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haythams-blade · 1 day ago

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Imagine…

Shay coming onto you after Haytham is out of the picture.

—–

The fire upon your skin was warm, as you moved closer to it to combat the chill of the cool November evening, but it did absolutely nothing to warm the inside of your breast, which felt cold and numb.

You had felt that emptiness ever since you had received the devastating news that your lover, the Templar Grandmaster himself, Haytham Kenway, had lost his life to an Assassin two months ago.

You had shut yourself away to grieve alone, not wanting any of the other Templars to think you weak for showing your emotions.

However, after several hours, you heard a soft knock at the door. You didn’t bother responding, but your visitor let himself in anyway.

It was Shay Cormac, having just returned to the colonies a week ago.

You didn’t turn to look, but you could tell it was him from his distinct Irish brogue as he spoke to you.

“Still awake, huh?”

You nodded mutely.

You thought perhaps he had come to grieve with you, as you knew he had been close to Haytham as well.

“Would you mind if I shared the fire with you?” he then spoke up again. “It’s damned cold tonight.”

“If you like,” you finally responded, your voice soft and hollow.

After he sat down next to you, he attempted to engage you in some quiet conversation. After a short while, he finally asked: “so…what will you do now?”

You shrugged. “Go back to England, I suppose. There’s nothing left for me here.”

“You know that’s not true,” Shay insisted quickly. “There’s still our cause. Haytham would not want you to abandon that, just because of his death.”

You knew Shay spoke the truth. Haytham would’ve wanted you to go on supporting the Templar cause without him. But how could you? He was your rock, a guiding force in your life. Without him, you felt lost.

There was a few beats of silence, the only noise permeating the air being the soft crackling of the fire.

The rustling sounds of leather and metal finally broke that silence as Shay shifted closer to you. You didn’t look at him, but his presence was powerful - almost as powerful as Haytham’s was.

You suddenly felt a yearning to be held - if not by Haytham’s arms, then by Shay’s.

But you remained as you were.

His voice became even softer and had an almost uncharacteristically uncertain air to it as the Irishman addressed you once more.

“Stay,” he said, almost pleadingly. “Stay for the cause, stay…for me.”

His words caught you off-guard. You finally looked over at him, but had to quickly turn back away when you saw the intent behind his words in his dark eyes.

He moved even closer, his chest touching your arm now.

“You must know how I feel about you…surely, you must know,” he said, his tone earnest.

You kept your gaze on the fire as he continued.

“Ever since I first met you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed. “Even as I was roaming the world, looking for those damned precursor artifacts, I thought of you.”

“Shay, don’t-”

“I won’t let you live out the rest of your days miserable in England,” he said in a firm tone. His voice then turned gentle once more. “Please…let me bring some happiness back into your life.”

You didn’t respond right away. Even in your grief over your now-deceased lover, you couldn’t deny the offer was tempting. Not to mention, you knew deep down that you had secretly acknowledged feeling a small attraction upon meeting him. Even as he spoke to you now, you had to admit that his soft, rich brogue was damned near irresistible.

But you shook your head, feeling like a traitor. It had to be your craving for someone’s touch that was talking, it just had to be.

“How can you ask me this so soon after what happened?” you asked in a brittle voice. “When I am trying my best to stay true? To honor his memory?”

With a furrowed brow, Shay leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against your ear. “You want to honor his memory? Then avenge his death,” he whispered sharply. “Go after the Assassin.”

“No, Shay!” you stated firmly, pulling back and glaring at him. “What good will that do? Taking another life won’t bring Haytham back.” The icy numbness that had been encasing your heart soon began to crack, and you could feel all of the emotion that you had been trying to bury threaten to emerge - as evidenced by tears now prickling your eyes. You swallowed hard. “Nothing will bring him back,” you croaked, the realization that Haytham truly was dead finally sinking in.

That was it, he was gone for good…and you were alone.

You closed your eyes for a moment to fight back to the tears. But when you opened them again and looked at Shay once more, you saw that he had opened his arms to you.

Perhaps…

Perhaps you weren’t completely alone. At least not for tonight.

“Then stay with me…please,” he asked one more time.

You fell into his arms.

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haythams-blade · 1 day ago

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Okay but imagine Haytham or Shay

They capture your assassin butt doing sneaky things, and as they pin you against a wall in a deserted alley, they whisper in your ear with their best husky voices,

"I'm going to f*ck the creed out of you."

