asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6

In a forest, far in the depths of what remained of the frontier that the white colonists struggled to survive in so many years ago, there was a log cabin isolated from the nearest form of clustered population by an hour's drive down a well-hidden track. After the whole "saving the world" business (in which he most certainly did not die, as a certain goddess may have desperately desired) Desmond had gone back to the Farm for eight months to recover. He had not gone alone.

It seemed that the Temple had a few more tricks up it's sleeve, including dumping a heavy Native American man directly on top of Desmond as he lost consciousness from resurrecting Juno. As the Temple rumbled and shook, beginning to collapse from the power of the shields that now protected Earth from the solar flares, the man awoke, saw the imminent danger, and threw Desmond over his shoulder to crawl out of the Temple to find he was in the sacred cave of his clan. Three startled people in odd clothing and lifting boxes into a metal carriage gawped at him, then grabbed him roughly by the jacket and hauled him in as the cave crumbled. The whole place went down in rumbling stone and smoke, Rebecca taking the wheel and slamming the pedal to the floor before they were buried in the resulting avalanche.

Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't have a chance to see the graffiti, more preoccupied by the whole "about to die" situation but the man he found out later via a reluctant Desmond. His second sight had shown the people to be blue so he didn't object, but his hand still hovered over the handle of his favourite weapon. The carriage was mildly terrifying at first and he ached to know how it worked to ease his discomfort, but he set it aside and went to sleep from a sudden exhaustion, even as the others questioned him.

Eight months.

Desmond had been so frail, burnt with nauseating wounds on his entire body, black and weeping pus. With the help of several skin donors (handily obtained from some Abstergo thugs that had tried to infiltrate the Farm), and a skilled surgeon, Desmond slowly started to heal. His skin was patchwork, he lost the lower-half of his legs, chopped under the knees but it didn't matter, not when it meant that he was alive. And at every step of the way, Ratonhnhaké:ton had been at his side.

And slowly they had fallen in love over muscle exercises, Ratonhnhaké:ton gently supporting Desmond as the man balanced himself and strengthened his body, carefully watched over by doctors and taking immunosuppressants without complaint.

When Desmond was deemed fit to leave, he said farewell to the Farm but this time with the blessing of his family. They knew he couldn't stay and that Ratonhnhaké:ton wouldn't allow Desmond to leave without him. And so they left, their jobs done, to hide from the world until they felt they could handle it again. Maybe it would be a few weeks, maybe never. William had given them a plot of land with the cabin, rundown at the time, and Ratonhnhaké:ton and Desmond fixed it up in time for winter.

Ratonhnhaké:ton traced the navy blue lines that had emerged on Desmond's skin not long after it had healed. They were perfectly straight, unbroken by the varying squares of skin that had been grafted to Desmond's back. Shaun, the one that sounded like Haytham, the historian, had put forth the theory that the Temple had ingrained knowledge into his core, and that even if they were sliced out they would return. It seemed to be the most viable. Yet Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't think of that, didn't think of why his lover had been so permanently marked for his sacrifice, and simply took them as beautiful.

Desmond was beautiful. Still frail, still working to get his body back to a healthy weight, but beautiful nonetheless. Ratonhnhaké:ton pressed a kiss to Desmond's shoulder-blade where a whorl had formed in the Temple-lines. Desmond stirred, blinking like a confused kitten, then smiled, shuffling closer to Ratonhnhaké:ton to return the gesture. A hand pressed to Ratonhnhaké:ton's crotch, teasing the morning wood there and the taller man made a keening noise of pleasure. His eyes didn't slip shut, however, but snapped to Desmond's, watching for the mischievous that always accompanied morning sex. Ah, there it was, a spark of life and distinct addiction to making his partner feel appreciated.

When he reached to touch Desmond, Ratonhnhaké:ton felt him shiver under his fingers, the Temple-lines glowing in small pulses. Dipping his hand down Desmond's chest, he lightly touched and explored the sensitive parts of Desmond's skin, paying particular attention to the dusky brown nipples. They hardened and Desmond squirmed, jutting his hips forward with a cock that was already half-aroused from feeling up Ratonhnhaké:ton. His partner obliged the silent request and untucked straining pyjama bottoms, pushing the soft cotton away so he could grasp at the tip with a calloused hand that always made Desmond moan happily.

