asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

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Part 1
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ahhhah :D thanks!

I'll probably come back to this, as soon as I have more ideas for the other characters.

EEEK! /tackle hugs you/ Personality is what I tried to portray, so I'm just ecstatic people noticed Uv U~ Thank you!

AWESOME! Happy to have done good, kind anon ;)

I kind of wonder who the Assassin he is fighting was... Duncan possibly?

^^; I really need to pay more attention... totally missed the part about the priest robes

Same anon here from before. =) Any pairings in mind, OP?

OP- I like Desmond/Shaun personally.

Oh please do continue this story! I love what you have written so far!

Oh my grasshopper.
Seconded to heaven and back.

Go.

Altair, he can hear Altair’s voice. He can hear it because he is speaking Altair’s thoughts with no control over his own tongue, as he has so many times. His lips move again.

You must leave this place.

There is something urging in Ezio’s voice, kind but stern.

You shouldn’t be here.

Connor sounds slightly surprised.

He struggles against the blinding light.

The next time he is forced to speak again, he can’t. There are too many voices trying to gain control. It starts out as a slight buzzing and swells too an uproar. Female, male. A hundred different tongues. These voices, these memories are all that’s left of them in the world. They’re all him, each a tiny part of him.

They’re all Desmond. They all want to get away from the light.

When Desmond opened his eyes, there was darkness.

-

It took him a while to turn around on his stomach and even longer to persuade his body to move. He was underground, he guessed. The few noises he heard were hollow and the darkness above him too uniform to be the sky. Desmond had no idea how long he’d been lying in this cave or where this cave was or why he was here or, beyond the names, Altair, Ezio, Connor, Desmond, that successive line of names that had to go in this order and no other, who he was.

He knew nothing but he could feel his throat dry as sandpaper. The far away trickling sound of water eventually drove him on, forcing himself along the flat surface of a walkway, shaking fingers searching for tiny cracks to hold on to, to pull himself forward.

Desmond could see. By the time he fully realised why, he had already crawled between two huge towering shadows, like pillars of a door. Onwards, there was light coming from somewhere in the ceiling, yes, very faint and far above. But the stones in front of Desmond were illuminated by the faint glow of his own hands. Each finger was adorned with a straight turquoise line and they ran together like rivulets into a greater current at the back of his hand and then trailed up his wrist. The light vanished behind his sleeve.

Desmond reached a small stream running down the cracked rocks by following the guiding light of his own grip. Greedily pressing his lips against the stone, he drank and drank, until his parched throat hurt.

His right hand laid in the stream. The water shimmered as it passed, leaping over his fingers, the spray catching the green-blue light. A spark.

After drinking, it was a bit easier to move, but his body was still as uncooperative as it got. He could recall doing this before, fleeing wounded from a town being reduced to rubble behind him, stumbling more dead than alive after a man that he needed to kill more than he himself needed to live, but he was neither fleeing nor pursuing now. His head was empty, he existed in a void. As far as he could say, he had spent centuries in this dark hollow room.

Eventually the empty hole in him reminded him that he should get something to eat. That took another long while. As he stumbled through the ruins, he eventually found a rectangular block that was a bit different from most other rectangular blocks here. The flat crystal panel in its side must have glowed orange at some point. He just knew that somehow. There were other memories gnawing at the back of his mind, but they vanished when he tried to focus on them, like some simple word you knew for sure, but that somehow, temporarily, dropped out of your brain just as you needed it.

There was something grey and mushy on top of the rectangle, spilling out of a tube. He touched it. The texture was somewhere between pudding and glue.

Desmond picked it up and stuffed it in his mouth.

It tasted like...

“It really does taste like cardboard,” Desmond said after he’d swallowed.

To the sound of his own voice, Desmond’s life came rushing back to him.

-

It was weird how it felt like Shaun had given him a database entry for his own life, just like he’d been guiding him, commenting on the lives he relived in the Animus. Desmond ate all the leftover ambrosia he could find, hoping that the food of the gods didn’t spoil.