Oneshot

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haythams-blade · 1 day ago

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Making Your Own Luck

Fandom:Assassin’s Creed

Paring: Shay Patrick Cormac X Reader

Genre: Smut

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Based on a confession submitted to Dirty Assassin’s Creed Secrets. Enjoy!

Keep reading

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haythams-blade · 1 day ago

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May the Father of Understanding Entertain Us *Templar Master Post*

Hello All!

Welcome to my humble collection of fics featuring the Templars. Some are not for kids so please choose wisely.

Making Your Own Luck (Shay Cormac X Reader) (18+ Smut)

Business or Pleasure? (Shay Cormac x Reader) (18+ Smut)

A Good Morning Ride (Haytham Kenway X Reader) (18+ Smut)

Teacher’s Pet (Crawford Starrick X Reader) (18+ Smut)

Stay Away from the Kenways (Haytham Kenway and Reader meeting as kids)

One Day to Decide (Sequel to Stay Away from the Kenways. Haytham Kenway X Reader)

Priorities (Crawford Starrick X Reader)

The Bodyguard (Elise de la Serre x Female Reader) (18+Fluff and Smut)

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haythams-blade · 1 day ago

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Hii I love your work! Could I pls have a drawing with Shay x Hijab! Y/N? <3

YES, je dit oui !

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haythams-blade · 1 day ago

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Torn. . .

(Liam O'Brien x Reader)

(A/N); Ollo and welcome to my first Assassin's Creed fic!! I figured whilst stumped on my other WIP's, I should follow the call of my inspiration and write for this underrated man! Do enjoy!

Plot; After Shay is presumed dead, you are left with a choice

Pairings; Liam O'Brien x Reader (Romantic) , Shay Cormac x Reader (Platonic)

Warnings; angst, mature themes, coarse language, suicide attempt (canon), violence, unrequited love, floofity-fluff

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The night air was taut with tension and restlessness at Davenport Homestead, an uninvited chill being carried upon the snowy breeze. It was long after midnight, the light of the fire's dying embers dancing across your face and illuminating the trails of tears that were left upon your cheeks.

Your throat was tight and raw from the screams and cries that had ripped from you naught but an hour previous. Blooded nail marks trailed your tremoring hands, your hood brought up to shroud your face from onlookers and the elements.

A hollowing pain sat within your chest, your mind drifting to the horrible events that had taken place earlier on in the evening.

Everything had been peaceful, until Shay—

You winced at the sting of your inner wound stirring, trying to banish the memories of your best friend's death from your mind to no avail.

Shay Cormac had taken his own life after stealing the manuscript from Achilles.

There had been a wild chase, and at the end; his untimely demise. The man you'd looked upon in those moments was the furthest thing from your best friend and you knew that his eyes would haunt you forever.

"That's enough!", Liam's scream halted the younger Irishman, his pistol drawn to hold Shay at gunpoint. Little did you all know, it wouldn't matter.

"Give back the manuscript, Shay!!", Hope begged. "I'm sure Achilles—".

"I cannot!!", Shay's cry cut through the howling wind, the fresh stinging of tears filling his hazel orbs. "I will not let this happen again!! All those souls lost—". He turned to look over the knife-edge upon which he stood, anxiety leaping into your throat at the realization that hit you. "One more hardly matters". He was going to—

"Shay!", you called to him, inching forwards with only the intent to save him; the man who held your heart. The manuscript could be thrown into the depths of the sea for all you cared. You just wanted him back.

The Irishman turned to you then, his chocolate hues trained on you with suspicion, a deep-seated trauma reflecting through them.

"(Y/n)—", Liam tried to coax your return out of fear that Shay in his current state may hurt you. But, your trust was deep for the younger man. Achilles held his arms out to prevent the others from following you.

"Cast that damned book into the ocean", you told him, unconcerned with the consequences that you may face from your mentors. You had to try. Extending your arm outwards with an open palm, you paid no mind to the sharp cold of your hot tears freezing against your skin. "But, don't take your life, Shay. Please step away from the edge. Please".

Whilst he knew your intentions were pure, Shay was unwilling to face the consequences that undoubtedly waited for him upon giving in to you. He would die with the manuscript and his beliefs held intact. He had to ensure that what happened in Lisbon or Haiti would not happen again.

"Take my hand, Shay", you begged, inching your steps to try to close the short distance between you. "Please".

