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quindread · 11 months

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THE COTTAGECORE MARI AU PROMPT THAT NOBODY ASKED FOR

Pairing: Daminette (edit: they’re like 19/20 in this, post high-school)

Rating: It has mature themes, you have been warned. But it’s pretty tame at the same time. Violence + Sexual Themes

________________

Mari is diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety disorder after she quite literally removed her beloved city’s supervillain (and her dear partner’s parent) from the plane of existence. Like she removes the suffering from the minds of all of Paris and has Gabriel written off in a car accident a year after his wife’s disappearance. Only her Court (Adrien, Kagami, Zoe, Alix, Max) and the Order remembers. Mari and Adrien decide not to pursue a relationship. They’re both healing and are decidedly better off friends - siblings in everything but blood.

Lila, who was not punished due to her not really being a miraculous holder and upsetting the balance, continues to slander Mari. Her class isn’t hostile but has no desire to interact with the “new and mean Marinette” Lila was painting her to be. It’s still a huge betrayal given the fact that Mari was supportive and very generous to these people.

So here’s how her new housing arrangement works: have you ever wondered how Gina can afford to travel around the world without a job? Yeah, I think she came from money. Like, old money - real estate old money to be precise. Passive income and such. Hearing about her Fairy’s situation, she offers an unused property at the countryside of Metropolis.

Marinette’s therapist and parents approve of her vacationing there for the summer when they realize that her stressors and triggers where all environmental. So off our girl goes!

Note: She does not have the mother box with her anymore, just Tikki, Plagg, and Kaalki. (She does have unrestricted access to it as the Grand Guardian though - she trains with the Order once a week in Tibet until she doesn’t)

Mari is aware of the Supers and was relieved that the Kwamis don’t show up in x-ray visions and with the fear of them eavesdropping she learns FSL to communicate with them.

The townhouse and the verdure around the property inspires Mari to start a garden. The quiet oddly soothes her and when she feels lonely she goes into town or the nearby farmer’s market where she charms the locals. She meets the Kents - they love her! Martha enjoys baking with her. Lois uncovers her identity as Jagged and Clara Nightingale’s exclusive (and reclusive) designer - they bond over fashion trends and the gossip surrounding the industry. Clark and Jon were another story.

She figures them out having sensed the same soul in Superman and Superboy in this father-and-son duo. They x-ray her as a precaution and finds the mysterious cracks and evidence of past injuries that should have killed her. There’s a very anti-climatic reveal that Martha and Lois are not privy to with respect to Marinette’s wishes.

At least one Kent would be in her home during the day. The Kwamis are free to roam around when it was Clark and/or Jon visiting. She ends up bonding with Jon who also grew up too fast (metaphorically and literally).

She ends up extending her stay in Metropolis indefinitely. Her parents also decided to open a branch of their patisserie there which Mari managed. They visit her as often as they could.

Mari was dismayed to find that no, Metropolis had no schools with both a fashion and business degree - that’s how she ends up in Gotham University.

Jon tells Mari about a Damian - a friend of his.

J: He’s…. uh… he has a big heart.

M: …

J: He’s a bit of an asshole(?)

M: Ah.

Mari meets Damian who reminds her of Kagami - antisocial and proper. They share a few business classes and are both members of the art club.

Mari is still this ball of anxiousness and has only allowed Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi and Katherine Karlo into her life, the former she learned was close to Damian - she didn’t mind when she and the girls met up with Damian, he was quiet, honest, and minded his own business. Through their hangouts Damian finds out about the friendship between Jon and Mari.

He’s hesitant to befriend her at first due to the conflicting rumors about her: due to her timid personality she had a split reputation. One side called her sweet, shy, and kind. While the other calling her arrogant, high-maintenance, and rude. He soon finds out that the latter half were spread by cliques who’s offer of friendship she declined and men she rejected. He was glad that he relented to Maps’ insistent invitations - she was a decent person to hang out with and it didn’t hurt that she was pleasing to the eye. (She also enjoyed sharing her vegetarian salads with him - he starts appreciating it more when he learns that she picks the vegetables straight from the garden she grows.)

As her luck would have it, a robbery unfolds at one of their favorite coffee spots. Mari and Damian - who were both pretending to be civ - try to find a way to protect their friends. The robbers recognizes Damian as a Wayne and takes him and another GU(a school for rich and affluent people’s children) kid - Marinette - who had stood in front of her friends.

They’re gagged, blindfolded, and carted off to who knows where. Damian discreetly activates a distress signal and the bats spur into action. Mari, aware that she was sturdier than Damian, draws the men’s attention to her (she purposely pisses them off and gets beaten up when they start to pester Damian).

M: [removes her gag somehow] Really? A ski mask? And in black? How boring can you get?

*Damian shaking his head furiously in the background*

Kidnapper(KN): Shut up, girlie!

M: You know I always wondered how Kidnappers could have a secret a warehouse as a hideout. It’s not like you can afford the rent—

KN: Are you trying to get yourself killed?

M: You’re backed up by some politician aren’t you?

KN: H-How the fuck did this bitch know?

M: There’s literally a stack of campaign papers behind you.

KN: Wha—

M: That’s some shit graphic design by the way. I’ve seen grade schoolers that can do better.

KN: [points a gun at her] Shut up or I’ll blow your brains out.

M: You wouldn’t.

KN: The fuck do you know—

M: You need me alive to get ransom from my parents.

KN: …Nobody said you had to be in one piece though.

M: Touché—[get slapped hard]

*Damian basically starts convulsing in the background*

M: …Damn. You punch like a cunt—[And the kidnappers basically start to rough her up]

The bats arrive in five minutes and it’s Red Hood that finds them first. He sees these mf’s beating up a woman and goes ballistic(pun intended). Red Robin and Spoiler has to forcibly restrain him when he starts to use his fist instead of his guns.

M: [bleeding and bruised] And that’s how you deck someone, you amateurs.

D: [who was released by Black Bat is confused, mad at himself, and in awe] You blithering idiot! Why the fuck would you aggravate our captors like that?

M: [delirious] It was either you or me Damian. Can’t have your pretty face damaged now, can we?

D: [Is floored and very concerned] And what of yours?

M: … dun worry—my assets are…elsewhere… [passes out from the pain]

D: …

Later, his family would tease him about the flirting when he isn’t all sensitive about the incident.

Winter break comes, most of the Batfam visits the Kents(they have a penthouse/some ridiculous property in Metropolis) as a tradition. The Kents went to visit Gotham and stayed at the manor last year.

(Batfam who went: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Steph, Cass, and Damian)

They visit Mari too. Dick and Steph are absolutely thrilled about her cottagecore lifestyle. So much so that they match her aesthetic and begin helping out in the garden - they send pictures to Alfred who request they bring back fresh produce.

Jon and Jason plot to get Damian and Mari together. Unbeknownst to them that Damian was already resolute on courting Mari like the decorous man that he was - he didn’t know what he was doing but Mari’s flush when he initiates flirting tells him he’s doing okay.

Because of his childhood, Damian was never the type to be touchy but imagine his shock when he finds out that one of his more prominent love languages was physical touch. He realizes he’s touch-starved almost immediately when Mari starts giving him small touches like a hand against his bicep, she had a fondness for touching his hair which never failed to deliver a shiver down his spine, and hugs from her are comforting - she felt like home.

Meanwhile Mari does not have any idea how she survived the early stages of Damian’s advances. He was blunt and did not pull his words with insults but it apparently translated to him being verbally open with his affections.

M: I always wanted to be the Knitting Fairy while growing up.

D: Does it not please you that you became a garden fairy instead?

M: Huh, that doesn’t sound so bad.

D: Well, you certainly look the part.

M: [turns into the same shade as the poppy beside her]

And then when the tension between them became more prominent he wasn’t shy with dropping innuendos too.

M: [open’s the door for Damian, haggard from lifting sacks of garden soil] Oh, I didn’t know you were coming so early. I’m a bit of a mess. Sorry.

D: [Tilts his head] You say that as if I wouldn’t appreciate you sweaty and tousled after a rigorous activity.

M: [self-combusts]

And when the touching began?

M: Damian, what color do you think looks better with this shade of blue?

D: [places a hand on her side while looking over her shoulder] I think the a more neutral cream would do.

M: [stops functioning]

Their first kiss?

Pulled straight out of a book that Marinette only read in the privacy of her bedroom.

They’re teasing each other, it evolves to a game of cat and mouse with Damian skillfully evading her. She corners him by turning on some of her sprinkles. He gets wet, growls in the way he would in Mari’s dreams, and pulls of his shirt. She’s too distracted by the hard planes of his stomach to notice him prowling towards her like a beast moving to claim his prey. He picks her off the ground with ease - he’s a foot taller than her - and takes her to the sprinklers.

(I’m going to write this part out properly, maybe to inspire myself or a potential adopter of this prompt)

“Nononono!” Marinette shrieks as the first round of water splashes her. She writhes but Damian had her arms held down her sides.

“All is fair in love and war, Ya Amar.” She ignores the endearment in favor of closing her eyes as the sprinkles rotate in their direction again. But she knows what it means. Ya Amar. My moon. His moon. The water had nothing on the chill that ran down her spine

The water stars seeping into her intimates and she’s soberly aware that the light fabric of her dress would betray her. It doesn’t take long for Damian to discover that fact, he releases a strangle sound. She opens her eyes, he snaps his eyes from where he was clearly looking at her chest. He scrambles to drop her.