Maybe it was those first civilisation genes he had, but after he had finished his meal, he felt stronger. Even though his hoodie hung from him like a bag – all that was left of him being bones and stringy, tough muscle – and even though he might not have moved in who knew how long, Desmond started climbing, climbing towards the light coming in from the ceiling.

It was not an easy way, but seeing as all the entrances were blocked off by rocks and boulders, it was not like he had much of a choice, either. Still, even though he was clinging with his body flat against the stone in an almost parallel angle to the ground, his hands grasping at tiny, slippery wet ledges, this was easier than walking in the darkness down there had been. He knew what he wanted now. He wanted to see the surprise on his father’s face and he wanted Rebecca to hug him, then box his shoulder, then hug him again and laugh. Most of all, though, he really wanted Shaun to call him Little Jimmy Special while he pressed his face against the other man’s shoulder and Shaun kissed his hair.

The sun’s light was blinding when he finally reached one of the rifts in the ceiling. It was cold, though, not the scorching heat he’d feared for a moment. Smells like autumn, he thought, as he stuck out his head and breathed fresh air. Like it had rained. He pulled himself out and sat.

Around him, the world was pale olive green grass, tall dark pine trees, brown underbrush. The sky was grey with clouds. All was silent but for the wind rustling the branches. He looked under his feet to the crack he had emerged from and traces of Connor in his head said, the earth is freshly broken. Roots had tickled his hands as he made his way out of the cave and the naked sides of the hole weren’t overgrown with weeds or grass.

Desmond’s stomach tightened. What shifted great masses of earth? Angry goddesses, for once. Also, the world shivering as it broke.

He strained and listened. Silence, still, and his heart sunk like a stone. Perhaps that he was alive was the worst sign of all. His life against the world as it was? He had – he really had wanted to give it. When he stepped forward, he couldn’t remember doubt. Fear, yes, regret as he looked at his father, his friend, his lover. But he’d wanted it. Had he done something wrong? Had Minerva simply wrenched the whole thing out of Juno’s hands in the last moment despite him?

The answers weren’t here, that much was certain. So Desmond walked on in search of the world that had been and of the people he’d left behind. By evening he found a road and because it was his best hope, he followed the grey empty ribbon winding through the flat mountains.

The night was cold. He pulled his hood in his face and stuffed his hands under his armpits. Ambrosia or no, by the time he had to walk on the side of the concrete strip to be able to keep on its course, weariness was rattling his weakened body. But he couldn’t sit down, not an option. Somewhere out there, they were waiting for him. Hopefully.

One foot after the other...

The rumbling of the car could have been thunder and then came lightning, but the brightness staid. Headlights burned like fire in the dark and Desmond shirked away like a frightened animal, slinking to the edge of illuminated circle.

A car. He stared at it like Altair might have stared had Robert de Sable parked a van in Masyaf’s courtyard.

Two men emerged from the car. They were grey-haired, in old jeans and thick leather jackets.

“’Ey, kid. You alright?”

Desmond felt briefly a sixteen year old runaway again. A rush of adrenaline made him stand straight, staring at the man.

“Where do you come from this time o’ the night?” The shorter man said, holding the door of the driver’s seat.

“I...” He went for the most likely thing, hoping, testing. “I... there was this earthquake. I fell down. Into a cave. Just... climbed out.”

“Earthquake?! That was weeks ago!” The man looked to his companion. “You heard anything about new earthquakes?”

“Some in Japan, but that’s got nothing to do with the whole thing that’s been goin’ on ‘round Christmas. They just always got ‘em. Nothing here, for sure.”

Desmond could have broken down right then, right there, crying in relief. Too happy to speak, he just looked at them. The tall man standing by the hood frowned. The fog his breath made when he shook his head obscured his face.

“Well, you look tired enough to have been here for weeks. Get in, kid. We’re bringing you to a hospital.”

“That’s okay,” Desmond managed. “Just... to the nearest town, please. I know where I need to go now.”

Perhaps for the first time in his life, he truly did.