Shuffling closer, Ratonhnhaké:ton pressed their cocks together and set a slow roll of his hips to let Desmond lean in and take possession of his lips. They grasped at each other, not too tightly, always aware of their injuries and scars, kissing until they were out of breath, and then Desmond tucked his head against Ratonhnhaké:ton's broad chest and nipped at his collarbone, enjoying the noises Ratonhnhaké:ton made. Their hands met as they fondled each other's balls, then rubbed the underside of their shafts. It was sticky, but Desmond leaned over to the bedside table to slather some lube on his hands anyway, warming the fluid before grasping their cocks together to pump. Ratonhnhaké:ton's large hands helped, clasping over his own, and together they rode it out until they cried softly, flustered, and rested against each other, their seed spilt between them.

Messily, Ratonhnhaké:ton tried to kiss Desmond on the forehead but ended up with a nose instead. Desmond snorted and laughed, inducing a quiet chuckle from his partner.

"What are we going to do today?" asked Desmond.

"Well, there is the fireplace to be cleaned out, wood chopped, and the patch in the roof, oh, and the meats to be smoked. Then I think the greenhouse needs to be che-ah!" began Connor, flushing as Desmond lazily grinned at him before kissing the faint bruises on Ratonhnhaké:ton's neck.

Guiding Desmond's head up, he received more kisses, scattered over his neck and cheek, before a final one was planted on his lips. Ratonhnhaké:ton stroked Desmond's cheek with his thumb, gazing into those pretty brown eyes.

"I love you," whispered Desmond, scared to shatter the moment that hung between them, afraid that their thread was only gossamer.

"I love you too," murmured Ratonhnhaké:ton.

Desmond smiled and snuggled closer to the man from the Temple, warming himself against the chill of the frosty morning.

Its on the list. Thanks for the prompt!

I'll put it on my list. Thanks for the prompt :)

Hey there! This is the anon from above. My e-mail is tsukemono.san@gmail.com (I didn't see that you left an e-mail.)

I'll claim the last twelve pages, 31 to 42. (I was going to say last ten pages, but this keeps it easy to remember.) Might take me awhile, but I promise I'm good for them. :D

D'oh, I see your e-mail now. I'll just e-mail you instead. XD

Thanks op! Werewolves are my guilty pleasure, soooo...yeah, Ezio, you're going to be a bit furrier for a while. :) Next part imminent!

The hideout smelt disgusting. Stale sweat and sour, rank body odour, old blood, the smell of leather oil and uncleaned metal. How he had managed to miss such an assault on the nose before was unbelievable. Something would have to be done about it, but for now, Ezio decided, he really needed a bath. Because he smelt worse than the sewers and he felt if he had to endure it one moment longer than he had to, he might just pass out. Ezio wondered why nobody had told him or how his Brotherhood put up with it for so long.

Yet when he opened the door to step into the crowds, the scent of humanity made him almost stumble right back down the stairs. And the light! And the sound! It was horrible. Everything had been made hyper-vivid, and he felt he could see everything, right down to the minute threads of a lady's dress as she passed. The world felt like a painting, a noisy, mad painting that used emeralds and sapphires and blues brighter than the most brilliant summer sky with streaks of poisonous red and blinding yellow. Regular conversations were shouted, whispers were spoken.

Ezio stood in the doorway, determined not to slump against it from the stimulus overload. He smelt shit and piss, a sweet posy pinned to a woman's collar, hot cobblestone, the strange scent of the river Tiber - the smell of lust, thick and heady, cloying, the salt of their sweat as two young lovers escaped their chaperones and frantically hitched up a skirt in an alleyway, kissing sweetly before frantically rutting against one another and fuck,</ he wasn't one who was prone to daydreaming like this, what was <i>wrong with him? But it wasn't a daydream, he could hear them giggling as they ducked from their secluded corner to their cross chaperones, clucking and squawking like distraught hens.

Footsteps clattered up the stairs in an indiscreet manner, clumsy masking that only made Ezio angrier. The whole of Roma and perhaps even Italia would hear such amateur attempts at stealth.

"Il Mentore?" queried a hesitant, young voice. "You've been standing there for quite some time - is it safe to leave?"

"Not for you," he growled, turning to face the boy. "You are too loud. Your footsteps are like a troll clumping along in the height of summer! Do it again, and see if you cannot be quieter."