“Shit— I’m sorry. This was not my intention—“ he starts but she’s faster. Her now free arms grasps his shoulders and without a second thought, she drops her lips to meet his. Damian inhales sharply and he tilts his head, temporarily breaking the kiss before raising her higher and pulling her by the back of neck - he kisses her with hunger and passion that has Marinette melting further against his chest.

She wraps her legs around his back and he moves to tightly grasp both the back of her thighs. She would worry about bruises later when she didn’t have Damian’s tongue caressing her own. He drops them to the ground and Marinette does not release her hold over his waist. She whines against his lips when she feels the consequences of their activity.

His hands start wandering as he greedily collects and files the sounds that leaves her lips. He begins to trail kisses down her neck to the neckline of her dress that now clung to her body like a second skin giving him his first peek at the maddening shape of her body. And just when he trails a finger against the underside of her breast a loud noise pulls them apart.

Jason finds them and the sight in Mari’s garden has him dropping the shovel he was asked to bring over.

J: Fuck! No, don’t stop! Hell—I’ll leave—I didn’t see shit!

D: [moving to cover Marinette who covered her face in embarrassment] Fuck off, Todd!

J: I’m sorry! [slams the door shot]

D: Tt.

J: [shouts from inside the house] Use protection!

D: Todd!

They started officially dating that day and Jason had no reservations in sharing that he definitely cockblocked his little brother much to Mari and Damian’s horror.

Both keeps the PDA to minimum in school but it was very clear how amorous they where in “private”. There is a table in the art hall that Mari can’t quite look at without blushing to her roots.

She finds out he’s Robin after her first encounter with his alter-ego. He confesses his past when she confronts him. There’s fear of abandonment in his eyes when he gazes at her after his spiel but she kisses his worries and doubts away. She even goes to show her appreciation for his years of service to Gotham.

Her reveal happens when she unceremoniously drops a vial in Jason’s hand claiming that it would remedy the effects of the Lazarus pits with continuous use - it was completed after a year in the making.

Cardinal joins the Batfam occasionally as part of Batman’s contingency plans. They respect her choice as a retired super-soldier and try to keep her out of the business which she appreciates. She is officially initiated as a member of Justice League Dark as an informant/magic specialist and a wildcard.

Years later, she legally inherits the property from Gina when she and Damian get engaged. Damian moves in with her and she lives her cottage life all while being a reclusive designer that comes out once in a while for fashion week.

FIN

AN:

Maybe there’s a Lila take down somewhere but I don’t have the energy to write her at all. We all know its Damian and Tim that makes sure she never sets a foot in high society ever again.

Ig add some details about learning to healthily cope with her anxiety disorder under the guidance and love of her found family? (I have a similar illness but me and my therapist are still figuring it out so I have little idea how to write this) Her PTSD does not need further discussion (miss ma’am had to kill someone) but her anxiety disorder stems from the fact the she’s a person who’s in charge of world-ending powers - everyone and even yourself can become untrustworthy. She starts to get nervous from misreading body languages and everyone is suddenly out to get her.

#mlb x dc #i wrote this instead of studying #daminette #marinette dupain cheng #bamf marinette #maribat

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chaewonplzbiteme · 8 months

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Gift from Work

{Kwon Eunbi / M!Reader}

Tags: top!Eunbi, bottom!Reader (so slight femdom?), slight feet, body worship, paizuri, penis-in-vagina, mandatory cream pie, breeding, established relationship, orgasm delay / denial, signature humor, plot what plot, did-someone-order-metaphors-galore?.

2,671 words. Read it on AO3.

Summary: Eunbi comes home after a photoshoot and is in a mood to bring a gift home.

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Listen to this fic!

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A/N: This was a digital-only straightforward top-to-bottom writing-in-the-dark, first draft churned out in three days (~16h, plus ~7h of editing), without any notes at all, after we challenged each other to a BFH.

Direct your complaints at the regional kpop branch office. Send likes to CK. First attempt at BFH. My conclusion is, I’m incapable of a ‘haze-fueled’ thing. No, really, I don’t write when horny. I hope it’s still a delightful read.

Disclaimers: Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I wish it were real, though (/jk my stories are not my fantasies).

No person or entity associated with this story received payment or anything of value, or entered into any agreement, in connection with the depiction of clothing products.

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You were about to beeline straight to bed, past the living room and across the hallway, when the miniscule sound of the front door unlocking stopped you in your tracks.

In walked your girlfriend, Kwon Eunbi, her features hidden by a wide hat and sunglasses as idols commonly did when incognito. Loose jeans and ankle-high boots concealed her lower body; while the upper half was covered by a waist-long trench coat—even though it was high summer, where the temperatures stayed hot into the evenings.

You turned and pointed at the kitchen, greeting her as she sorted her boonie hat. “There’s food in the microwave, should I—”

“—Ah, I brought you something from work.”

“Huh, weren’t you at a photoshoot?” You scratched your head, watching her put the hand bag away; nothing worthwhile appeared to be inside, so this time perhaps it wouldn’t be branded pencils from the agency. But what would it be, then?

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

With her beautiful face uncovered, her blush rosé lip gloss parted and darted forward, the wooden heels jabbed the parquet and reverberated in the narrow convexity. You were given a very short countdown and no chance to evade. Eunbi slung her arms around your neck and her lips latched onto yours. Your breath had already escaped ahead of the impact.

After stressful schedules, usually you two made it to the couch first before dropping, maybe at least the arch of the living room when she had given some steamy performances (*cough* she was still wet after coming home *cough*). But today, Eunbi seemed extra avid, already completely unhinged at the doorway.

While staggering backwards, driven by her body pressing into yours, her breasts squishing into you, your back pushed open the door already set ajar. With wobbling steps you aimed for the couch. Well, actually you were wandering around blind. Her tongue attempted to give guidance, pushing yours around adverse to wherever you steered—but your clouded brain did not pick up any patterns from her moist stirrings.

Your leg got caught on the table; although low, that would prove to be even more fatal, sending you both in a tumble. Holding onto the tightness of her embrace, you two crashed short of the couch and the fall scattered the orderly arrangement laid on top. The mess was a hindrance to easy access for what you needed next.

Eunbi pulled off. “I think we lost the lube,” she laughed. Her wide smile wanted more. She climbed onto the couch. Her voluptuous body blocked out even the sun. Her curves in the shades turned your head with her movement. She turned and sat down with your head lodged between her thighs. Your face reflected her radiant gleam, so bright not just from the exuded warmth from her jeans.

“Do we need it?”

“Fuck you…,” she said nonchalantly, raising a corner of her mouth. You were not to question her, and you’d realize soon enough. Her hands reached for her coat.

“This is the gift, by the way,” she added. Her fingers untwirled the loops with elegant and smooth motions to open the curtains with the flaps flying.

Her jeans were unbuttoned, giving a peek at the infamous lettering stitched on brown cotton. Your eyes followed her waistline upwards across her soft stomach, until your gaze hit her mounds from below. Needless to say, you did not make it as far as her face, and she knew better than to not condone you for it.

Fit, toned, shaped, voluptuous. There were many words to describe Eunbi’s body, but the one thing she deserved the most: worship and appreciation.

Every day you had her felt like Christmas. You gulped hard. “Yes, fuck me….”

With haste, you quarried for the bottle, knocked over from earlier. Her thigh blocked your view and did not let you go. Under her watchful smirk your hand fumbled for the familiar shape, going through device remotes short and long, snack cans narrow and girthy, a bottle very viscous and a few ounces—yes, that’s the one.

You had a guess what she wanted the lube for, but you’d have to start at the bottom first.

Straightening your back and shifting your legs a tad away, you pulled your head down and unlaced her boots, gently sliding them off. Black was on the menu today. She changed her nail polish as often as her schedules, but black was a regular. It may even be your favorite (though the vibrant ones weren’t far behind) due to the stark contrast with her surrounding pale skin, so strong that the eye catching dark void was glossy even in this dim light.

Your hands rubbed her soles as your tongue circled around each toe before engulfing them in your mouth, where you could suck on them in reclusion and drown them in your admiration. Giving her your undivided attention, anywhere, unabashed, provided not just you with a sense of gratification and satisfaction, it also spurred the swelling excitement within you both. Finally, having paid her toes the tithe they were due, you pulled back again, this time to tug at her jeans.

In a wave she lowered the hem, and you picked up the torch to reveal her magnificent gems that were her sizable gams. While Eunbi was one of the shorter among her (very much) taller peers, none could match her in the shape of her legs. And you made sure to show how much you wanted to appreciate them by snailing a moist trail upwards—literally legs for days. Your dedication was answered with a satisfied smile. Your hands did not stay idle in treasuring her thighs, getting a good feel along the way.

Eunbi took loving care of her body, keeping it in a fit shape (the kind that fit her, that she’d be proud of) so well to the point where she often became horny when looking at herself. It was a natural consequence that she wanted to indulge in her body together with you.

Across the valley that was her toned stomach (especially when she lifted her arms, like right now), beyond the speed bump that was the elastic band with green lettering, you hit upon a steep incline.

The highly coveted crown jewels of idol royalty.

Your teeth grazed her mounds lightly a few times, giving her muted tingles, before kneading her breasts with your lips. The pressure on her flesh was not punctured, but firm enough to evoke a nasal sign of approval. The sheen of saliva you left on her, both the trail and from tasting her breasts, evaporated in just a few moments to an airy chill, so you kept adding more, going low and up again to freshen them up. Light bites once in a while stung her, brought her out of her trance of relishing the admiration she received.