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)", he murmured, your feet moving into a sprint far too late. A shot rang out, Shay's figure falling from the stone ledge whilst he attempted to jump.

"SHAY!!!", your throat burned with the wail that passed through it. You fell to your knees at the cliff's edge, spying only the rough seas, icebergs and sharp rocks below. Shay was gone, his image burned into every crevice of your mind.

Various cries tore from your lungs, two strong arms winding around your midsection to pull you from the dangers waiting below. Liam.

"He's gone, (Y/n)!!".

"NO!! NO!!", you shouted, the taller man turning you to be flush against his chest. You fought his touch, trying to break from the stronger hold he had upon you.

Your eyes were clouded and blurred with tears, barely able to spy the gentle kindness that sat within his own. Despite your flailing and blubbering, Liam held your face steady and attempted to hush you.

It all fell to tatters, however; when you spied smoke rising from the barrel of Chevalier's gun.

Shoving yourself from the Irishman's arms, you marched towards the Frenchman naught but a few feet away. "You killed him!! You bastard!!", you spat, Liam quick to pursue you once you gripped onto the older man. "It was you!! You bastard!!".

After landing a few hits against him, your hands were forcibly pulled from Chevalier's overcoat, the Frenchman grinding out his mutual distaste for you from between his forked teeth, "Va te faire enculer! Putain!!".

"(Y/n), stop!!", Liam yelled, Achilles nodding for your counterpart to bring you away from the situation at hand.

It was true; you loved Shay. At the best of times, he was a man who was rather hard to love. Rough around the edges, irresponsible, immature. But, he was lighthearted, humourous and easygoing.

Oftentimes, you were guilty of laughing at the colourful digs or arguments he made at your mentors, or the failed attempts he made to woo other women.

The one thing that set you from him was his inability to see you how you viewed him. He never loved you back. You knew.

You knew when he would gawk at Hope, you knew when he would ruffle your hair like a child or talk openly about other suitors. His heart never belonged to you. It was agony at times.

But, there was also Liam.

Kind, warm, supportive Liam.

Having known him from your youth, the bald Irishman had mentored both yourself and Shay thoughout your lives, despite not being much older than yourselves.

You would be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit taken by him.

Liam's protectiveness and respectful nature both attracted you deeply. Always, he would await your say-so in marksman practice, hovering those strong hands above your own until he was certain that you were consensual to his guiding touch and whispers.

Even on his worst day, did Liam always have patience and words of encouragement for you. "Bluebird" and "my favourite marksman", were names for you that often tumbled merrily from his lips, leaving you frequently flushing hot beneath your skin.

Liam was a man easy to love and had always been there for you, consistently leaving you torn between your yearnings for both young Irishmen.

Now you were torn between something different entirely.

Steps crunching in the snow broke your focus from the icicles settling into the ground, a steaming beverage being offered to you within your peripheral. You spared only a glance at it before turning your gaze to the detailed ridges of the log on which you sat.

"If you're not going to eat, please drink something at the very least", Liam's familiar Irish brogue was mellowed down to a feathersoft gentleness that had your eyes gathering tears once more.

Your throat was tight, anxiety harping it's way into your pained heart.

You had to tell him.

With a quiver to your lip, you had only two words on your mind. The hardest two words you'd ever speak to him.

"I'm leaving". You regretted the words as soon as you'd spoken them, bracing yourself for the worst in the uneasy silence that fell between you both.

"You're what??", his voice was an astonished whisper. The disbelief in his tone and the way his words broke whilst he spoke them wounded the tethers of your already broken heart further. Your silence left him at a loss, a panic seeming to rise up within him. "What are you on about, (Y/n)?".

"The Brotherhood", you replied with an unusual amount of cold that had hurt flickering into those blue hues once you had the courage to meet them. "Between leaving and staying, I'm torn. We've lost our way, Liam. I see that now".

Despite the words of argument that threatened to boil over from within him, Liam kept himself composed and listened intently when you continued,

"We are not what we were before. We've become desperate. So much so, that now we resort to destroying cities to gain even a slither of power. And I want no part in it".

"(Y/n)—", the Irishman gaped. "You cannot just leave the Brotherhood! You swore an oath to the Creed! To save the world, don't you remember??".

"And I suppose you're going to stop me, Liam?", you challenged, standing to match his height. The fury and hurt that poured through your eyes was carried from the very depths of your soul and couldn't be masked from him.