*

Wow! This anon totally seconds this prompt SO HARD!!!! Unfortunately this anon can't write otherwise they would fill this little gem! -_-

Shaun stared at the screens. They formed a brightly lit semi-circle around him. Mission reports to his left, damage reports of the seismic activity on the right, and front stage and centre the document he should be working on, an accumulation of all the information on Pieces of Eden that had been gathered through Altair, Ezio and Connor.

He’d upgraded from Earl Grey to whiskey for that one, but still he’d spent two hours staring at a blank page. He couldn’t even open the sources.

Three and a half weeks, but of course, William was a hard man. Three and a half weeks were more than enough for everyone to recover from his son’s death and dissect the few useful things he’d done with his life, brief as it had been.

Now, in his defense, William had no idea that Shaun had been sleeping with Desmond since Monteriggioni. For a time, they had agreed there was nothing to tell, anyhow, but things grew damned serious fast under the pressure cooker that was their mission. It bound them together in ways that had Shaun consider emotions he’d thought previously reserved for trashy novels with pastel coloured covers. Still, it wasn’t the time, not with the bloody world breaking apart around them.

We should tell them when all this business with the sun burning us to crisp is over, Shaun remembered saying after Desmond had pulled his father from Abstergo. Looking back, that was probably the daftest thing he’d ever said in his whole life – not because of the joke itself, but because he’d started to believe it. He knew better. But with Desmond perching on his desk, smiling and debating colonial politics (Desmond backing his arguments with whatever the poor man had picked up on what Americans called documentaries), it seemed impossible that it should end. It was all so easy. Normal.

He was an idiot.

Of course, Shaun had tried to distance himself. He should be given a medal for how many ways he’d found to call Desmond a dimwit in the database entries for Connor, insulting everything from his personal basic understanding of facts to the American school system in general (really a bit of a misdirected attack, that was; Desmond, boy from the Creepy Cult Farm, had never seen the inside of a school, American or otherwise). Quite a valiant effort to persuade himself, but what did it matter when Desmond was still so good to talk to and every time that Desmond got out of the Animus they would sneak off between the ancient machinery and shag each other silly?

So his brilliant plan not to fall in love didn’t work. And then his Chosen One of a boyfriend of course had to and get himself killed. Not even in a fight, at that – just telling Shaun and the others to leg it while he took the fall for civilisation.

Shaun did go, looking over his shoulder, his last image of Desmond beside the looming red figure of Juno, hand outstretched. He went and left him behind and now he could barely keep himself from weeping like a bloody toddler whenever he opened a file that contained one of the sessions they’d done together.

The dogs started barking again, pulling Shaun from his endlessly circling internal monologue.

Shaun was really starting to want to gag every single one of them. When William gave him the Farm to watch over as a temporary base, with him as the to-go contact and just a few assassins jumping in and out at any moment to resupply, he said they were watchdogs. Well, seemed to Shaun they saw every passing squirrel as the next Vidic in disguise.

This time, however, they didn’t quiet down again. Shaun heaved himself from his chair, stretching long legs, and wandered over to the window.

A man was standing between the dogs, hood drawn deep in his face. Most animals circled him, but a few had approached and licked his hands. An assassin who’d grown up here or just a Templar who was good with puppies?

Shaun grabbed his 9mm semiautomatic pistol and made his way downstairs. Old wooden steps creaked under his feet. He pushed the door open carefully, hand on his weapon. A cold wind blew fallen leaves through the front entrance. The man was looking in his direction.

“Shaun?”

Shaun all but dropped the gun at that call. The voice. That...

The man whistled thrice, sharp high sounds, the noise that William had trained all the dogs on. Slowly, the animals retreated as the man approached him, folding back his hoodie on the way.

The first thing Shaun noticed where those eyes. Hard as gold and sharp as hidden blades, an eagle’s gaze. Then, two glowing lines of watery green, running up his neck and folding behind his cheekbones, up into his hair.

But it was Desmond, despite all. Or at least Desmond’s body. Shaun pointed the gun at his forehead.

“Juno?”