“May I?” you asked, pulling away and shook the bottle, warmed to the touch.

Eunbi nodded and shifted around to kneel on the couch, as you lost your pants and worked the lube onto your penis. Another squirt on her breasts (“Fuck, this shit’s still cold!”) and you were ready to unite your scepter with her double orbs.

The bra parted exactly right, the triangular cut was wide open (while still looking decent), allowing you to align your cock between her breasts. She filled out the cloth even more now with you lodged in-between and her hand squeezing them together. Eunbi truly deserved her nickname, she was eunbig enough to wrap around and smother your shaft in a soft embrace.

This act was not an excuse for you to watch her knead her own breasts, though you could not help delighting yourself in such a gorgeous display, with her face looking up at you, searching for a reaction, and her voluptuous flesh being squeezed and shifting around like dough in a mixer. You aided her in the strenuous work by thrusting your hips when she was moving down, which was easier in intention than done, given that you couldn’t go far when standing.

“The CK is not exactly a… sexy cut…. But goddamn it, we can keep this pair, right?”

“Lube’s gonna leave a stain,” she said, ogling the dark blots below as they grew from the seams. The fringes were already drying up.

“I… hope that won’t be a problem?”

“Ha, yeah, well, no one knows I took them home. Yet.”

Eunbi flashed you a grin, cheeks raising into prominence before diving. Her tongue circled around your tip, choking you out of a reply.

You couldn’t be sorry for ruining the cloth now, not before you took the chance to cream the queen and added a few more spots yourself. Only then would you worry about getting rid of the blemishes. Maybe try the washing machine first, give it a spin. Oh yes, your head was in a twirl, thinking about the water sloshing around into a vortex, mind floating along with the flow. She increased the pace. The feathery tingles buckled your hips from the shudders induced by her slick actions on your shaft. Gosh, the shapes she drew with her wet organs. The cresting wave was about to hit the open door, threatening to spill out, and all the things you wanted to drench—

“—ffu—whack—”

—someone suddenly stopped the drum. The colossal whirling forces of nature, with the rug pulled away, first crumbled, then collapsed into itself. The massive downward tides clashed, and from the bottom a rogue wave shot upwards—a single spurt managed to leave your cock to hit square on her chin before her fingers tightened into a ring at the base. Empty and confused quivers followed, ears rumbling from the hollow pressure, hips spasming from wanting to give, to provide, but nothing more came through.

You found a shoulder to steady yourself with jelly legs trembling. A strained throat struggled to curse whatever befell you. Her hand braced your waist, and she sure could feel the turmoil that your muscles had gone through just now.

Eunbi’s arched brow told you everything: nothing shall spill unless her will. “Don’t thank me yet ’til you get to come inside,” she chuckled.

She gave your groin a push for your weak legs to flop onto the couch. A fresh sheen of sweat darkened the surface. Eunbi followed you right after with a mellow giggle. Pulling the panties aside and swiftly ensuring alignment, Eunbi mounted herself on you. Your breath sank as she lowered herself. Only for the first descent would she go slow, then she picked up velocity.

You may not have come yet, but you felt just as sensitive. Eunbi knew that. Your groaning and hoarse muffles confirmed it.

With her body pressing you into the cushions, you gave in to the fact that you could not dictate the speed at which she took you. Her contour blocked out most of the hallway glow, visible faint around the corner. Some last scraps glimmering through her black hair. Her head lowered until the side of her face was underlined by scattered rays, bringing her ethereal beauty to light. She bent forward for her bosoms to fill whatever remained in your view; all residual thoughts of your day were squashed by her humongous tits.

Surrounded, smothered, with nowhere to go, you were in the happy position to charge in all directions. Anywhere your tongue lunged out, wherever your chin winded up for your mouth to snap at, you managed to grasp her skin and flesh. By roaming your hands and arms across her back you pressed on the attack with ferocity. But despite all your best efforts, Eunbi was relentlessly gyrating her hips on your cock, her tight muscles—concealed within the opulent body—clenched around your shaft and rubbed it up and down as her taut stomach glided on yours over the layer of combined perspiration. Any shiver caused by your numerous offensives rippled through her as a flinch, a shudder in her folds. It was not long until Eunbi matched her moans to yours in volume.

Each quiver of her core sent an electrifying tingle through your penis and your hips started twitching. Wide movements smeared your sweat all over the couch, with enough momentum to outright stamp the marks deep into the material. Dry slick soon turned sticky, but each of you powered through, the humping never let up the bouncing. Still muffled, you could not tell whose breath was hitching more.

Everything melded further together the more you focused on not yielding to whatever your shaking hips wanted to do. Was everything you tasted now actually her transpiration; maybe your own; the natural flavor of her skin; or even the glistening gold from the sovereign’s orbs? Whatever stray and irrelevant stirabouts of which tastes the liquid were carrying that your brain had concocted up would be dropped right now.

Eunbi lowered her voice slowly to your ear, luscious lips scraping across your cheeks. You already knew what she wanted, you were more than ready, and just the brush of her whisper had sufficed to let you loose.

The air carried the demand of milk for the queen’s tea. Without doubt, what better way to serve it than by her favorite regalia!

At her behest, your body was finally granted the permission to unbuckle any and all holds, to unleash the boy juices from their restraints. The rumbling of your hips churned even more ferocious waves into the already violent sea, shaking the ship that was your lap, and on this unsteady deck milk was attempted to be poured, actually more like spilled, straight into the tea pot, filling it to the brim and beyond. Mutual groans, as if thrilled following along the action, accompanied each time your penis pulsed and shot out more spurts. Copious amounts of the white liquid spilled out. What couldn’t be accommodated in time ran along your most intimate connection to blend with the abundant fluids and drip out as the purest testimony of your dedication.

Tea was ready to be presented. The frothiness of chai latte was one of her secret pleasures. Obviously, she had never divulged this favorite of hers to anyone before.

Eunbi drew her tongue across her lips. But when she took hold of the kettle, shifting higher to pour herself an aromatic cup of blissful sweetness, eyes already closed, she slipped on all the sweat that covered you both. Eunbi fell down your cock again, letting out a deep groan, and from the sudden impact the kettle was dropped. The capsizing turn of events spilled out all of her love liquids. A tide sprayed from your connection that infused with what was in the puddle.

Panting, taking long breaths, you finally had the opportunity to behold the mess made on the couch and around. The sprawled clothes barely did a thing to cover the objects thrown off the table. The intensity of your combined exertion was evident in how much the set of remaining clothes on her was soaked. A literal lake had formed beneath you, its reaches pooling in any crevice and the valley where you sank in.

All those waves and splashes were not just some lecherous metaphors your mind had come up with. “Fuck, we should have put a towel down,” you gasped.

Eunbi scooped up some with her hand formed into a cup and brought it to her mouth.

The queen was not quite amused from the spillage, yet more than content and satisfied with what she could savor.

Perhaps next time Eunbi should do a home & bath CF, then. You’d love to watch her come home in a bathrobe, still glistening wet (or provide a bucket load yourself, do we pick white or clear?).

“I don’t think one will be enough,” she said before seizing your lips once more.

#kpop smut #kpop gg #kpop gg smut #female idol smut #izone smut #eunbi smut #izone eunbi #izone eunbi smut #male reader #male reader smut #podfic

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petit-etoile · 5 months

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hi! :) i love your writing!! Could i request an Astarion fic based on the Mahmoud Darwish Quote “they asked ‘do you love her to death’ / i said ‘speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.’”?

it's our last chance ( we'll get it right )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 2,902 content warnings: canonical discussions of death, spoilers for astarion's act iii romance, spiritual interlude to this fic, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, an exploration of how s.ex can be healing, the faintest hints of a mortal!tav but that's up to the reader, what if s.ex cures vampirism ? other tags: canon compliant, character study, introspection, codependency, religious imagery & symbolism, p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added to the taglist here

summary: ‘Gale asked me tonight if I loved you,’ Astarion tells you. ‘He asked if I loved you purely. I’ve never loved anything purely in my life, but I knew what he meant. He asked, ‘Will you love them to death?’ That’s why I brought you here tonight.’

This is a night reminiscent of the day he died.

The sun has faded out over the horizon. The streets are bloodied once more, and hundreds of shadows have transformed into the shape of a bat.

Astarion’s grave is very old and covered with moss. You watch as he kneels in front of it and brushes his fingers across his name in reverence. You join him and cross your fingers together in prayer. You don’t know what you’re praying for but you mumble the words under your breath. It isn’t until you start digging that you begin to understand why you’re really here. You dig and dig and find relics of a life you never knew — dead flowers and childhood toys, tears that you cry. A mother and father’s love.

Astarion looks so much younger now that Cazador no longer hangs over his very being. The tension around his eyes has lessened, and even though he’s feeling something you can’t imagine, he wears the smallest smile as you uncover the gifts left behind by his family. Proof that Astarion lived, proof that Astarion existed. You dig until your fingers reach nothing and then you turn to him. He means to plant a seed and watch it grow.

He hands you seeds from a flower you can’t remember the name of. You pour them into the depths of this grave and fill it back up with dirt. You drop handfuls and wait for it to rain. You turn your chin up to the sky and wait for the storm clouds to release rapture.

‘I love you,’ Astarion says suddenly.

He looks at you like a man learning to see for the first time. The softness of his features only intensifies the longer he looks at you. Astarion is always made up of hard angles and harsh lines but tonight, he looks upon you with an earnestness you haven’t seen for him in quite some time. You’re caught off-guard when he caresses your cheek.

