#Assassin's Creed Shaytham | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gococogo · 4 months

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Congrates on 100 follows. Would i be able to suggest a shaytham fic with a sappy but angsty vibe with the prompts,

"If I asked you to stay, would you?"

"You said you wouldn't fall in love with me" "I lied"

Thank you

Prompt 4 / Shaytham

Synopsis: Shay is reckless in battle and always ends up finding himself in trouble. And so Haytham has to be the one to save him.

Word Count: 2.4K

Warning: Violence. Blood.

Notes: I combined two asks together because you guys basically asked for the same thing. So here you guys are! Finally. Enjoy!!

Canon fire deafens Haytham’s ears as a chorus of booms sounds off on the starboard side. He holds onto his tricorn with one hand and a firm, white knuckled grip on the railing in front of him as the harsh salty wind whips into his face. The Morrigan creaks and groans as her captain turns her towards the enemy ship. Canon smoke is thick in the air and it’s hard to even see where the other ship is.

But Shay steers with confidence, shouting orders with his accent thickening. On deck, Gist relays them to whomever hasn’t heard them. Even slapping a few men on the back of the head that aren’t moving quick enough. In the heat of battle, everything can go wrong on the open ocean.

Sailing with Shay, it makes Haytham wonder if this is what it would have been like with his father.

A round of enemy canon fire are thrown across the Morrigan’s deck. Within the smoke, Haytham can make out a couple of men being thrown off the side of the ship. Wood and splinters fly up and some even come Haytham’s way. That is the least of his worries as the entire ship shakes with such force that it sends Haytham halfway across the poop deck.

He regains his footing quickly even though his head spins. His hat is somewhere that isn’t his head, but that’s the least of his worries. Shay is nowhere to be seen on deck and the enemy ship looms over the Morrigan, a dark shadow in the smoke the curls into the grey sky. Hooks and anchors connect the two ships, pulling them together. Everything happen quickly that for a split second, he’s engrossed by the size of everything.

Haytham scowls to himself as he stands to his feet, his chest constricting at the thought that Shay isn’t in his line of sight. As if he’s some child that Haytham has to look after and he’s not a grown man himself. But it wouldn’t be akin to that. No. No, something much worse that is something closer to affection.

One of the crew members from the other ship climb up and over the railing. As quick as anything, Haytham has already crossed the deck to drive his sword into the stomach of the man. With a gasp and a silent cry, Haytham pushes him back over the side of the ship into the warm River Valley water.

The canon smoke begins to disperse and Haytham is able to see the pure chaos that has erupted on deck. Shay’s crew fight with tooth and sword, clashing and fending themselves against their attackers. He spots Gist in the mist of it all, his hat blown off somewhere. His wet hair flings into his face as he fights but he can’t let that get in his way when his life is on the lines.

A scrawny man comes rushing up the stairs to Haytham, his teeth all black and missing. He strikes with a machete but misses enterally and swings again. This time Haytham meets his own sword with his blade and throws the scrawny man off balance. His sword to his neck is what sends the scrawny man tumbling back down the stairs.

He almost feels sorry for Shay’s deck. That blood is going to take some scrubbing to get out.

Gunshots pierce through the already tense air and Haytham’s head whips towards the commotion. Near the front of the Morrigan, Shay holds onto a man by the nape of his coat. The man tries to scramble away and kick and thrash, only for all of it to end with a hidden blade in his chest. Shay throws him aside without a second thought, advancing onto the next.

Shay takes down two more men, one with his hidden blade, the other with a bullet through the liver. All done in quick succession that Haytham can’t seem to draw his eyes away. He can pick up the assassin training still burnt into his muscles and bones. How he moves. How he’s light on his feet even for a six foot man.