A pang of dismay flinched through the apprentice's body. Immediately the child back down the stairs, tugging their mask higher, and Ezio could smell the salt of unshed tears. Briefly, he felt guilty for snapping, but it was justified by the novice's mistake.

Wasn't it?

Closing the door, some of the noise and light vanished, easing the sensory headache. It had been the wrong way to correct Anthony. The steps were quieter this time when the child approached him, but he was moving so slowly that any advantage had been lost.

"Ah, Anthony, that was good," said Ezio, trying to make up for his aggressive outburst.

"Thank you, Il Mentore. May I leave now? Teresa would like her vegetables before the markets close," asked Anthony, voice tinged with a strain of anxiety, head lowered so as to not make eye contact.

"Yes, yes, of course," Ezio replied as he stood aside to let the novice through.

The scent of fear washed over him. It was a slate-grey, with streaks of navy blue and seams of pus. It clouded his head, overtook his senses and his heart raced in the anticipation it had before a kill, then was forced out by the outside world as Anthony slipped from the front door, replaced with the spice of exotic perfume. Ezio recoiled. His hands were trembling as he realised he had wanted to murder Anthony.

He had enjoyed the fear.

It lingered at the bottom of the stairs. But why could he smell this well? Was he ill and hypersensitive as a result?

"Il Mentore! Before you go, I -"

He didn't hear past that, consumed by the grating sounds that formed the voice. It made him growl under his breath, twitch agitatedly, and storm back down to where the person was calling him.

His skin felt too tight, bones felt wrong. He growled again when they started to speak, and when they turned to him, body tensed, their eyes widened. They smelt good, cloaked in fear, and he flashed his white teeth. They were saying something, spindle needles of sound, then an axe as they screamed. Stupid prey. He swiped at it with claws, teeth snapping at the air.

Drums of leather and stone pounded, disorientating him as the sound echoed and more than two dozen other prey stepped into the battlefield. He crouched, feeling more natural on all fours. They looked tasty. Some of them looked fuckable. His eyes slid back to the spindle needles. Maybe he'd fuck her first.

The sharp pinch of his trousers brought Ezio back as his cock tried to harden in the already confined space.

Immediately disgust filled him. What the fuck was happening to him? He was aroused by this? He wanted to kill Tessa?

Then someone shouted something in a rage, and Ezio looked at his leg, a sleeping dart embedded in the small gap between armour plates. He felt woozy, and flopped to his side.

"I am sorry, merda, I am sorry," he groaned, not fighting the drugs.

But sound distorted again and someone was shouting, "But why are his eyes blue?"

not op but this is really sweet and definitely what I needed. I had no idea I shipped this.

6 and 28?

I didn't know that I shipped it until the prompt came up, and then it hit me like a tonne of bricks. :) Thank you for reading and leaving a lovely message. I might write some more of this 'verse.

I am so ridiculously happy right now. This fic is so beautiful, I actually cried tears of joy for once! This means so much, you have now idea; I have this stupidly large grin on my face right now, and I know I'm going to be smiling the rest of the day!

Federico Auditore and Vieri de Pazzi

Aw, it makes me grin madly to hear that you enjoyed my little fic that much. It was an absolute pleasure to write and if you ever feel like you've got another prompt for this pairing, you pop it up. I plan on writing some more Conmond/Desor/DesCon/DesCon etc in the future. :) Thank you for reading! :D I hope you have a lovely day.

In order to explain why Desmond's body seems to change so much, the others realise his body is attempting to mimic the ancestor he is currently syncing with. Cue Desmond beginning to outgrow his clothes since Connor is, let's face it, huge. Especially in the cock department.

Bonus points if Desmond is rather reluctant to ask for new clothes at first (due to the "fat" jokes Shaun made in Brotherhood), but finds he really has to soon because they're getting tight with the deliciousness that is Connor.

Seconding this with the fury of a thousand suns! What a cute advert!

SO.

I was just playing AC, and Vidic says something like, "Every major discovery made (scientific, philosophical, etc.)in the last millennium have all been from members of Abstergo or their predecessors." And then I got inspired for this prompt:

What if Leonardo da Vinci's descendant is the one who designed and built the animus in the first place? He's taken by Abstergo and forced to work for the company. However he's probably used the animus on himself, and is now aware of his ancestry. So, when he has to go repair an over-heated animus, he accidentally finds Desmond, the spitting image of his ancestor's lover, snooping around, and Lucy escaping from Abstergo. He uses his recognition of Desmond, and somehow manages to get dragged along with them and escape to the safe house. Also Romantic things happen.