If Baldur’s Gate were to weather a storm tonight, Astarion would be the warmth from the cold of the rainstorm. You close your eyes at his touch and lean your cheek into it, nuzzling his palm. Astarion decides that it isn’t enough. He’s selfish, manipulative, roguish and cruel, but when he leans forward and kisses you with his plump mouth, you forget about all those things. It’s healing. You open your lips for him.

‘I love this,’ he murmurs, snaking a hand down to the small of your back. ‘And I want it all.’

The storm breaks overhead, but Astarion covers your body with his and you forget that you hate the sound of thunder. He kisses the very soul of you, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. There’s something about the way he nips at your skin that infinitely thrills you. How could a man so determined to be dangerous, so keen on becoming the most powerful man in the world melt at the sound of your voice? Had Astarion always been this weak for you, or was this a new transgression in his never ending quest to crush his desires?

Astarion kisses you.

He is the only thing that quenches your thirst.

He knows that.

When you first fell from the illithid ship, you had felt a hunger unlike any other swell up in your gut. It was freedom you had never experienced, and somehow, you came out on top. What happened after that was only like the romances you had read about. When a beast hunter falls in love with their bounty, when a mortal loves their immortal despite the difference, when an angry vampire becomes softer and softer the more he learns about kinder touch. You’re a romantic, after all.

You think that you should talk about it. You want to ask Astarion if he’s sure. But of course he’s sure, he’s never been surer of anything. Asking him now would be a disservice, you think. He’s worked so hard to come this far. You don’t ask. You kiss Astarion back like you’ve never kissed anyone before.

His mouth is yearning. Astarion pines for you like a prince pines for a sweetheart — and his mouth and his tongue and his teeth are so overwhelming that you can’t help but cling to his shoulders, using him as a lifeline.

He turns his cheek against yours and sighs wistfully against your skin. Slowly, carefully, Astarion presses his fingers between your legs curiously. He does it just to hear you gasp. You meet his eyes, and your cheeks burn so hotly you think you might be dizzy. Astarion consumes your soul. He presses you down in the flowers you planted above his grave. Clover, daisies, and asters grow around, twirling in your hair as Astarion collapses into your arms. You hold him as he shakes.

‘I was dead before I met you,’ Astarion whispers in the crook of your neck. ‘I was a ghost.’

‘You’re alive now,’ you promise. He cradles your soul in his hands. ‘You’re alive now and you’re the sun, and I love you.’

Maybe it’s not that you aren’t sure Astarion is ready. You’re nervous about the setting. It’s not that it’s inappropriate or dire, but that anyone could see at any time and you were a selfish creature. For so long, it has always been you and Astarion and everyone else. Now, Astarion presses into the space between your hips and mouths at your chest. He tastes your skin and your nipples, and you shiver at the touch. He eats your heart. You’re grateful.

‘I’m not convinced,’ Astarion says roughly. ‘Should I die, where will I go?’

‘You will go where I go,’ you say as he sinks into your flesh. ‘You are half my soul. I’ll beg the gods. We can never be one without the other.’

‘And if they deny you?’

‘I’ve already killed gods,’ you say. ‘What are a few more if they deny me my love?’

Astarion lets out a satisfied hum, content with the fruit you have given him. He ripens you with his fingers and you turn your head. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and allow him to caress your sides, closing your eyes as he touches the more ticklish parts of your body. He nibbles at your collarbones

You say, ‘This isn’t your grave.’

Astarion’s mouth ghosts over your skin, and finally, he sinks his cock into you until you’re gasping for air. It pushes and fills and causes lights to dance in the corner of your eyes. You touch the little hairs at the nape of his neck to distract yourself.

‘You’re right,’ Astarion says softly.

‘A place of rebirth.’

‘A place of happiness, my love,’ he says. ‘Now when I see it — ’

‘More,’ you whisper.

You feel a rush of tenderness sweeping through your veins. You are drawn to it like a moth to light, and you chase Astarion as he flees from you, sliding your hips back against his so that he’s never gone for too long. You waited patiently for Astarion. Every touch, every kiss is a feeling so rare that you can’t help but savor it. You admire the vulnerability he shows you, and when he leans back to lift your hips higher for a better angle, you moan softly and cry.

Astarion’s fingers burn holes into your skin. He leaves a wildfire against your skin. It leaves you wanting more. But you’re always going to want more, aren’t you? Even a lifetime of Astarion is not enough. You seek the warmth in his gaze.

You aren’t sure how long you’ll last. The time between your trysts and the sheer passion causes you to be needy. He likes it that way too. Likes the way that you’ll always seek him out first. The first in your heart. The first in your soul. You wish you could pour yours out of your body to give it to him. He’s half your soul regardless of what he might say. You never understood the concept of an immortal soul until now. You pull Astarion back to you and kiss him, teeth to teeth.

But it’s not enough.

You don’t think it will ever be enough. You dig your nails into his spine and hold onto him. You cry weakly. It feels too good and like it’s too much at the same time. You part your legs wider and drag him further, hypnotized by the feel of his thighs beneath yours. Astarion shows an enthusiasm you haven’t seen in a while, and you’re reminded of how much you’ve craved him. The knife at your throat, the scowl on his face, the night at the party… Astarion is all-consuming. You never thought it would happen.

At first, you thought Astarion was primed to ignore you forever. You were kind and good and sweet, and now you knew that was everything Astarion was looking for. He tastes your kindness and goodness and sweetness and becomes drunk on the taste of your shared fate.

Astarion bites you on the shoulder but for once, it isn’t to draw blood and feed upon what makes you who you are. It’s a lover’s bite. An inquisitive nibble. That part of sharing is what this is about. He meant it when he said you were more than blood, more than a fling. You always thought about it…

Astarion proving his love to you now was welcomed. You summon a new life for him here during this pale evening. A life where he will not know hurt. A life where he will not be betrayed by those he trusted. Astarion was in your hands now, a crow on your wrist. He sings you a pretty song against your neck. He’s vocal now, content with moaning and mewling as he takes his pleasure in the warmth of your body. You wish you could bottle up his pretty song and take it with you forever.

You press your mouth to the sharp curve of Astarion’s ear, sneaking a kiss against the pointy tip. ‘Come closer to me, my love,’ you whisper. ‘No one must know.’

‘Everyone must know,’ Astarion disagrees softly.

‘Even the birds?’ you ask. ‘Even the trees?’

Astarion smiles. You can feel it. ‘The entire world must.’

‘Are we in love?’ you ask him softly, looking upon him fondly.

‘We are,’ he says, laughing.

You are in love like you have never been in love before. Astarion is a romantic and he cherishes this new world with you. He’s intoxicated by the freedom of your scent. And it’s not as though it’s any different for you. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips and keep him there, and when his arms shake and tremble, you accept his weight.

You kiss his throat and he raises his chin so you can kiss it more. You’ll pretend that it doesn’t entice you. You want to sink your teeth in like he has, to share with him that quiet exaltation. Astarion gives it to you more and more, and finally, you can no longer tame that part of you set to rupture. Your pleasure causes your vision to burn almost.

There is a world where you and Astarion have never met. A world where the mindflayers never devised a plan and you were still searching for enlightenment. The thought of it scares you so you cling to him and you climb into his sternum, holding onto his skin while the world is remade in your image. A world without Astarion is not a world worth living. You know that to be true. That’s why you’re here now.

Astarion follows suit in quick, frantic strokes. He loses himself in the quake of your core and digs his fingers into the dirt next to your head for stability. You watch as pleasure overtakes him and he wavers, choking on a ragged moan. You press unfocused kisses against his shoulders and sink beneath the earth.

It’s a good thing Astarion finds his confidence in the taste of your bones. He eats from you an essence that would make him strong. When he sits up, eyes soft around the edges and mouth swollen from your love, you can see the change in him. Have his shoulders always been that wide? Has his back always been that straight? Has the majesticness of his attitude always been so grandiose?

Astarion holds out his fingers and you kiss the tips of them. You give him a blessing and watch as his skin begins to glow. Cazador had unmade a proud man. You have rehabilitated a broken man. But Astarion is not defined by his brokenness, not authenticated by his terrors and trauma, but by the whims he has shown you tonight.

When Astarion pulls you from the bed you made in the grass, you can see a dim light filtering through the overhead tree. A familiar sight, like the first time. You pull his jacket over your head to avoid any more mess and become acutely aware that Astarion is watching you breathe. He listens with that frightening vampiric hearing as your lungs exhale. He smiles as your heartbeat settles.

You distract yourself as he enjoys his orgasm by making him a crown of flowers. You twist them expertly like you once did in your youth, and when Astarion turns his head, you give him a kingdom. The fresh green of the leaves accentuates the paleness of his hair.

You know what you’ve done even if the world does not. It was an objectively stupid thing to do, Astarion said so himself. Life is a challenge, and you were not a quitter. If anything, you knew that you deserved it. A ghost called your name and you answered, unfrightened by the specter’s cold touch. Slowly, you replaced that frigid air with your own heat until there was nothing but fog in the aftermath.

‘Sometimes,’ Astarion begins when he’s ready, ‘I still have these cruel thoughts. This fear still consumes me but… It’s so unlike before I hardly recognize it.’

‘You’re not his first son anymore,’ you say.

Astarion smiles and slides the crown from his head. He twirls it between his fingers. ‘Not — Not that fear, no. Something else.’

‘What else could frighten you?’

