat and your independence, your playfulness with him.
You work well for him, for the Order, you know full well Haytham indulges you and only ever so occasionally decides it is time to pull you into line, to teach you a lesson.
Unbuttoning his jacket, he drapes it across the back of his chair, cool grey eyes never leaving you. You lick your lips and try not to squirm in anticipation, your brain crying ‘oh yes’, over and over in eagerness, knowing full well what is coming next. You love seeming him undress, watching him take off all those layers during the small intimate times you manage to spend together. Haytham never removes clothing unnecessarily; outside of your relationship he never so much as removes his jacket. Shirtsleeves indicate informality, a casualness that is unacceptable to him. He is the Grandmaster and never anything else, all others submit to him.
He surprises you by not removing any more clothing, instead sitting down in his desk chair, posture upright and formal.
‘Take your clothes off.’ It is not a request; his tone indicates nothing but command.
You blurt out before even thinking about it, ‘What?’
He raises one eyebrow in the most sinister way imaginable; the look he gives you is unimpressed.
‘There should be a “Sir”, in there.’
So this is where it’s going. He is in the mood to put you in your place. You make a small noise in your throat as you watch him slowly roll up the sleeves of his white shirt, folding them neatly up to his elbows, enticingly exposing muscular tanned forearms. You try again, a little breathy, ‘I’m sorry, Sir?’
Haytham cocks his finger at you, beckoning towards him, ‘Take your clothes off-you may leave your underwear on, for now-and come here.’
You hesitate, the fact he is telling you to take your clothes off suggests you will at least be getting sex tonight, but you wonder what he has planned before then, you aren’t even in his bedroom.
A loud sigh startles you from your contemplation, his voice sexually malicious,’ If I have to get out this chair, you are going to be sorry my dear.’
What do you mean Lucy is a traitor and half this group is dead? I can’t hear you over my own loud denials that any game after Brotherhood even happened.
I gave myself the challenge to write something different and quicker. I thought I’d need an hr max but no it was more like 3, and I managed to make myself cry. Wonderful.
Warnings: No NSFW, angst with a happy ending, implied suicidal ideation, so much trauma, mentions of death, mentions of injuries.
Everything around him felt like a blur.
To be completely honest, it had felt like the world around Connor had twisted into a delirious, confusing mess for way too long at that point. Once he arrived to what he knew was Charles Lee’s hiding spot something amidst the general chaos had hit him on the back of the head; it was too late now to ponder on whether it had been the last, desperate attempt of one of Lee’s men to protect their Grandmaster or if it was just a cruel twist of fate. The only thing he knew was that something wasn’t right with himself, the adrenaline-fueled surge of strength that had coursed through his flesh and blood was suddenly gone, as if he didn’t experience enough betrayal for one lifetime it was now his body that pathetically yielded under the ever growing weight of his duty. Duty towards the people who needed his protection, towards the phantoms of the dead that never let him rest easy at night.
Connor couldn’t help himself and chuckled at the thought. In his head it made sense, whatever unknown forces were reigning on this cruel, unforgiving place decided to finally punish his bravado- Calling the plan he devised risky was a gross understatement. Thinking he could execute it and leave the fort unscathed was a naive fantasy, just like the thought that Haytham- his father would listen to him in the end, that just this one time peace could have been an option and his blade wouldn’t have to sink into another’s throat. The part that it was his own blood he was forced to kill didn’t make his thoughts any happier. Perhaps to protect himself, to delay his processing of such a scarring event a big part of Connor thought that what happened after the hit wasn’t real. In reality he was killed by the hit, locked away in some sort of eternal limbo where the events he wanted (needed) to happen would become reality but as a punishment for his hubris he was forced to witness his very being be contorted into something that stopped resembling him all together .
