asscreedkinkmeme ([personal profile] asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only

Join or Die

✩ 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.

✩ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
( Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 ( Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only


(Anonymous) 2012-10-30 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Desmond's not dead, Juno has just developed a symbiotic relationship with him.

And she likes to touch him. A lot.

Re: Juno/Desmond

(Anonymous) 2012-10-31 02:32 am (UTC)(link)
Oh god, yes, please.

ghost in my lungs, monster in my head

(Anonymous) 2012-12-05 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)
Not sure if this is what you wanted OP but I hope someone out there likes it. Probably playing fast and loose with Those Who Came Before and related things. I'm real not sure how to label it either - at the very least it's dubcon from Desmond's end.

ghost in my lungs, monster in my head

This is not the outcome she hoped for. Beggars can't be choosers, his human - well, not quite - mind replies and she rails at it, hissing. It will serve until she can beat down his defences for there cannot be much that holds him together now, a mind already fractured from the machine and memories that swirl, memories she likes to replay when he tries to sleep. Everything is more vivid for her and so she likes to make him remember Lucy, little traitor to the cause, his hidden blade puncturing her soft flesh, golden glow all around them. Desmond pushes back and if he weren't so beneath her she would be impressed at his ability to fight back despite all he has gone through. After all, they were built to survive and survive he has. He has forced a third option. Too much for Desmond to do as expected or as he is told.

She is very much in the backseat here. She can work with that.

In moments she has control but her potential is limited. Still she must learn how to use this body that lacks her sixth sense (the eyes, oh she likes to play with those, pushing and pushing until this fragile flesh stumbles into his father or friends) and when he is quiet, she gets to work. Sensations from the outside world are dull because these are not her fingers, not her skin, not her blood. Instead she feels through him. The ache in the small of his back from the animus sessions, the constant twinge of a tension headache radiating in a tight band from temple to temple across his skull and down his neck, the conflict within him at weighing up doing the right thing against the goals of the Order.

Let me take control, she whispers - croons, imagines herself wrapped around him, not mother and child, not lovers but something - to his mind as it falls to drowsiness. He is always so tired. So young, so weary. They were not weary long ago, the first of them before the tragedy. Oh they were worked but their minds were held tight when what they call Pieces of Eden were held out before them. This one though, he is so very tired. Let me play my part as I said I would, your part is done, should be done.
Shut up and let me sleep for fuck's sake! How many times do we have to have this argument in my own fucking head? He is so rude to her when he should know better. He tells jokes about her to the one named Shaun and if she could she would throttle the life out of that arrogant little beast before the dark-haired woman who always has hands poised, fingers twitching for even away from her keyboard. Desmond shares a body with something his mind can barely comprehend.
You would not be so weary Desmond if you let yourself go, curled up and rested. You never wanted this life. Let me in.
You're already in, way more in that I'm comfortable with.

It's 'said' with what he views as some sort of finality. He should know better.

His fingers twitch. He fights but he's tired and in these moments more malleable and she commands the fingers to pull off the t-shirt and hoodie he wears, to kick off his shoes, wriggle out of the socks. The weapon is allowed for there are always some necessities and should something harm this form she does not know what that will mean for her - she is not frightened, not she, she blames being bound to this little body that has suffered traumas all too often.

Don't. A short, simple plea. A plea she ignores.

His hands guided by her will - their hands, she likes to think in such moments - move down his chest. Part of her is still jarred at the unfamiliar planes of smooth hard muscle, the lack of curves, the hair beneath the navel, the sharp dips of his hips so she remembers Aita. Aita she killed as she made him kill Lucy. His toes curl. The jeans are pushed down. A hand beneath the underwear to grip flesh that is familiar and unfamiliar all at once. She learns to chase the sensations, peering into his mind as she does so, their hand moving as the other spreads out across his chest to feel the increasing beat of his heart.

Monitoring your vitals, Rebecca would be so pleased. It's as close to a snarl as she can muster in his head as his body starts to jerk, flesh hard now in her hand. Lucy flashes across his vision, the things he wished he could do were she not dead by his own hand. Altaïr and Maria upon a rooftop. Ezio and the many women he knew; Cristina, Rosa, Caterina, Sofia. Other nameless bodies Desmond has known, male and female, the thoughts he has now about Shaun or Rebecca or both of them. She twines herself around his mind as she strokes, his hips arching desperately, breathing ragged. His lip splits and she savours the taste of blood as he bites his lips to keep his moans quiet - he screamed in his sleep once, maybe she'll revisit that soon to keep him on his toes - until it's him on his knees worshipping her as she carries out her plans, her hand cupping his face where it's between her legs the image he sees when he comes.

The aftershocks are muted. Not like her and Aita when he could make her tremble for who knows how long. His hand feels like his again, his exhausted mind dragging her down with it even as she claws, tries to hold on. She seethes, just as imprisoned within him as she was before but she tells herself she can wait, that he cannot hold her off forever. She is good at waiting when she has such plans to carry out.

Re: ghost in my lungs, monster in my head

(Anonymous) 2012-12-05 11:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Not OP but this was creepy and hot and awesome and wow. So amazingly written. it rude of me to want more?
deathwailart: (Lady Knight)

[personal profile] deathwailart 2012-12-06 12:10 am (UTC)(link)
un-anoning because I hate being anon when I say thank you - so thank you, I'm really glad you enjoyed it because I honestly had no idea what was going on with it when I was writing.

Not rude at all, maybe if I catch up on my backlog of things to write over the holidays.


(Anonymous) 2012-12-12 01:14 am (UTC)(link)
Holy shit I just noticed that this was filled. I cannot find the words to express how much I adore this. You are a godsend, mate. Thank you so much!