Desmond smiled a sad smile, biting his lower lip with his left canine tooth, the way he would when he was anxious, standing slightly slouched, the position of one who always walked with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“This wouldn’t be a good disguise with all the glowing stuff going on, would it? If she’s that stupid, we’re not in any danger.”

He had a point there. Shaun stared long and hard at his strange eyes. His grip weakened as something in him began to whisper and consider. Desmond. Desmond standing there alive, looking up the barrel of his gun.

He lowered his hand and Desmond was on him in a second, arms wrapping tight around Shaun’s ribcage. He smelled like wet dog and mud and rain. His hair was damp against Shaun’s cheek. Finally, it felt like something in Shaun’s brain rebooted.

Shaun squeezed him so hard he lifted Desmond clean off the ground. Their mouths came together in a sloppy kiss even as he dragged him in and shut the door with his foot, keeping Desmond in, with him, in this house, in his arms.

When the kiss broke, Shaun held Desmond’s face in his hands. It was more haggard than before and stubble scratched his palms. The shadows under his bright eyes were dark. The silence stretched on until eventually he managed: “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry. Kind of a... rocky way home.”

Shaun pulled back. “She said you would die.”

“Yeah, I know. I thought so too. I think I did.” Desmond shook his head softly. “I just woke up a week ago. Maybe there was still something left in me. The first civ genes. Or it’s just, you know, humans. I think they’ve misjudged us a lot before. Especially when it comes to what weak little animals we are.”

“Not you, apparently.”

“Or any of us.”

Desmond leaned into him. Shaun had no idea what to feel. He was angry and thankful and relieved and shocked and it all constricted his throat in a way that he really didn’t feel like revealing in front of a man who’d clawed his way up from the brink of god-induced death.

His boyfriend looked up and Shaun saw that he had been wrong at first glance. Though he didn’t have those soft brown eyes anymore, they could still be warm, even with the too-small pupils and the strangely thick black ring around the bright iris that made the gaze even more piercing. It was really more than he could bear for now, that gentle look in his new eyes.

Shaun pushed him away. “Alright, Harry Potter. You reek like the cat dragged you out of the rubbish. Go, take a shower. I’ll...”

He had no idea what he would do. Stare at the bathroom door in disbelief, probably.

“If you’d have something to eat, that’d be great,” Desmond said, looking around. “Are you alone here? Is everyone...”

Splendid. A task. Shaun nodded his head. “They’re all okay. Your father’s going to check in soon, I imagine. He met with your mum in Canada. Rebecca is currently in L.A. with a cell.”

“Good. It’s... great to hear that,” Desmond said in a voice raw with emotion. Another kiss was placed on Shaun’s lips and Desmond smiled before he drew away.

Shaun almost told him the way to the bathroom before he remembered Desmond had grown up in this house. He watched him kick off his shoes at the foot of the stairs, his socks dirty and wet on the wood. It was a domestic sight, almost, if there wasn’t a line of energy trailing his fingerbones which he saw as Desmond flexed and unflexed his hand.

Shaun prepared a few sandwiches because that was the extent of his cooking skill and wondered, How did you talk to the saviour of the world? Was there an appropriate topic? Hey, mate, what’s being dead like? Technically, Desmond hadn’t done much more than many assassins before him. He’d shown he was ready to die for the order. His random combination of genes just had made sure it happened in a spectacular fashion. Nothing special about him at all. But it truly was hard to remember when Desmond looked like he walked off the stage of a scifi show. Or when Shaun remembered him being so bloody calm and accepting as he walked towards Juno.

As the distant noise of water running stopped, Shaun ascended the stairs and waited in the bedroom. Desmond soon emerged clean shaved with only a towel around his hips and was looking curiously down at himself.

These lines drew strange maps on his body, glowing ever so slightly, a perfectly symmetrical pattern. Shaun put the plate down. Wordlessly, he stepped closer and loosened the towel to trace one line with his eyes that went down his stomach and split up as it met the trail of coarse black hair, then travelled down both his thighs to divide again and again, small lines cascading down Desmond’s legs.