A figure was staring at him from the murky depths of a fishing pond, its dark eyes, drowned in uneven smudges of black paint were unfocused and devoid of any emotion. Pain had been the only companion in what Connor was sure would be his last journey, the constant that kept him anchored to reality and instilled doubt in the fact that maybe- just maybe what he was feeling was his personal purgatory. He wasn’t living in a limbo made to avenge all the lives he had taken, regardless of whether it was right or not of him to do it. Despite it being the only tangible feeling he could make out from the whirlwind of broken pieces his mind had become, the pain felt impossibly far and disconnected from his body, less than any other sensation but still dull enough to where reality itself was still hazy around the edges. The relentless pounding at the back of his head made his vision blurry, the image staring back at him from the tranquil waters didn’t become any more recognizable with the occasional ripple of the pond. Connor forced his eyes to focus, to try and stare back at the reflection. The only thing he received in return was a pair glimmering tears further clouding his vision, slowly slipping on his burning cheeks as the ache in his body grew.
Trough the static-like ringing that wouldn’t leave his ears Connor heard footsteps in quick succession, the only words he could make out from the panicked crowd were about someone killing Charles Lee; he didn’t even have to tell his body to slip away from the small fishing pond and sloppily stumble into a patch of tall, snow covered grass. He was conscious enough to muffle the pained groan that escaped his lips, despite his muscle memory having come to his rescue once again it had also driven some of the wooden splinters deeper into the gash on his flank. A searing pain flashed from his abdomen toward one of his muscular legs, it hurt more than before but he still couldn’t find it within himself to care. It threatened to give out; for the second time his body was betraying him and protesting, signaling to the assassin that he needed to rest or else the death he had been trying so hard to elude - just for a little longer, until his duty was complete - would claim with the same indifference he reserved to his pain, his feelings. He would return to the land unbeknownst to anyone just as he had fulfilled his purpose and avenged the dead, so close but oh so far away from home…
Home.
For Connor it was a weird feeling, bittersweet was the best way to describe it. When Washington’s troops set fire to his village it was as if his connection to home had been irreparably severed, not only was he separated by space but also time. It was never the same even if his people stood strong, that event acted as a catalyst for the miserable turn his life had taken. As he felt his body sinking into the ground, fevered skin meeting the comforting chill of freshly fallen snow, his mind suddenly remembered: the gentle touch of his mother’s hand carefully disappearing into a mess of inky hair, threading carefully as she showed Ratonhnhaké:ton how to braid his hair. He tried to focus on her face, only to find it as blurry as everything else around him. Everything started to spin in a kaleidoscopic haze: the ground was mixing with the vibrant shades of the beadwork his mother had set to the side to give her son her full attention. The distant sound of his friend’s voices calling for him to come out and join in whatever adventure they had planned, the smells of dishes he hadn’t tasted in so long… It was all mixing into an intangible fever dream as the assassin’s body was fighting it’s way out of the comforting reveries from a different time and place.
His body started moving anew, renewed energy coursing through his veins while his mind was still trapped between dream and reality, deep-rooted survival instincts took over and told him to run. The footsteps were now far away now and almost imperceptible against the tinnitus that plagued his ears, the search party sent to kill him had probably scattered; he couldn’t let go now, he was so close to the homestead that even with how shaken up he was the roads still felt familiar enough to regain some sense of orientation.
Connor had always known that the majority of people would consider him a ruthless criminal, his father’s last words about the Templars being ever resourceful still a grim reminder, yet there was one person who he knew would never be swayed by any amount of misinformation or propaganda about him. If he died right there, away from prying eyes, he was sure there would be one place and a person in particular who wouldn’t just mourn him and move on. Just imagining your reaction on finding his cold body buried under who knows how many layers of snow broke Connor in ways he thought weren’t possible anymore, the throbbing pain in his head got insistently stronger and the gash on his side ripped due to the sheer intensity of his running. He couldn’t- wouldn’t allow himself the selfishness of drowning into the comforting arms of death just yet. Letting go would propagate the sorrow and grief to the one he had sworn to protect the most, he knew that you always preferred actions to words and his loss would lead you down to the exact path that he had once embraced; you would take the remaining Templars down one by one to drown the grief, make sure nobody else had to suffer the death the man they loved just like you did, and then you’d find the same soul-crushing numbness he found at the end of the path.