‘Everything,’ Astarion confesses. ‘I listen to your heart when you sleep for any change. I check your face every day for any extra wrinkles.’

You laugh. ‘I’m still young,’ you insist. ‘We have time, Astarion. I am with you every moonrise.’

‘The worst thing about loving you is that I will never stop,’ Astarion says, staring at his headstone. ‘I don’t want you to die in a world where I could still love you.’

You think you’re going to be sick. You don’t mean to cry, but you do. You burrow your face in your hands and weep so hard Astarion wraps his jacket around you and kisses your head, shushing you until you’ve let it all out. It’s…not how you wanted to end the evening.

‘You didn’t let me finish, my love,’ he murmurs against your forehead.

‘Then go on,’ you say miserably.

‘I will never stop loving you,’ Astarion says again. ‘For a thousand more years and one.’

You twist the knuckle on your middle finger anxiously. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to feel.

‘Gale asked me tonight if I loved you,’ he tells you. ‘He asked if I loved you purely. I’ve never loved anything purely in my life, but I knew what he meant. He asked, ‘Will you love them to death?’ That’s why I brought you here tonight.’

You look at him suspiciously, and his ardor steals your breath away. His jacket slips from your shoulders. You watch as he fixes the carvings in his headstone and adds to them in a sprawling language you’re almost too exhausted to read. Eventually, you find your voice again. You lean your cheek against his shoulder, and if your eyelashes are wet against his skin, he says nothing about it.

‘Tonight,’ Astarion says, ‘and on top of my grave, you have brought me back to life. That is a debt that cannot be repaid.’

You turn to him and this time it is your turn. You take Astarion’s jaw in your hands and lift his mouth to yours, kissing him so sweetly you’re almost certain that he swoons from the touch. It’s like kissing him for the first time, a kiss that sweeps over and over, until the ocean of night sweeps over you and you melt into his sinew.

‘You love me?’ you ask him just to hear him say it again.

‘I love you,’ Astarion says.

Love is not always in the eyes of the goddess. Love is buried somewhere most will never find it. It is healing, it is sweeping, it is gratifying. It is watching your lover’s hair turn grey strand by strand every morning. It is chasing the sun before it falls beneath the stars every evening.

You think you get it now.

Astarion rests his cheek against your palm, and for the first night since he was turned into a vampire, he slumbers in your touch. He dreams of a future where you are both mortal and laughing.

‘I love you too,’ you confess, and Astarion smiles in his sleep.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#anonymous #my fic #AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #THIS PROMPT LIVED IN MY MIND RENT FREE SINCE I GOT IT #& after a long time trying to decide how to redeem it #i finally figured it out !!!#i hope u enjoy it nonny

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thesharktanksdriver · 7 months

Text

Blood's Thicker Than Water (Platonic)

Made this cause I love assassins creed and I hate how they left the plot point about Desmond having a kid from a one night stand. Like sure there’s a comic for Elijah but let’s be real, who here has read that comic?

Sorry if any of them seem out of character, I haven’t played the games in a long while lol

Also thanks to my friend for streaming the games so I can get back into them lol

You never really met your dad but from what your mother described him as he was….a troubled soul

Now to be fair you’ve never exactly met Desmond Miles yourself but from the stories she told it’s obvious he had his fair share of demons

Some of which seemed to spill from the cracks of his soul from the short time she spent with him

A bartender is what he was, until he suddenly up and vanished from said bar in 2012 and died not too long after

It didn’t really make sense then even to your young mind

The gap between his sudden disappearance and death leaving too much unsaid for your mind not to be annoyed by

But as a child you eventually put the thought away

Eventually you forget

Instead going on to pursue your next whim as you focus on the present, or in your case Learning about the past in the present time

Unlike your fascination with your father that went away, your love of history never faded with time

It just seemed to grow the older you got

Your not sure why but something about history just clicked with you

It was somewhere within the range of middle school and reading national geographic that you had realized you liked it

That despite how some areas of it were bleak and disturbing it was interesting

And it got even more so interesting as you delved deeper into the depths of libraries

Nose buried in books lined with dust and old parchment

Yellowed pages and old ink that you carefully decode from centuries of lost meaning and metaphors lost to the modern age

You studied from the ancients all the way up to Victorian

Easing your way though literal centuries of historical records as you soaked up information like a sponge

And it’s there you vegans seeing an odd…repetition of events that seemed to occur

Odd assassinations plagued each era you looked into, all of which connected somehow by people in odd dress

In some journals that had luckily stood the tests of time you uncovered more eye witness accounts

A solider’s log back in the revolutionary war talking about an odd man meeting with his superiors in the dead of night

The diary of a log master who wrote of an odd frequent visitor that had an odd blade hidden beneath his sleeve

The drawing of a Victorian child being freed from a factory that had a hooded lady and man on the rooftop

I’m one you found a symbol, one created from the bottom perspective of an eagle skull, something also commonly associated with these hooded figures

What’s odd as well is that with these hooded assassins you also find traces of another group

One well know to historians such as yourself

Oddly enough the symbol of the Templar knights keep showing up even after their annulment

It’s odd, but what’s more odd enough is that both seemed to be tied to other historical artifacts

Ones well kept in archives and from the public eye

Ones you shouldn’t technically know about if not for you sneaking into sections your don’t have the status to enter

Their always gold with odd symbols. Somehow always pristine and polished despite the fact their dated to be from before ancient times

They for some reason seem to call to you specifically

Tempting you with forbidden knowledge you wish to taste like Eve

But for now you choose to wait until you can do proper analysis on them without the risk of punishment

So you lie and wait

Admittedly you didn’t think anyone expected for you to be this good at your job

In their defence you were a university student here on Co-op and not an actual full time historian

Hell you were in first year for gods sake

But somehow despite it all

Despite the fact you had actual historians and people in the history program years above you here you quickly began to become an outlier

A shinning beacon within the large archive, so much so that you began being allowed in the restricted sections you already snuck into

Mind you, now properly allowed there with some supervision of sorts gave you much more flexibility in research

You got to touch these artifacts

Hold them in gloved palms as silk covered finger glide across its edges and ridges

You study them extensively decrypting and decoding the ancient texts and hieroglyphs

Jotting down what you found in both a report and your own personal journal

Your not sure why you do so but you chock it up to making sure no one takes credit for your work

And this continues to the point your eventually allowed alone with them

It’s great

You dedicate yourself to this task as you learn more and more

Soaking up knowledge like a sponge as you find out more of what was previously lost

Find new angles and perspectives on events

For history isn’t just a set time and date, it’s interpretation based on what we know from sources

And even then sources can be biased

Sources can lie and silence another person’s view on the event

Your more than happy to try make your own interpretations

Admittedly when you were asked to study what looked to be a necklace from these unidentified ancient artifacts you were ecstatic

How could you not be?

Intricate gold woven in something akin to Grecian jewelry

Yet also had hints of something akin to Egyptian

It also…glows? Or at least you swear you’ve seen it glow gold and pulsate a few times but that could be the sleep deprivation speaking

Either way it’s an honour

One you don’t take lightly as you study it

Spending countless restless nights and days trying to crack its code

An unknown source has been funding the archive and your research quite a bit

Betting big money on it much to your surprise and suspension

You get that this is potentially something big but it feels out of left field

Especially since no one knows the name of the company

It’s just under an anonymous donation every month

It’s sketchy

But you aren’t one to argue about free money to further your and your colleagues pursuit of knowledge

Not when this beautiful place used to be underfunded

Not when most historical records were donated by people with a good conscious

Not when this place was almost shut down

With a sigh you continue on your work

Diligently tact checking and writing up a storm

Your writing looks like chicken scratch but that was a commonality between all history majors

Well, along with being giant nerds

And it’s there at that desk at 3 am in the morning, tired and only running on 3 hours of rest you find something peculiar on the necklace

A sharp jaded edge that you absentmindedly prick yourself on by accident

With a groan you wipe the blood away on your pants

Then going up to get a bandaid

You swore to god if you died of tetanus you’d be positively pissed

Unknown to you the necklace starts to glow

When you get home your more exhausted than usual

Your limbs feel like their kade of concrete and your head is stuffed with tissue

Eyelids trying to glue themselves shut

You practically kick off your shoes before tumbling to the couch

Not bothering in changing clothes or showering for the sweet relief of sleeps embrace

So you flop down face first into the old leather cushions of your couch

Only putting in the effort of fishing a hand to grab a throw pillow and blanket from nearby that you burrowed yourself into

A comfy cocoon/prison you couldn’t will yourself to leave even as you swore for a moment you heard something in the house

But your mind writes it off

Your too tired to question anything let alone get up

All you want is sleep

And that’s exactly what you get as your eyelids shut

You fall into the realm of dreams, odd ones playing out in your mind

Blurred images of odd men

A weird void-like realm

The cries of an eagle overhead

A single word appearing in your head

Kenway

And then your eyes snap awake when the sound of arguing fills your ears

Yelling of several male voices jumbling up your already fogged up sense as you practically fall off the couch in a mixture of fear and confusion

Curses escaping your mouth when suddenly the voices go silent and your left in a realm of fear

Hair standing on end as the creaking of the house makes you more alert

Despite the fact you’d never fought a day in your life you will up the courage to grab a baseball bat and cautious cross to where you heard the commotion

Careful steps on the non-creaky boards of the home that you’d luckily memorized

And there you find several men in old garb

Accents of Red tying them together like a string of fate

Or a trail of blood fainting their very existence

they turn to you with sharp eyes

It’s the one in modern clothes that surprises you the most

The face of your supposed dead father staring back at you

Ocher brown eyes that had long lost their life now rejuvenated as they seem to find familiarity in your own features