“I’ve no idea where this comes from,” Desmond said. “I’ve-“

Shaun swallowed the next word with a kiss. Whatever it was, whyever it was, it was the final straw to see Desmond so thoroughly marked. A reminder what he’d almost lost him to.

Desmond picked up the pace within a heartbeat. They fell down on the bed together, the old mattress creaking in protest as Desmond sat on his hips, then was flipped by Shaun, and round again, kissing and hugging, a tangle of limbs and grasping hands. Finally they laid side by side, panting, looking at each other.

“You bastard,” Shaun breathed as Desmond gently pulled the glasses from his nose. “You utter wanker.” What case could he make? That Desmond shouldn’t have selflessly told him to piss off and abandon him, likely saving his life in the process, because it hurt Shaun’s iddle widdle feelings? Yeah, likely.

“Glad to know you missed me.”

“Bugger off.” Shaun nipped at his collar bone. This was still his Desmond even lit up like a christmas tree by first civ markings. Only Desmond read him that well. “I need to feed you,” he muttered, hand running along sharp edges of bone. Desmond looked half starved.

The man pulled a face, his leg sneaking around Shaun’s waist, toes running along the back of his thigh. “British food?”

Shaun glowered. “Fine. No fudge for you, Desmond.”

Desmond laughed. God, he though he’d never hear that sound again. So careless, friendly, open. Desmond pulled him into his strong arms, on top of him, and wrestled Shaun’s shirt over his head.

“I missed you,” he said, between kisses, after he’d flung the offending piece of cloth away. “When I came out of the temple... I didn’t know whether it had worked. There was no one. I thought you would all be-”

Again, Shaun silenced him with a kiss.

“Thanks to you, no. Now stop thinking about it, yeah?” His voice was gentle. “We won’t be destroyed until Juno decides to kick off whatever she’s planned and that’s not tonight.”

He was telling himself and Desmond alike as they pulled close to each other with desperate strength. Shaun was taller, lankier, though not as well-built, but he could cover Desmond with himself, pressing him into the mattress skin to skin. They were rubbing and thrusting against each other with all the restraint of a pair of dogs. Eventually, Shaun managed to work his way between Desmond’s legs.

His and Desmond’s hand collided at Shaun’s belt buckle and Desmond chuckled, kissing him again, beating him to it as his quick fingers slid the belt open and Shaun pulled down his trousers just far enough so Desmond could take him in hand. It was heaven to feel his warm palm wrap around him again. The Britishman allowed himself to enjoy the feeling for a moment, thrusting up into these callous fingers.

“Wait,” Shaun murmured against Desmond’s ear. The Assassin groaned in protest, but he did let him go. His hand wandered down Shaun’s leg as the Brit moved away to the edge of the bed, resting on his ankle. It was a good thing that Shaun hadn’t found the motivation to unpack his travel bag, or he likely would have thrown the lube away by this point. As it was, Desmond’s impatient tugging only had to last for a few seconds before Shaun was back, kissing him as he attempted to flick the bottle open with his thumb.

Desmond snatched the lube away. It took him a bit of fumbling to open it while Shaun assulted his neck, leaving marks on his skin, lovebites that wouldn’t stick on the glowing tattoos.

Shaun shuddered as the cold liquid covered him, already spreading Desmond’s legs with one hand, briefly distracted by how little there was to grab onto anymore, nothing but sinewy muscle. Usually he would have prepared him, played with him, but tonight it was more urgent and he knew Desmond felt the same.

When Shaun pushed in, there was no resistance. His personal Jesus eagerly spread his legs for him with an expectant, open-mouthed smile, panting, one sticky hand dancing over his hip. Shaun placed his fists next to the other’s head, looking into his bright eyes of molten gold and watching them narrow as he pushed in deep, slow, hard, like he was planning to reach his core with each thrust. He lost himself all the way in him, gasping back a curse, and in that moment his world suddenly turned. The impact as he met the bed knocked the air out of him and the way it made him shift in Desmond almost had him come right then and there. Desmond sat on his hips now.