The air felt stifling, as if Connor’s throat was being constantly constricted by a tight would string- The chase after Lee was maddening and littered with all the anger he tried to repress when his mother died, the moment when she made him promise that he would make it out alive was permanent seared in his memories. Inside that inflamed building he had inhaled who knows how much smoke and his lungs were giving out, but the path to your house was close, he knew it by heart so he pushed trough the pain, the cynical thoughts and the part of himself that desperately wanted to let it all go. It was his only chance of seeing the future he had relentlessly fought for, he needed to resist just a little longer.
Home also meant something else, a different voice now repeating his real name over and over. He could hear it clearly over the ringing in his ears, like a desperate mantra he wanted to focus on as the world around him grew dark. He smiled when he made out your features, a mix of horror and deep sorrow washing over your face when you saw the man you loved stumble towards you; Ratonhnhaké:ton knew that you would be angry at him for disappearing without a word, for not taking care of himself and coming back to you at the brink of death. You probably wouldn’t let out of your sight for at least a month while you were both battling with the psychological repercussions of him pulling such a stunt but he wouldn’t have it any other way if it meant he could forge ahead, even if it was just for another day.
Perhaps this was his chance to mend what was broken, even if it would never be the same as before.
bwahahaha I miss my husband. I miss him a lot. I’ll be back. I lowkey wanna make a Templar reader version too… eventually, someone pls sit me down and squeeze the writing out of me
Warning: sfw, cheating mentioned
Haytham has accomplished so much In his life that it lead up to him having a bit of an ego so he isn’t the kind of man that will marry to conform with what society expects him to do. When he was younger it really isn’t a priority, given the life that he leads he is constantly on the go and wouldn’t have had the time to find a stable partner. As he starts growing older the thought of actually falling in love with someone feels and more like a weakness that is ready to be exploited, perhaps it’s his cynical side speaking after a life surrounded by loss. To make Haytham consider you as a potential marriage candidate you’d have to be someone who not only lives rent free in his head but also tugs a little at his heartstrings, revealing the soft interior of a very hurt and guarded man.
He marries for love, you can’t convince me otherwise. He might not think he is in love but the man is always at work to make sure you’re safe, thinks constantly of you during what little free time he gets when he’s away and most importantly, doesn’t even dream of asking you anything in return. It’s one of the rare cases in his adult life where he doesn’t see a bond with a person as transactional.
When you’re involved he really has to work hard to conciliate his desire to be respectful of your independence and the need to protect you from any sort of harm; He mostly does so by using the scheming and manipulation skills he is used to rely on. Ideally you’ll never find out about what he is working on behind the scenes but that is wishful thinking because he fell for someone who sees beyond the lies. It will lead onto bitter fights and your trust broken, expect him to use the same techniques to worm his way back into your heart. His wit and charm work ridiculously well on you and at a certain point you’ll have to accept that willing or not you’ll have to take part in his schemes.
You come to the conclusion that he really can’t help himself when he feels like you’re in danger but you also see how he is willing to put his own life on the line to make sure that whatever you’re running from will not touch you. Wether that makes you fall even more head over heels or you consider it reckless, you have a chance to at least make him reveal (and maybe participate) in what has in mind if you’re persistent enough. With enough time and endless amounts of patience you’ll be able to get a peek into what he’s really thinking, what his fears are and you’ll notice that he will walk away from these conversations like a completely different person- Almost like a bit of the weight of the many responsibilities he has has been lifted from his shoulders.
It wouldn’t really matter to him if you’re a civilian or someone who is in the Templar’s ranks, although the dynamic would change a little bit due to him having to keep parts of his life secret. Both would potentially have their pros and cons but Haytham has never put that much thought into what he prefers.