Some of which mirror his own along with some of the others in the room

The bridge of your nose

A all powerful spark in your eyes as they flick between everyone and escape routes

The way your lip slightly twitches when you try to keep a brave face

Your posture as you decided what to do

It’s all too familiar to him and them in a way that isn’t just coincidence

Especially not when all of them are Kenway

Not when he had been able to prove to them that fact through the experience of virtually living through their lives up until his death

“I’m not sure who the fuck all of you are but get out of my house.” Your fingers twitch and flex as your palms grow sweaty, the wood absorbing the pressure and moisture “especially my dead dad look-alike”

You all but confirm his suspicions

Their suspicions

And it looks Ike for you tonight will be much longer than you anticipated

Turns out that artifact you were studying wasn’t just as normal one

Neither were the other ones you looked at

The way they explained it as was their “artifacts from dead gods”, a fallen civilization that engineered humanity into being their slaves

It’s a lot to take in

Even more so when your suspicions of something bigger happening throughout global history with those odd deaths were real

Oh, and these were you dead ancestors and dad somehow back from the grave and now in your home

…..yeah safe to say that’s a lot to take in after an already very long and tiring shift

You sit there as they explain this, half asleep, and half exasperated

Cause how the hell are you supposed to believe all this bullshit that for some reason feels correct

Something in you tells you that their right yet your mind is fighting that logic

You’d always been a logical person, when it came to most situations you used your brain instead of your heart

And in those cases things ended up fine

But now your faced with this

A situation where your heart is screaming for you to listen as your brain tries to take this all in

Cause logic is completely out the window at the moment

For now you have to trust them even if your still afraid

I mean, how couldn’t you be?

But you get the sense that they understand

At least a little bit by how their also thrusted into a new environment without much say

Perhaps that (along with your own apprehension) is helping comfort them as well

So for now they’ll stay

Your just thanking (the dead) gods that grandma and grandpa’s old home is big enough for all of them

Altaïr Ibn-La’ Ahad

The oldest down the line of your dad’s side of your lineage finds himself often reading through your books in your study

It was a bit of a surprise one day entering it to find him sitting in a spare chair but you don’t mind the silent company

Especially as he seems to find interest in your studies

Occasionally he breaks the silence and asks you a question about the subject he’s reading about

He’s by far the oldest (even if he’s back in the body of his prime) of them therefore he’s the one who has the most figuratively to catch up on

So you indulge him

And also asks questions as well that he seems eager in answering

Knowledge connects you both, scholarly intellect being the bridge between the two of you despite centuries of time apart

Typically he asks about thinks such as modern life and what is know about his home, what happened to it? What it’s known of his era

You answer as best you can

Especially since that era of time isn’t exactly your forte

But he appreciates it anyways

Appreciates that you try, appreciates that you passionately care about history in the first place

Admittedly your mom was supportive but never understood your love of history

She’d listen to your rants and long conversations with a polite smile but you knew she never understood what you were talking about

But he does

He does and contributes whole heartedly in just as much passion

It’s nice

What’s also nice is that he’s studied the artifacts you now study as well

So now your both constantly coming up and developing ideas together

A constant back and forth

Hypotheses, discussion, and testing

Delving deeper into discovery like you’ve wanted

But with this he also helps you see where passion and obsession mix together

After the loss of his wife and son he delved into studying as a form of escape

It drove who was left away

Made the pit in his heart deeper

He doesn’t talk about it often but he seems to see how you may go down the same path

And he warns you of it

Unlike his younger self (that he now appears as) he’s wise if a little rough around the edges

He encourages knowledge but not to the point where it’s an all encompassing and toxic obsession

Within the household he seems to take a somewhat neutral but quiet role

He helps out and offers advice and guidance

Much like a teacher and grandfather of sorts

Speaking up when he has to and making sure the house doesn’t end up in disrepair

He seems to have a fascination with modern appliances, or at least holds a thankfulness for them

Like a few others he sticks to his robes most the time but you’ve seen him sport more modern clothes once awhile

Stuff still somewhat reminiscent of what he wore before but with a modern flare. Things with hoods and draping. Silks and wool. Something with an accent of red mixed in

Sometimes when you fall asleep in your studies you find a blanket draped over you and a cup of tea at your side

He won’t admit it’s him but he’s the only one who knows your tea preferences

He keeps his worry for you deep down but it’s somewhat relived when seeing that you take his warning of not taking the pursuit of knowledge too far

“It says here there was something called the “French revolution”. Would you care to explain what happened here to me?” He asks making you pause your work for a moment, when he sees your smile he knows your answer. Sure he read some of this book and got the gist of it, but something about seeing your eyes light up at his inquiry makes him feel at peace for a moment.

“Would I ever!”

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

This man is quite literally all up in your (and everyone’s) business

Not in an annoy way per say but he’s definitely curious about the lives his descendants have led (both good and bad)

Ezio is very clearly a family man and it’s somewhat ironic to see since half of this household has some sort of familiar issue

Most of which is some sort of daddy issue stemming from either Haythem or Edward that trickled down the line to you

Something that Ezio is seemingly trying to wrap his head around

Out of the others he’s the one who opens up the most

Partially because you think he misses his immediate family and friends

It must be a lot to handle being away from home, now in a foreign land where everything has changed

Despite that though he keeps a brave face

Almost always flashing a smile as he drags you from your study to have some “bonding time”

You won’t admit it to his face but you don’t mind

Especially as he gives your poor hunched over back a break

And treats your pallet to some good old fashioned (literally) Italian food and not cup ramen once again

He tried it once and threw your supply out, saying he’d be supplementing you with food from now on

You can’t exactly say your disappointment or upset from the heaven that is fresh baked garlic bread and pasta

He cooks not only for you but for the others of the house as well, saying his sister taught him lest he piss off his future lady

Taking in their suggestions and cooking foods from their homes as a way of him offering comfort

Whilst he does these tasks he often hums in his mother tongue of Latin

You don’t have the heart to tell him it’s a dead language

Especially when he seems so happy that you can somewhat understand it

He’s happily rambling and teaching you words

Helping you sound out phrases and pronunciation correctly unlike your Latin professor

Some of his songs he lightly sings under his breath get stuck in your head since he has a good singing voice

But despite the facade you see the cracks

Sometimes you find him looking at modern objects mumbling about how Leonardo would have loved to see this or made something similar

Or how Claudia would’ve liked this book

How Petruccio would have loved this toy

It….leaves a bitter taste in your mouth

Once upon a time you felt this same type of longing for family

Once a time you thought of you dad before going to bed and staring at his old Polaroid with hope

One that would never come to fruition (until now)

It’s why you indulge him, to keep his mind off the deeper plunge of melancholy

Compared to the others he’s relatively open to modernizing

In fact he seems somewhat excited in these things

Raiding your wardrobe like a damn fashionista and critiquing what’s good quality

He also has a wide variety of looks, not sticking to something similar to his time of dress

Versatile and somehow up to date? Your not sure how but somehow he’s in fashion?

Like he must’ve found a copy of vogue or something cause there is no way he just guessed that this was the new trend

When you pressure him on it he replies that he’s simply that amazing

You call bullshit but have yet to find evidence

But in the meantime you ask get him to tell you about Da Vinci and you furiously jot down what he says

Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of Claudia’s quick wit

It makes him long for home yet as he looks at his descendants and ancestor he also feels….something

A small pit of warmth developing as he gets to know the inhabitants of this house longer

Meet Altair besides through a weird vision

His home is in Florence yet that feeling of comfort from the Villa is bleeding into these old (yet new) walls

“So this painting is his most famous work?” He asks looking at your computer with a bit of confusion, his scared lips quirking at the digital image.

“Yeah. This is actually probably the most famous painting in the world”

“Really? Of all his works this one is considered the best? I’m not doubting his skill but of all his pieces?”

“Believe me, I get it. It’s only this famous cause it was stolen”

“Stolen?!? Tell me who did it! I swear-”

Edward Kenway

For someone who was a feared pirate on the seas he’s surprisingly much less violent than you’d think him to be

Sure, he’s scary as hell still but at least he’s not stabbing you in the back and making off with your grandmas pearls or something

Still your a bit unnerved by him considering you did a project on him back in middle school and he’s now in your home

Munching on some god damn biscuits as if this was a normal situation

His son Haytham avoids his as best he can but he seems to bond with his grandson quite easily

Or more easily than he does with Haythem

It takes some time but you eventually go to him when you find him awake at the dead hours of night

A whisky bottle in hands as he occasionally takes a swig in silence as he stares out the window

You don’t talk

You don’t need to when he drinks in silence for awhile staring at the moon before eventually talking about the guilt

In his pursuit of power and gold he let people die

Greed woven into his soul as he sacrificed good men for his cause

He changed and did good yet his past haunts him

Hands stained red

Guilt eating away

A son who doesn’t want anything to do with him

At some point when he stops his rambles you speak

Reminding him that while his actions weren’t good he changed

It doesn’t wash the blood away but it stoped more from staining his hands

Though Haythem avoids him Connor is more than eager to fill his place

It doesn’t fix his overlying problems but it does help

In the morning he ends up talking with you more after this as your initial fear melts away

You end up seeing Edward Kenway, not the fiercesome captain of the Jackdaw

You see a man burdened by past mistakes and still wishes to do better

You see a human being at its core

With history it’s easy to forget the people your looking at was once alive and a breathing being

One who was just as flawed as you and I

But seeing a infamous pirate captain cry about issues pertaining not just time him made you remember that

He isn’t opposed to modernizing but seems to keep a certain sea-like touch to his appearance

Clothes for labourers and something loose is what he normally sticks to

He’s lucky though since he doesn’t exactly have traditional robes and can incorporate what he appeared in with a modern flair

Occasionally when he gets drunk he slurs out old shanties and talks about his epic tales

You might or might not have freaked the fuck out learning that James kidd was actually a woman

Mind blown

Ezio and Altair had to drag you away from your computer from writing an entire essay

Sitting on your countertop he holds a glass of whiskey in hand, one held out for you as you sit down beside him. The moon casts its gentle rays and lights the marble slab you both sit on. “I prefer Rum but this’ll do” it’s said in a playful tone that makes you nod and take a sip.