Shaun looked up at him. Desmond’s body glowed in the twilight of the room, Shaun noticed now as Desmond rode him hard, as if there was a sort of inner light in him, energy pulsing through his body. He dug his fingers into Desmond’s thighs, angling his legs so he could thrust into Desmond, meet his wild movements on top of him. He was all the way in him and delirious with lust. Desmond’s light seemed to fill the room.

Lovely, he thought when Desmond smiled, that scar stretching over his lips, the slight imperfection which had always marred his face. He leaned his face in Shaun’s hand that came to touch his check, kissing his palm, wetting his fingers that Shaun then dropped down to pump his hard manhood.

The warmth that seemed to be all around him tightened in spasms. Shaun had never been particularly loud, his breath flat, hectic, shallow as he pressed into him, interspersed with voiceless curses. Desmond always whimpered and moaned, though, and as he came he shamelessly shouted Shaun’s name in a way that made him want to never stop pumping into him.

Desmond went slack, breath escaping him for a moment as Shaun sat up. He wrapped his arms around him, thrusting up, up, up into him and Desmond clung on to him and made himself so tight it almost hurt. Shaun tasted him as he pressed his face in the crook of Desmond’s neck and thanked a God he knew not to exist for bringing him back. He spent himself deep in the other man, looking him straight in the golden eyes.

-

As they laid next to each other, Shaun with his head on Desmond’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, he felt the illuminated patterns. They were warmer than his skin, just a bit, but noticeable so. Lifelines, scars of a very peculiar sort. Desmond put his arm around Shaun’s shoulders. The glowing pattern there ripped through the black lines already infused in his skin. These details Shaun had hardly noticed before, wrapped around and sunken in Desmond.

“I didn’t think that tattoo could look worse than it already did,” Shaun said, pulling himself up to lie beside him, propped up on an elbow.

The other man sighed. “I know you must be happy the first civ agrees with you, but I got your opinion about tribal tattoos the first three thousand times you told me,” Desmond said with a lazy grin, stretching out his arm.

Desmond had given up trying to defend his daft tattoo he’d gotten when he was sixteen pretty much rightaway, which was really the only thing Shaun could say in his favour when it came to that terrible thing. Hadn’t stopped him from a long-winded rant about branding yourself as someone who’s IQ did not exceed ambient temperature, though. Or, on the other hand, from gently tracing the lines whenever Desmond was struggling through his Animus-induced nightmares. The lines included a stylised eagle and a hidden A, but Desmond claimed he’d just let the tattoo artist run wild with it.

“They have taste in something then, if not food.” Shaun interlaced their fingers and narrowed his eyes. “It looks like the pattern on the Apple, don’t you think?”

Desmond made a small noise. “You think it might have imprinted on me? Or like... a stamp?”

“Might be. You were rather effective wielding it.” He placed their hands on Desmond’s naked stomach. “I still don’t understand how you survived.”

“Me neither.” The assassin kissed Shaun briefly and shrugged. “I did release a wizard techno ghost on you all, though. Would have been a dick move to leave you alone to deal with it.”

Shaun frowned deeply. “Wizard... wizard techno ghost.” He took a deep breath. “You know what I like about you, Desmond?” Another kiss. “You’re eloquence. You are a poet warrior come again. Surely, surely there is no better way to describe an ancient goddess among mortals who has come to destroy the race she thinks inferior animals, oh yeah. Wizard techno ghost.”

Desmond rolled his eyes. “That’s what I have you for, Professor Hastings.”

Shaun was about to find a choice answer when his phone made a noise. He looked up and found it lying next to the forgotten plate of sandwiches on the nightstand. As he handed the food to Desmond, he took a brief look at his mobile and put it away again.

“Who was that?” Desmond asked through a mouthful of bread. Shaun stole a cheese-and-salad sandwich before he settled in next to him again.

“Rebecca wrote. We should give her a call, eh?” Shaun smiled. “Your father, too.”

Desmond nodded his head. After a second of contemplation, something seemed to have come to him; he grinned. “That should be one fun conversation.”

The Brit frowned. “Why’s that?”

“You said we’d tell them all about us once the apocalypse business is done with, don’t you remember?”