If his S/O was a civilian it would mean that he would have to lead a double life, ideally forever. It doesn’t really evoke any sense of guilt in him at first, hiding his affiliation with the order feels more like a way to keep you safe than what it really is. You’re better off living your ordinary life while completely unaware of the fact that he is a Templar Grandmaster, he can keep you hidden away from people who could potentially exploit you or worse, hurt you to get to him. It might be a bit of a justification though, something that he tells himself to ignore biggest reason why he wouldn’t want to reveal his line of work to you: he is afraid of you leaving if you were to discover the truth.
When he’s with you he is a model husband though, every woman around you is green with envy because of his polished looks and magnetic personality, his care for you also really shows in the little gestures: Haytham looks at you so fondly whenever you link your arm with his during your evening stroll, if he spots anything suspicious along the road he is the type of person to let you walk on the safer side just to make sure. He also effortlessly helps you out of the carriage if you struggle with the height of the step, wether you suspect that there is more to him than what he lets on there is nobody you would feel safer around.
The only downside to having him as a husband when you’re a civilian is that he will be away from home for months at the time. His cover story is that he is a trader affiliated with the British so he spends a lot of time either at different big cities that work as trading hubs or on a ship crossing the Atlantic. He never introduces you to any of his coworkers for obvious reasons; You’ve always found it a bit odd as your friends will have to host dinners for their husbands and business partners but you appreciate not having this responsibility thrown on you. When he’s away for more than 3 months he writes to you often and might get a little needy if it takes you too long to answer, he never says it explicitly but you’ll notice that his words will feel sweeter as if to coax out your affections.
Unlike other men, he is supportive of you doing things that society doesn’t expect women to do: if you’re particularly fond of the arts he will proudly ask you to hang whatever painting you want in the halls of your home. If you’re talented at writing he will be the first to read your work, perhaps even use a few of his Templar connections to publish your work if you’d allow him to. He appreciates your independence and willingness to learn new things a lot, he leaves the management of the household and surrounding estate all in your hands. It is hard work when you’re not used it but it keeps you busy in a positive way. Haytham will occasionally give you some advice but mostly likes hearing you ramble about the new mill you were planning on building, any gossips about your employees or how the crops have been growing. (Also because he has to run his own background checks on whoever you intend to hire, it’s going to be almost impossible to make him drop this habit.)
He will bring home books about whatever subject interest you even if it might end up leading you closer to the truth about his actual identity. The fact that you’re as educated as he is is one of the things that made him fall for you in the first place, he understands your curiosity as someone who also thrives on it and can’t resist seeing you be mesmerized by whatever knowledge you’re seeking. Absolutely loves spoiling you in other ways as well, none of his gifts are extremely grandiose or eccentric as he still has to keep both of you from drawing too much attention but whatever he gets you is always high quality: gowns made from the finest silk, adorned by delicate embroideries and matching bonnets, thick fur coats to keep you warm during lonely winter nights and jewelry, so much of it… If there’s anything you want he will get his hands on it, even if not always in the most ethical ways.
Whenever he is in an area where he stops being your husband and starts being the Templar Grandmaster he has the habit of taking his wedding band off. Only a few select people inside the order are aware that he is a married man and even they have very limited information on you. He knows that revealing any information could potentially send anyone amongst his many enemies to dig around and find out who you are, he wouldn’t know what to do if you got kidnapped, or maybe even killed. If you were to catch him without his wedding band you’d obviously assume that he lost it or worse, that he was cheating on you- if confronted about him he will reveal to you where it was all along: a thin golden chain dangles around his neck, unless you knew what you were looking for it would be impossible to spot it as it was completely covered by his shirt. Only by unbuttoning it further do you finally see the ring, sitting flush against the skin of his chest- Haytham says it’s because he wants to keep you close to his heart and for a second you doubt wether he is being entirely truthful but you know your husband, he is more than willing (and happy) to prove that there is no other woman in his life, in whatever way you think works best.