"That's the second time you've underestimated me tonight", he murmured, his surity meeting to combat your resolve perfectly.

"Are you going to kill me too?? Like Chevalier—". You choked up before the words could leave you, your eyes drifting from Liam to the fading lights of the Homestead in the distance.

"No", his head shook, gathering your unyeilding stare once more. "But, if you think for a second that I'll let you leave without a fight, (Y/n); you are sorely mistaken".

A sigh that stilled his inner rage passed through his nostrils, Liam's ocean blues travelling the features of your face with a kind softness. "Shay wasn't in his right mind and neither are you right at this very moment! You're making a mistake, (Y/n)! You're a good person. The Brotherhood needs you!". You marked the apprehension in his demeanour when his voice cracked with the words that followed. "I need you".

For a moment, you were in a state of disbelief of your own. Never had Liam shown this kind of vulnerability to you, always poising himself to be the strong and independent mentor the Brotherhood needed. That you needed. Yet, not even that could make him falter now.

"I know that you are grieving over, Shay. But, I've also lost a person I care about tonight!", the Irishman insisted, your keen eyes able to spy the tears welling up within his own. "And I'll be damned if I'm losing another!".

"Liam—", you started, only to have him cut in,

"I love you, alright?!". Just like that, his words completely melted your resolve. Stunned from the confession, your gaze searched Liam's for the chance that he was being dishonest or that you may have misheard him. You found neither.

"I love you", he repeated softer this time. The gentle brushing of his hand hovering by your own set goosebumps ablaze within your skin, drawing your gaze to the hope glimmering in the soft blue of his eyes. "I've always loved you, (Y/n). Perhaps, even before I knew what love was".

For the briefest of seconds, you became sharply aware of the details within Liam's gentle complexion and the misting of his breaths in the air; realising you were a heartbeat's distance from him. "If you stay, I know that we can make the Brotherhood a better place. Together". His hand was open to you, restraining from holding your own despite his constant urge to offer you solace. "What do you say??".

With your words dying in your throat, you reached for the nape of his neck, tugging his head forwards to seal the short gap between you both. Liam's breaths stammered within his chest, his lips flushed with a warmth that felt searing against your cooler skin.

His calloused hands pulled you to be cradled against him, your own bracing on the broadness of his chest. Every brush of his lips was a delicate caress, tasting of the salt from the tears you both had wept. Your heated breaths mingled in your concentrated passion, the Irishman reluctant to lose your touch.

Weaving his fingers with your own, Liam finally drew back to rest his forehead against yours, seemingly breathless. There was a rasp in his voice when he laughed, mumbling, "I'll take that as a yes".

"Good". Pressing another brief kiss to the Irishman's now swollen lips, a laugh to mirror his own slipped from you, "Because I love you too". Both of you marked it as perhaps your shared first steps to healing from Shay's death. Together.

The End. . .

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Hey readers!! ❤❤ I hope you all enjoyed this fic!! As always, any and all feedback is welcome! So, please - let me know how I went in writing this and how to improve, if I can! If you wished to be added to my taglist for this fandom or any others I write for, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!

Thank you all for your support!! ❤❤

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Translations;

- "Va te faire enculer!! Putain!!" (French) = "Fuck you!! Whore!!" (English translation based on research - PLEASE correct me if I'm wrong)

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haythams-blade · 1 day ago

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Shay and Haytham aren't having a good time with the new stray.

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haythams-blade · 1 day ago

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

summary ☩ The reader, an undercover Assassin, goes at a high-society masquerade ball to gather information about Templars and unexpectedly meet her former friend, Shay, now fully allied with the enemy. Neither can afford to reveal their true identities in such a public place, but they are drawn to each other through the anonymity of the masks. [a/n] ☩ [y/f/n] means your fake name because baby we’re playing undercover tonight~ reminder that english is not my mother tongue. UNEDITED word count ☩ 3,979 pairing ☩ shay cormac x f! reader content warnings ☩ slight sexual tension, female reader, enemies to lovers, mentions of shay's deflection, fluff, assassin! reader, templar! shay, reader in a gown, shay being a man, shay having a long time crush on reader, mutual pining, ...

　　　New-York, June 1756

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you care to dance?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong."

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

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

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

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

“Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong.”

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

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

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

But that resolve felt brittle.

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

What was his game?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all the invitation he needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

　　　PART 2 in writing...

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

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