But even trained assassins make mistakes sometimes. Shay turns too slowly towards his next target. The man’s knife stabs straight into his shoulder, snarling into the captain’s face. He pushes Shay back, twisting and driving the knife in deeper. Shay shouts loudly, trying to push the other off but to no avail. They tussle and try to overthrow the other until the hefty man decides enough is enough, and throws both of them over the side of the Morrigan.

Haytham moves quick, slashing and driving his sword into any man that isn’t of the Morrigan’s. He pushes a man aside, uncaring who they are as he finally reaches the side of the ship. He looks over, almost hauling himself over at how desperate he’s moving. His heart is in his in his throat and it hammers loudly within his ears. He finds himself not thinking straight as he looks down.

And holding on by one of the canon windows is Shay. He meets eyes with Haytham and can’t help but smile up to him. Haytham can only frown though, his heart still racing in his chest. What an idiot. An absolute fool! Haytham scowls to himself before pushing off the railing. He goes to speak to Shay, but instead pushes his way through the crowd once more to get to the lower decks. All to save this man from falling into the River Valley himself.

By the time Haytham is able to drag Shay back aboard and make sure he is uninjured, the fighting above has all but subsided. Gist’s voice can be heard barking and snapping orders around to the crew, telling them to tie up the ones they’ve captured and to throw the dead overboard. Not their dead though, the Morrigan’s dead will be given a proper funeral before being cast over to the sea.

The knife still sticks out of the Irishman’s shoulder as he sits within the confines of his quarters with the ship medic. He’s a large burly man that goes by the name, Cassidy. For a man his size, his fingers are nimble as they get to work. Haytham flinches inwardly as the knife is pulled from Shay’s shoulder.

The butcher has Shay sitting in front of his war map table. Everything that was displayed has been put aside to make room for the medical supplies. His coat and shirt are quickly torn down to his waist as soon as the knife is out. Shay’s face is screwed up in pain, but he holds his tongue. Only because Haytham stands on the other side of the table with his arms crossed over his chest. A deep-set frown on his feature that is akin to a disappointed parent.

Shay tries his best to avoid looking in the direction of the Grandmaster. But he can’t help himself. Even through his squinted and scowled ridden face, he peers in Haytham’s direction. Shay will have to admit to himself, he’s never seen the man so terrified in his life. That the expression that he saw plain as day on the Grandmaster’s face, an expression that has truly sent a pit of something heavy deep within his chest that flutters every so often.

When the first stitch goes through, a deep groan escapes Shay’s throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that Cassidy works quickly so this is over and done with. When he opens his eyes again, a short glass of golden whiskey is being held out to him. He stares at it a moment, looking up at the owner of the hand even though he knows who stands before him.

How long was he holding himself still for? Long enough for Haytham to pour him a drink?

Haytham raises a brow, as if asking if he even wants it. Shay takes it with some urgency and downs it in one go. Haytham watches him grimaces at the burn of the whiskey with a satisfied look before moving away to pour a second glass. This one he takes himself. A need to try and calm his still bristling nerves that buzz under his skin. He pours a third, handing this one out to Shay again. And like before, the Irishman downs it in one go. Haytham moves off satisfied.

The whiskey seems to dull the pull and poke of the needle and stitches but a few groans still escape Shay’s mouth. Haytham can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the other man. Hair a mess, skin bruised and battered with the strong smell of sweat and blood in the air.

Cassidy bites the last stitch off and wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. It isn’t sanitary in the slightest, but he guesses it will do with the rest of the golden whiskey being poured over the wound. Shay bites back a yowl deep within his throat, his eyes looking as if they’re about to pop out of their sockets. He sits back in the chair heavily, pushing Cassidy’s hand away with the whiskey. The butcher looks to him with a glare before drawing the last mouthful of whiskey left out of the bottle.

“I know you won’t listen to me you buffoon,” Cassidy starts as he stands. “but don’t put any strain on those stitches,” he scowls.

“Aye, aye,” Shay mocks.