Author's Note: This was written (mostly back in like 2023ish..) after spending an unhealthy amount of time staring at this fanart of Haytham. Also the shirtless render of Haytham in the graphic is from this post.
Tagging: @sangheilihoes @vivvysstuff
You gaze down at the dashing man sprawled on the bed beneath you - your hands flat on his chest, his resting up above his head - drinking in every detail you could by the dim light in your boudoir. Deep-set slate eyes regard you calmly, a slight smirk pulling at his features. You aren't usually the one to be positioned atop, but here you are, straddling his hips in absolutely nothing. Your Templar companion however, remains in just his off-white breeches, which - to your delight - do little to hide what they contain.
The warm candlelight casts deep, long shadows from his sharp cheekbones, the strong Grecian-style nose, and those beautiful lips. God, how you love those lips. They were always soft and supple against yours, always smooth and plush. Silky dark locks peppered with grey fan out across the pillow and spill over one shoulder. The flicker of firelight reflects off the graying strands that originate over his ears, giving the impression that his long black hair is streaked with silver and steel as you card your fingers through its strands. You run your hands appreciatively over his muscular, rounded shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch up beneath his skin whenever he lifts his hands to gently grab your hips. Your hands continue their journey down his chest, caressing the diamond of soft, fine hair that spreads across his pectorals and points down toward his navel, where a smaller patch of hair trails beneath the waistband of his breeches.
“What did I do to deserve you, Haytham…” you murmur dreamily, forever in awe at how fortunate you were to have the Grandmaster's affection, as you plant your hands back on his chest and lean forward, softly pressing your lips to his. He responds with a large hand on the back of your head, pulling you in for a more fervent kiss before sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing delicately with his teeth. You make a small, involuntary noise and you can feel his member twitch beneath you, begging to be released from the snug confines of his trousers. You smile against Haytham's mouth, rolling your hips so that you slowly grind yourself against his bulge, enjoying how you can feel his breathing quicken beneath you. You trail your tongue along his lower lip, and he happily opens his mouth to you. As you deepen the kiss, a low sound rumbles through Haytham's chest, and you can feel him continue to swell. When you pull away his gaze follows you, a desperate look painting his typically stoic face. The Grandmaster isn't one to beg you with words, but his eyes plead with you to do more than tease him. You decide it's time to finally oblige.
You slowly unbutton his trousers, keeping your eyes on his face and enjoying how flustered you're capable of making your Grandmaster with very little effort. His breathing hitches slightly as you undo the last button, freeing his already throbbing cock from its former confines. You tenderly run your hand up his remarkably warm length, enjoying the silky skin and taking a moment to admire Haytham's rather impressive endowment. Those piercing grey eyes are dark with arousal, but quickly screw shut when you stroke him languidly, root to tip. His excitement glistens atop the head of his cock, a droplet rolling down his shaft along the path left by a large vein.
Haytham's parted lips and labored breathing tell you of his increasing arousal - if his throbbing cock hadn't - but as you continue to slowly play with and admire his manhood, the narrowing of those dark eyes and the set of his jaw signal impatience brewing. You grin a little. You love teasing him, but you know his willful restraint only goes so far. His leaking cock twitches in your hand, so very warm and begging to be given more attention. You oblige by unmounting the Grandmaster's pelvis, and you begin to shimmy the off-white breeches the rest of the way down his legs - revealing the remainder of his manhood in all its glory. You lean forward just enough to drag your tongue back and forth over the swollen head of his cock, enjoying the salty taste of his arousal. Haytham makes a husky noise of appreciation as you take him into your mouth, and an involuntary buck of his hips quickly pushes his cock against the back of your throat.