So, Desmond/Leonardo descendant.

lol this is probably the exact opposite of what I usually fill so now i'm extra excited to fill it!

is there anything else you want in the fill? i always get nervous with simple prompts. i don't want to add in anything you dislike/ leave out something you want.

Haytham was never the type that jumped from bed to bed with a broken heart, or became all depressed and unproductive just because of a little romantic misadventure. Not at all. He had more self-control than that. His life appeared to be no different than before during those three weeks without Connor. However, if his personal stash of Bourbon and wine had gone away slightly faster than usual, that was understandable.

Just because he wouldn’t admit that he was hurt, didn’t mean that it hadn’t been the case.

He knew it was a path full of obstacles. The possible blood relations, their same gender, and the age difference, all those nonsense. He could’ve understood why Connor wanted to pull away.

If he hadn’t dragged him back there in the first place.

But no, Haytham was not bitter. He had no time for that. He had lectures to give, papers to grade, books to write, meetings to attend. His mind had no room for that little bugger. He was sure that with a bit of time, his heavy schedule and ambitions, and maybe a small dose of alcohol would completely cleanse the young man’s existence out of his brain.

And his plan had worked out quite nicely. No, he had absolutely not glanced at his phone unconsciously. Certainly not several times a day.

However, just as how his peaceful and somewhat dull life had been turned upside down the first time he met Connor, his heart was ripped inside out again when he saw the bloody twat was waiting for him in the rain, just like a wet kitten.

At that exact moment, all he wanted to do was to devour the younger man, to mark the every inch of his skin, to watch him squirm and moan and beg on his black Egyptian cotton sheet.

Sadly, it didn’t happen.

And no, Haytham would never feel like divulging the reason.

He was staring at the white envelope when he phone started vibrating on his desk. The caller ID said “Connor.”

He sighed, putting down the envelope, and answered the phone.

“Yes?” he said.

“Have you got the result back?” Connor didn’t waste any time to get straight to the point.

“I’m staring at it.” Haytham rubbed his face with his other palm.

“You haven’t opened it?”

Haytham snorted. “Have you?” he countered.

He was answered by Connor’s silence.

Haytham smiled to himself bitterly. They were both fools.

“Lunch?” he asked.

Connor groaned with relief.

“God, yes.”

Yesss they're one of my ultimate guilty pleasures. The second part was just as awesome as the first, hhh. I love the stages of dealing with being a monster. <3

I really don't mind, as long as there's no incest. :) I'm excited that someone wants to fill though! Thank you! :D

*hugs* Thanks OP! I was worried about amplifying Ezio's sexuality, but I decided to in the end, as you can see.

You just gotta love Haytham. The extent to which he deludes himself into believing things is amusing.

Man, now this is a real cliffhanger, I'm very excited to see the results too. Let's see what you've got in store for us next...

A!anon here!
Ah yes, Haytham has some really unhealthy coping strategies. In fact, I've personally dealt with this kind of people. They will use every ounce of their power to convince you they're okay, but you can see their inside crumbling as they're deluding themselves.
Fortunately, Connor is a good lad :)

my heart burns for this

oooo man this prompt gives me feelings

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6

Fill: The Log Cabin 1/1

Re: I will fill any Achilles prompts!

Re: I will fill any Achilles prompts!

Re: Archive For Part 6

Re: Archive For Part 6

Re: OP

Fill: To Pay a Debt 2/? (TW: mild non-con themes, blood)

Re: Fill: The Log Cabin 1/1

Re: Let's do a Pairing Roulette

Re: Fill: The Log Cabin 1/1

OP

Re: Let's do a Pairing Roulette

Re: OP

Animus makes Desmond change

Re: altair/malik neighbours

Leonardo's descendant

I'll fill it!

Yes, No, and Maybe [9/?]

OP

Re: I'll fill it!

Re: OP

Re: Yes, No, and Maybe [9/?]

Re: Yes, No, and Maybe [9/?]

Re: Mr. and Mr. Kenway

Re: Leonardo's descendant