Cassidy rolls his eyes as he packs up his things. He leaves the cabin with a short nod towards Haytham, bidding him fair well. Haytham looks back to Shay who shrugs on his shirt with a wince. There’s something on Shay’s mind. His gaze a far and anywhere but here.

“That was foolish of you,” Haytham comments.

The words don’t seem to register with Shay until a few passing moments later. His brown eyes land on Haytham with a raised brow and slight hum coming from his lips. He catches the Grandmaster’s gaze flickering down to his gut where his stomach is still exposed. It’s only for a moment, but he catches it all the same.

“Getting stabbed?” Shay asks.

“Letting your guard down,” Haytham corrects with a flick of his finger.

He moves around the table to Shay and leans down slightly so that he can undo the last button of his vest. He takes it off Shay without a word, patting it down before holding an arm out to him. Shay eyes him, as if something clicking behind those dark eyes. He takes the gesture, placing one arm through the hole as Haytham helps him dress again.

It silent for a moment as Shay does up the buttons to his vest. Haytham finds himself watching, making sure that the captain is decent again. Or maybe he wants to make sure that Shay is able to do it just fine. When Shay does up the last button, he finally moves off with a satisfied nod.

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me,” Shay says abruptly.

Haytham movements pause for a moment, his eyes distancing themselves for a second before refocusing back down on Shay. The Irishman looks up to him, a scarred brow raised. Haytham frowns softly on the verge of disgust. But it isn’t quite that.

They talked about this months ago. About how dangerous it would be for the both of them. About how that if they did find themselves falling, they’d stop. But here Haytham is, the Grandmaster of the Templars, falling in love for a former Assassin.

“I lied,” Haytham bites back. But there’s no real maliciousness in his words.

Shay can’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head lightly as he looks away. His cheeks blush a soft red that has Haytham wanting to reach out and touch. To see just how hot his face becomes when he turns as bright as a tomato. But instead he stands up straight, placing a hand on the table.

“We talked about this Haytham. You’re the one that talked about it,” Shay speaks firmly now. “Insisted even.”

But Haytham changes the subject, turning his back, “I’ll inform Gist that he will be taking the helm until we arrive back in New York,” Haytham walks around to the other side of the table and picks up his tricorn that he found on the deck, “You are to stay in here until you’ve healed enough,” He orders as he places his hat upon his head.

Shay clears his throat loudly causing the other man to stop in his tracks. He turns slowly, dark blue eyes filled with curiosity.

“Gist already knows what he’s doing,” Shay says as he stands. “And this is all but a nick, sir.”

He adds a roll of his shoulder which is the worst decision he could have made. He hisses in pain as he pulls the stitches, coddling his arm close to his chest. Haytham raises his brows, looking Shay up and down.

“Maybe just one night then,” Shay chuckles as he leans against the table.

“Good,” is all Haytham says. He turns again but like the perviously, is interrupted before he can even get a hand on the doorknob.

“Sir.”

Haytham turns his full attention to Shay this time, the tone of such a simple word having beckoned him. Shay walks over to his liquor cabinet and grabs out a half empty bottle of a dark golden whiskey. The strong stuff. He turns back around his heels, holding the bottle in his good arm. He looks at Haytham for a moment before snapping back to reality.

He asks a question as he wonders back over to the table, “If I asked you to stay, Haytham, would you?”

Haytham watches Shay for few heart beats. Watching him pour whiskey into one glass before placing a second on the table. The bottle hovers over the second, Shay waiting for an answer. He doesn’t like to waste good liquor.

The Grandmaster sighs a little defeated. He takes off his tricorn and places it on the table once more. Whiskey is poured into the second glass.

“If only it keeps you from heading out and tearing out your stitches,” Haytham comments lowly.

Shay holds out the glass with a smile. “Oh, I think you’re one of, if not the best distractions around.”

Haytham takes the whiskey with a grumble of, “Now don’t go pushing your luck.”

To that, Shay’s grin only grows wider.

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