A large hand comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling your lips off his manhood suddenly and leaving a tendril of spit from your lower lip to the very tip of his cock. “Not your mouth that I desire tonight,” Haytham murmurs ruggedly, in that intoxicatingly crisp accent of his, though his eyes linger on the drool connecting you to him.
You lazily crawl back atop your Grandmaster's tensely waiting body, hands deftly exploring every inch of hardened muscle and soft skin that you could reach. “Patience is a virtue, my dear,” you drawl, nearly a chuckle in your voice, as you parrot back at him the exact same phrase he had said to you a hundred times during your early training days.
Haytham's eyes narrow and a wry smile spreads languidly over those lovely, full lips. That characteristic low hum of his rumbles through his chest. “Hmmm. That's how you intend to play it, then, dear girl?” He cocks an eyebrow, a dangerous expression forming on that immaculate face. But you hardly notice, past the standard twinge in your core elicited by Haytham's face souring to any degree. Your mind is suddenly full of little else but thoughts of licking and grazing Master Kenway's glossy lower lip - thoughts of snaking your tongue past his teeth and caressing his mouth with yours. It’s no wonder you don’t even see the wheels turning in Haytham's mind as he awaits a response, nor think to brace yourself for what he has next in store for you.
Haytham is a skilled fighter, and extremely knowledgeable in the manipulation of the human body. You know this very well. And yet it always still manages to momentarily surprise you that he could so deftly grasp you by the forearms, hook one of his legs around yours and flip you over like you weighed nothing. It only takes a second to find yourself suddenly beneath him and at his mercy. A smile tugs at Haytham's lips at your wide-eyed expression; he is clearly pleased with the way he always technically has the upper hand. You are in his dominion now, at the mercy of his desires - the heat of his body and his breath bearing on you, and the musk of his increasing arousal impossible to ignore.
Large palms have your wrists pinned to the bed - not enough weight on you to hurt, but more than enough to make it clear that you weren't going anywhere. You twine your legs around his sturdy thighs, allowing you to once again grind yourself languidly against the curve of Haytham's manhood, helping coat the underside of his shaft with your slick.
Haytham's body covers yours thoroughly as he lowers himself onto his elbows. “You thought you were going to be in charge, hmm?” he purrs against your ear, before kissing and sucking with increasing intensity at the tender flesh of your neck. Your eyes flutter shut and you arch your back, pushing the front of your body up into more contact with him. As you move your hips beneath him, Haytham finally gives in.
In one smooth movement, Haytham sinks himself into you. You gasp, legs tightening around his hips to ensure he's buried to the hilt. He gives you a moment to relax around him, his eyes searching your face. Once sure he isn't hurting you, Haytham begins with long, slow strokes. Your back arches once more as the head of his cock drags along every sensitive spot you know, and you pull him down for a desperate kiss. Haytham's tongue wanders your mouth, your lips, your jaw, your neck - your eyes roll into the back of your head as the Grandmaster suckles particularly hard at your neck and you begin to imagine the marks his love will have left on you by tomorrow.
Haytham pulls back suddenly, sliding out of you, and you whimper at his absence. Upright again, a wicked gleam illuminates those stormy grey eyes as he drags the head of his member from the tingling nub at the top of your womanhood down to your entrance. Down, and up - he continues to tease you, watching you become first flustered, then indignant, impatient for him to fill your body once more. The torrid flesh of Haytham's cock feels like a trail of fire against your sensitive folds. You whimper, you whine, you beg - and when you think you simply cannot take another moment of his teasing, he plunges himself back into you. The shock of his entire lengthy member slamming into you ripples up through your stomach like lightning and you cry out. The tip of Haytham's cock bottoms out with every stroke as he takes you with no hesitation, no mercy.
“Is this what you wanted?” Haytham gazes down at you, a small cheeky smile pulling at one side of his lips. “You begged for this.” Large hands grasp your hips to anchor you both as he ruts into you. His pace is quick, but consistent, and every kiss of his cock against the entrance to your womb makes you more and more numb in the head, and less capable of answering your Grandmaster with any of the articulation he was able to maintain.