Desmond pressed snug against his side. Warm and real, unconscious of how this sentence had been haunting Shaun, his fingers idly playing with the hair on Shaun’s arm

Ridiculous, Shaun thought at that moment as his fingers dug into the sandwich until it was just cheese pieces and so much crumbs in his fist and he dropped it on the blanket, utterly ridiculous. That this, of all the things Desmond had said, had done, including appearing out of the night like a vision, this hit Shaun like a punch to the face.

Shaun attempted to swallow his bite with the tears that were suddenly welling up, but both got stuck somewhere half-way. He cleared his throat and turned his head.

“Shaun?” Fingers tried to turn his head by grasping his chin, but Shaun grabbed Desmond’s wrist and pushed it down. With the other hand he pulled the man to himself and leaned his forehead against the Desmond’s head, mouth pushed against the soft hair.

“Yeah, love,” he just said hoarsely, holding him close, breathing his smell, bathing in that faint new light and reminding himself that this time it was not his overactive, desperate imagination playing tricks on him again as Desmond wrapped an arm around his middle. “Yeah, I remember.”

Seconding for conhayth aaaaahhhhh

HOT DAMN! Why has no one filled this yet? T_T Anon is fanning themselves thinking about this fill. @.@ Anon also seconds throwing Haytham! (Cuz he's hot :D)

One of Rebecca's AC 3 mails: "Hey there Desmond! As you'll see from the date of this email, you've been in the Animus for a few days now. But don't worry!! I've been staying on top of your vitals. Not even a blip! So it looks like extending the sessions won't be a problem. Whatever happened between you and 16 seems to have increased your tolerance. The animus keeps you in a resting state which takes care of fatigue - and your memories are vivid enough we're actually seeing micro-movement in your muscles, which means no atrophy issues either."

Okay, Becca, that's really nice, but I still think Desmond has to drink. And eat. And go to the toilet. And lying around completely still in one position isn't healthy even with muscle spasms. And wouldn't it be disorienting to be stuck in another person for days while always trying your best to reach full synch - feel, become, think exactly like them? Basically, I want a Desmond who's completely bleary after he gets out of the Animus and Shaun who grudgingly cares about him while pondering what he feels about being around while they burn Desmond out (even if one against the fate of the world is, logically, a good deal).

/PAWS AT THE SCREEN LONGINGLY/ I miss you, writer-anon - hope everything is going well and you update soon

Argh, I can't believe I made that mistake! It will be corrected when I archive it at AO3. Thanks for pointing it out, anon. :)

This needs to be filled. I'll do it!

Literally foaming at the mouth because of your cliffhangers you terrible good person you<3

First chapter is done... it's going to be three parts, I'll post everything in one go once it's done. So maybe around sunday.

I never thought I could ship this pairing but... /melts/ thanks you for bringing Desmond back!

Give me a couple of days, OP. This is hot.

Not OP, but will proceed gross sobbing in the corner at the beauty and ultimate perfection of this fic in three,

two,

one.

*gross sobbing in the corner*

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Page 149 of 385

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Assassin Puppies! Artfill~

Re: Assassin Puppies! Artfill~

no subject

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 8 / ? ]

Re: [GEN or Desmond/Any] Hurt Comfort while in the animus

Re: [GEN or Desmond/Any] Hurt Comfort while in the animus

Not the OP but a fan nonetheless

Re: all male PILLOW WAR!

Shaun/Desmond: Come again (1/?)

Shaun/Desmond: Come again (2/?)

Re: Malik/Desmond & Malik/Altaïr - Training

Shaun/Desmond: Come again (3/?)

Shaun/Desmond: Come again (4/?)

Shaun/Desmond: Come again (5/5)

no subject

Re: Altair/Ezio/Connor Welcoming the new guy...

Shaun/Desmond, Animus effects

Re: Welcome to the New Age - Part 21/???

fill anon

Re: Writer!Anon

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 8 / ? ]

Re: Writer!Anon

Re: Shaun/Desmond: Come again (5/5)

Re: Hickey, bondage/domination

Re: Shaun/Desmond: Come again (5/5)