“I can grab some captain Morgan later…speaking of which, did you know him?

“No, but I did find a few of his things laying about “

“Care to tell?”

“Aye, sure thing”

Haytham Kenway

As the only Templar in this house it’s safe to say he’s definitely the outlier of the bunch

A relative lone wolf from the group that all hold some sort of Ill feelings towards him

From his father its confusion and sadness

The others it’s a mix of that and anger

From Connor it’s just plain…well your not quite sure how to describe it

The two’s entire family situation is just plain messy and thick with tension that their blades could cut through

But here’s the thing, in this house your also an outlier

A neutral zone so to say

Hell, the entire house seemed to be a haven of sorts from their whole Templar vs Assassin conflict

To be honest you don’t really care about this secret war

Well that’s a lie you are interested in these war of secret societies but you don’t specifically care to get involved in their politics

Not when you have business in interfering in it unless a fight breaks out and your telling everyone to calm the fuck down

So safe to say your kinda the only one who talks to Haytham

He is…well sometimes he’s a bit of an ass (in the British type of way) but at the same time he’s good conversation

Specifically when it comes to that of morals and philosophical beliefs

He is a conflicted man

A flawed one

But he holds his beliefs and morals despite the fact he’s been hurt and betrayed by a man he viewed as a mentor

He doesn’t talk about it much but he’s still hurt

Still seething with venom that burns his soul and flesh

Makes him want to lash out despite his upperclassman appearance and attitude

That despite it all he loves his son, so much so he willingly walked into what would be his death knowingly

That despite what happened he loves his dad yet can’t face him yet on account of what he became

What ideals and morals he still believes in even now

It’s perhaps he’s venting this to you rather than a journal because he knows you won’t judge him unfairly on the basis of what side your own

Your judging him as a flawed man and as an equally flawed person

It’s with him as well you open up about your own frustrations

How you still don’t know how to feel about this all

The fact that a lot of what you once knew was flipped on it’s head

Along with the fact your not even sure how to address your dad

It’s an entire mess but perhaps your both messed up together and that also draws you both to talking

To discuss your feelings of insucurity and confliction

To feel comfort that your not alone in not having your emotional shit in order

On some especially…emotional nights you both both have a cup of tea

He seems to enjoy that each time you use a different type, much of which used to be hard to obtain due to shipping and it’s prices

He hasn’t really yet grasped modern technology but your slowly helping him with it

It’s kinda like trying to teach a grandpa to figure out a phone, but now it’s him with the concept of a microwave

Like some of the others he’s yet to really also change his clothes to something modern

There has been a few times though he sported sweaters and vests

Your now working on helping his wardrobe since he prefers a sophisticated look

Occasionally he looks at the photos that line your walls, looking as you evolve through the ages

It’s…odd

With Connor he never had the chance to watch him grow

Never a snapshot to immortalize what he was like a child but now ones of you litter the walls like paintings

He feels melancholy

Yet at the same time he’s happy to get another chance maybe

One that is seemingly being helped by your gentle hand unknowingly

“I never thought about it until now but the stars are different” he says taking a sip of his matcha tea, he lets it pool on his tongue and experience the flavour. Not his favourite but not the worst

“That’s cause of light pollution here…though the stars do move so it it’s possible they’ve shifted position in the sky”

“Do they teach you about the stars in your schooling?”

“Yeah I took some. Not sure why, it just kinda spoke to me. Maybe it’s the Kenway blood”

Ratonhnhaké:ton/Connor Kenway

Of the group Connor is the most quiet and surprisingly the one whom you connect with the best for some reason

Perhaps it’s cause your both socially awkward in ways that let you relate

Or the fact you’ve both been ostracized by society for various reasons

His company is that of a quiet one but one you accept it with ease as you both sit and enjoy each others company

A quiet kinship made of unspoken but understood words from one another

The reminder that someone else is there and your not truly alone

He is perhaps the one you feel you can understand the most

And it’s the same likewise for him

Your both people deeply hurt and still bleeding internally

People raised by only their mother in a cruel and harsh world

People who were let down one way or another by their father

People who are still mad and angry but use that to further their determination

It’s odd but you feel truly understood

Like your soul was peeled back to reveal at your core your still a lone spirit lost in the world

One clinging to what they know as their only lifeline in this confusing and jumbled mess of a situation

The hulking 6 foot 2 man shows you trails near your home

Taking to the forest paths you’ve know your entire life and helping you discover even more about them

And while he does this he teaches you more about the world as you both walk the old beaten path

He tells you how to identify what type of tree is which, which stones are likely geodes and what tracks belong to who

It’s honestly petty interesting especially since he adds snippets of stories from his heritage

In return you talk about what you know as well

Snippets of your own knowledge that he seems to store into his mind just as you do with his stories

An equal exchange of sorts

On these walks you begin to notice he takes you out on these when your at your most stressed

The times in which your mind is overworking and consuming itself with anxiety

The times in which you need to breath

Connor doesn’t seem like one to vocally express his care but he does so through action

Small inconspicuous actions that mean a lot more than what meets the eye

It’s seems that his towards you is helping you when you need it most

Taking you away to just take a moment for yourself

To just breath in the fresh air and let the sunset coloured leaves of autumn crunch under your boots

Letting the cold breeze take away your worries

It’s perhaps better than any type of verbal support

Yet another unspoken action of care and compassion through knowing and watching

Of watching and knowing when you need a break

When you realize this and give him a small tired smile as a thanks he seems to know

Only giving a small nod with a minuscule smile of his own

It only grows bigger when you begin to ask him if his traditions, of the stories and practices of his people that he’s more than willing to tell when he knows you ask out of genuine curiosity and respect

Connor is somewhat 50/50 in modernizing

He adapts quite well but still needs help with certain things as he navigates the situation

But like usual he is anything but resourceful as he watches what you do and figures it out

He helps the others quite a bit with what he’s picked up and somewhat takes pride in the fact he can help them

Whilst he’s privy to wearing his robes he isn’t against more modern clothes

The only problem though is sometimes finding stuff that fits him considering he’s not only a giant but also fairly muscular

But your both eventually able to find some stuff for him to wear that he likes

He really appreciates though that you try to buy clothes and jewelry from nearby indigenous peoples

It might not be his but he appreciates the sentiment and familiarity that the beaded jewelry give him

“I’ve lived here my whole life and walked down these paths a thousand times yet it seems more like your the local here” you say with amusement as you follow Conner through an area you’d be never been before.

He smiles, it’s small but there as he adds “just a matter of perspective. You see the paths your used to and I see ones you hadn’t noticed”

Desmond Miles

Yeah so this is entirely awkward for you

Like how the fuck do you emotionally deal with this and the fact your very dead dad who didn’t know you existed till now is now very alive

And living in your house with his very dead ancestors that are also now alive

Case and point you don’t, specifically you ignore the problem and act like everything is fine

You lock yourself away and try to avoid him like the plague

Somehow Scurry past him and into the kitchen to grab something before returning to your abode to eat

But then things got complicated

Things change

You began talking to the others

Slowly coming out the darkness of your study and joining the dinner table

But you still try to avoid him

It feels like the sight of him burns your mind, all those nights as a kid coming back to you

The hope and then disappoint in learning he died and that he likely never wanted you

Your mother never said this but the other kids did. They always teased and picked at the fact you were a mistake

It’s why you push so hard now to be the best, To prove them wrong (to prove to yourself that your worth existing)

The fact is that now he’s here and you don’t know how to deal with that

How would you even start?

What do you even say to him?

You quiet down when he enters a room because you don’t know what to do

Whatever your about to say dying in your throat like a caged bird and all that came come out are garbled noises as you evade him

Eyes casting down to your hands like a child averting their gaze from their parent when in trouble (he is your dad so it’s the same thing right?)

Leaving the room he’s in as quickly as you can once a take is done

The others notice quick, I mean how can’t they? A damn butter knife can cut through the tension

The whole thing with Haytham and Connor is less tense than this

But what can you even do?

How in thick do you talk to him and how can he even talk to you?

Your 18 and in university, he’s 25 and was a bartender in New York before apparently sacrificing himself for the world

He’s closer in age to being a big brother rather than your dad.