Though his composure begins to wear thin, his perfect facade cracking. Beads of sweat form at his hairline and roll down his temple. His cheeks flush, and his breathing becomes erratic. Haytham's hips keep their pace though, and before you know it the coil tightening in the pit of your stomach feels as if it will burst. As much as you want to keep looking at Haytham come undone before you, your eyes roll into the back of your head and stay there as lightning shoots up through your core. His name tumbles from your mouth like a mantra as every muscle in your body clenches around him and your back lifts up off the sheets. Your climax wracks your body in a way that only Grandmaster Kenway can cause, bringing him close behind you as you become impossibly tight around his throbbing cock.
Haytham's eyes screw shut and his lips pull back over his teeth in a silent snarl. He drops back down to his elbows, his face only a few inches from yours, his long hair falling on either side of your head. You can feel his stomach muscles knot against you, and those brawny thighs begin to quake as he leans his forehead against your neck. His breath is hot and his hands on your forearms are tight. He swells and quivers within you, and with a final guttural moan that vibrates against your chest, Haytham buries himself to the hilt in a last harsh thrust. Your legs stay clenched around his hips, locking Haytham in place as his warmth fills you with each rhythmic pulse of his cock, until his seed is beginning to overflow past his swollen shaft and onto both you and the sheets.
Your mind is numb and floaty in the intensity of your afterglow as Haytham slowly unentwines his body from yours. His seed seeps quicker from between your thighs, and you immediately miss the fullness that the size of his member offered once he's withdrawn himself. He settles next to you, both of your chests heaving as you try to catch your breath, and nuzzles against the crook of your neck. You adore these moments, the quiet intimacy of this powerful, stoic man still wanting to be in contact with you. There were many occasions where he would have left you in bed, washed and dressed enough to return to whatever esoteric work had him leaned over a desk, silently brooding in deep thought or reading and writing by firelight. Not this time. His arm wraps around your waist and holds you snugly to him. His breath is warm on your collarbone, and you hear it begin to slow. He's already snoring softly when you plant a kiss on his head, breathing in the smell of his steel-streaked hair, and murmuring “I love you.” He didn't wake; he never did in these moments, and it was just as well since you did not truly expect him to return the sentiment. At least not in so many words. A lady could hope. But for now this is enough.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will cuddle her whenever she demands.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. that will always let her play with his hair, yes, that even means letting her tie it up in bunches; anything if it makes her smile.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. that will never doubt her skill. that will encourage her, train her to defend herself as he knows how dangerous a world is for such a woman. he will hold a sense of pride toward her that at times, makes him emotional.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will crawl around on the floor while she rides his back, pretending to be a horse.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will always find himself swaying for anything she wishes. his heart melts are her pouts, her sobs, that he's always at her side.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. covers her face in kisses every night and every morning, though will always do it in private (as much as he enjoys embarrassing her.)
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. that can't help but feel a strong sense of protection over her. that he can't help but feel he's set her up for a life of difficulty.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. would never be like his father.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. always loves listening to her babble, especially at night even when she can't form sentences, he will still nod away and respond.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will teach her his culture and hers. the background of which she should know. his language which is now hers.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. will made her giggle with his dry sense of sarcasm.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. lets her captain the aquila for the day and shoots any of his crew stern looks if they do not obey her commands (even if she were to command them to do something silly.)
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. gets tearful himself when his daughter is hurt.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. claims he found her in a forest one day and that she is a rabid wolf he is still trying to tame.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. loves when she is messy, with twigs and sticks in her hair.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. always loves teaching her about animals, the importance of their duty.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's the kind of girl dad that.. can't tolerate the scolding. he hates upsetting her.
the fact that he's a girl dad and its canon is so urgh !
Anonymous said: Leo helping out Ezio after he failed a mission? (Poor Ezio is bleeding out and the guards, including few templars are searching for him)