But even besides that he’s been long dead and gone since 2012

It’s been years since that point and more importantly he’s someone important and your not

He’s an assassin born to a bloodline of other assassins

Someone who was raised in this tradition with greatness not only in his origin but also in his death

And your you

A child born from a one night stand who’s only achievement is being good at knowing about old people

It hurts but it’s true

If he’s a star then your a candle compared to his light

A mere blip or spark to the greater picture

There had been times he looked like he wanted to say something but you scurry away before he can say anything

Sometimes you catch the looks and small gestures Ezio tries to make as if to encourage him to go up to you

How Connor sometimes brings up to you how he wishes for reconciliation with his dad and that perhaps it’s possible with your own

Altair not beating around the bush and plainly telling both him and you to talk

But it all feels for naught and dies when those feelings and thoughts return

But eventually he corners you

Well not really corners you per say but he catches you as you leave your study after a talk with Altair

“Listen I don’t have any grudge against you. For one you died, I’d be a dick if I blamed you for that or your decision to save the world and whatever. Second you didn’t know about me in the first place” you say briefly looking up at him before averting your gaze, he looks like he wants to say something but he can’t get a word out before you continue “but you don’t have to act like my dad or anything. You never asked for me, it was a mistake, I was a mistake and I’m fine with it.” (Your lying to yourself)

You leave before he can get a word out, and he’s left alone in the hallway. When he returns to Ezio he just sits down in silence. It’s enough for everyone to know I didn’t go the way he wanted.

Admittedly when you begin to notice odd figures at the achieves you write it off

I mean it could literally be anyone plus the supervisors aren’t making a fuss about them here

If anything their welcoming them and looking at them with hopeful eyes

Small glances full of opportunities in them

It’s odd but maybe their just some non-profit here to support the archive

Or even private benefactors of sorts

But then they turn their attention to you

Plastic smiles on their faces, artificial pleasantries as their main spokeswoman sits in front of you in a slick suit

Her stilettos tapping against the ground as your eyes trail to her bodyguards of sorts

They stand not too close nearby

Watching

Waiting

And then she begins talking

And slowly you grow more and more uncomfortable

Hands playing with one another, fingers twitching in your palm as crescent are indebted in your skin

They apparently are interested in your findings

In your research

But more specifically you

They’ve researched you…a lot

Down from where your mother was born to her great great something grandfather

And your father

…but that’s not public knowledge

It wasn’t even on your birth certificate

This….this isn’t

She smiles though now the darkness melts away into something more knowing

Dangerous and sadistic of sorts

And it’s there on her little pin showing her name you recognize the logo

Within your house you’d vaguely heard whispers of the others talking in hushed tones

You didn’t mind

The less you know the better in that sense

Out of sight and out of mind

But sometimes you’d hear the mumbles of a name that you didn’t put together until now

One spat with venom just as they did with the word of the Templar

Abstergo

You barely have time to react before your black bagged and sufficiently knocked out

Mind drifting to that of panic

What would happen to you?

What will happen when the others find out?

But then those thoughts fade away into the dark void of sleep

When you wake up things are odd

Everything is a sterile white and too bright for your foggy sleep tinged eyes

The room is blurred as is your senses as you weightlessly drift

Everything feels odd

And then it happens sharp and pure pain that leaves you writhing and screaming into the void

And that’s when you notice that white light had left and your in a void of sorts

Empty glitching effects all around you as your left to look around in confusion until you see something

A memory? Specifically one of your memories

Your staring at a simulation of sorts of your past self

A 8 year old in their bed with chubby cheeks pulled up into a melancholy smile

You recognize this moment, your small hands holding a picture that had long been put away into a scrapbook and forgotten

Your left wordless and confused

And then that bitch’s voice appears again and she explains

This entire thing is a simulation of your memories

And essentially their gonna go through your head picking through them to not only learn what they want but then use you as their lab rat cause of your bloodline.

Cause apparently memories of your ancestors could be accessed that way and it was generally easier to have a descendant rather than finding objects and artifacts

And it’s there in that simulation it feels like your mind is being ripped apart

Memories ripped from your mind to play out in front of you as she makes comments and documents them before their forced back in and another is ripped out

Like book having pages torn out and then crudely stitched back in

It hurts so damn much

Over and over

Your just left in screaming again on the ground of this simulated world as she makes idol comments

Left begging for it to stop

For someone to help

For the love of god someone help you make it stop

Of course this would happen to you

You’ve always had shit luck despite your whole family motto being “make your own luck”

What utter bullshit

You can’t make good luck from bad

Can’t just change things when the scales are already tipped one way

But then like a miracle from above she goes quiet and suddenly the memory is gone

And your left in the void still reeling from it all

Still on the glitching ground before once more white encompasses your view

Blinding and bright as your still recovering

And then an unfamiliar voice tunes in

“Your safe” it’s heavily accented, in an Irish twang that’s soft as he says these words to you. A reminder that your ok now, it’s over. “Can you walk?”

You try to look at him with squinting eyes yet they still can’t adjust, your limbs feel heavy like solid rock. Unmoving even as you try. With some difficulty you shake your head

“Aight, I’ll have you carry you then. Are you alright with that?”

“Just get me out of here…please. I just want to go home, I miss my family” it sounds pathetic but as tears begin to fall the stranger doesn’t seem to think Ill of you.

“Don’t worry, I get what that’s like.” The tone is sympathetic and like before is soft “you’ll be home I no time, I promise”

You think for a moment before responding “I trust you”. For a second you feel him go still at that before he picks you up.

For awhile there’s buzzing alarms and panic as your saviour gets you out whoever’s you were taken too

There’s not a moment of silence as he sharply runs and dodges past what you think to be gunshots

Occasionally he grumbles something but for the most part he seems calm

Composed despite the chaos of it all

So much so that it makes you wonder if this is an average Tuesday for him

There’s so much shout and yelling for your already pounding head

But sometimes the yells are silenced as the sound of a blade cuts it short

Footsteps far behind eventually stopping

Sirens getting more and more distant and allowing you and the man to breath

It’s there in the pocket of silence you learn his name

Shay

It sounds familiar, like really familiar yet you can’t put your finger on it

Either way your grateful because how can you not be?

Your away from that place

Away from the torture of having your mind picked apart like a lab experiment

Having the privacy of your memories looked at and prodded

But now your somewhat okay

Your eyes feel weird, your vision feels weird like it keeps switching between something

Your at least somewhat able to walk though it’s unbalanced

but Shay doesn’t seem to mind

He offers an arm that you cling to for support

A kind smile on his face as he makes sure you didn’t injure yourself further

And then you notice his clothes are….old

Like Haytham and Connor level old

And…shit

It’s halfway home through the trails you recognize due to Connor that your vision changes

The world feels bigger as if your third eyes opened or something

Shays figure and presence is highlighted in a clover green

And perched nearby is another green figure, one waiting for a good moment

Shay follows your sight before promptly having to duck out the way from a knife that flies at his head

He pushes you back behind him, you stumble back vision switch between monochrome and normal as someone else grabs you

Instinctively you almost yell before realizing who was now helping keep you steady

And the other person now attacking Shay

“Connor! He’s good! He saved me!”

“He’s a Templar!”

“So is Haytham and you haven’t killed him…again have you!”

At that Shay pauses, turning to look at you with confusion as Connor stops his attempt as slitting his throat

Ezio on the other hand helps you up but keeps a firm protective grip

Watching Shays movements like Connor in apprehension before the two settle down and stare at you for more detail

Both waiting on your word

“He saved me and today has been a long ass day-“

“You’ve been gone for 4 days”

You pause momentarily at that before adding “long 4 ass days of having my mind literally ripped apart. Can we please head back to the house and settle this there? Thank you”.

The moment you get back your almost immediately tackled to the ground by a familiar white and red hoodie wearing absent (dead) father

It’s….odd but nice

Desmond (still feels too awkward to call him dad) is holding you like a lifeline and you notice bags beneath his eyes

He looks like hell

But none of the others are any better either

They all like positively exhausted yet light up when seeing your safe

Your home

It reminds you of your mom when you returned home from school

The long work day evident on her brow but her smile lighting up the room at the sight of your face

It’s no different compared to then except for the fact they all (except Haytham) then protectively pull you away from the nearby Shay who’s being glowered at by Connor

Safe to say it’s a little awkward until you somehow pull free of Desmond’s death grip hobble your ass between the two lone Templars and Assassins

A long discussion having to take place between them all as you not only explain what happened but also it seems you all forget one crucial thing

It seems you forgot about your mom’s side of the family

Whoop de Doo you have more things to process and so does everyone else here

Specifically Connor and Haytham Because before apparently knew (or know of) Shay

Great, another complex relationship in this household like there needed to be more of that

But with this entire situation it also highlights something bigger

Your not safe

None of you are safe

Perhaps you never truly were

And that in turns leaves you with the difficult decision of what to do next

Because In this difficult game of politics between two ever warring groups your a neutral force

You wanted to stay that way but unfortunately fate had other plans

as your drug into this game your left with limited options of sides for not only yourself but for the others who seem keen on following you

Even the two (former?) templars seem to follow your decision

So When Des…er your dad suggests finding his old friends it seems like the best option

It’s either that or be kidnapped and prodded again and who knows what abstergo will do to everyone else (even one’s that once upon a time we’re on their side)

Besides, he says you’ll get along well with someone named Shaun so It can’t be too bad

So he sends out a message and you leave the home you find yourself look at with melancholy

It stopped being a home when mom died but now it seemed like it was just that again

Only time can tell what will bring upon you next

But….you think you’ll be ready for whatever is thrown at you when you have this odd group of family at your side

The expression of blood is thicker than water never really held much weight since you only ever had your mom until she was gone

But maybe you understand it a bit better now

#platonic #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed imagine #desmond miles x reader #ezio auditore x reader #ezio x reader #altair x reader #connor kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader #shay cormac x reader #edward kenway x reader

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