The Assassin Bureau: Imagines and Preferences

Late Night Strolls: Desmond x Reader

It was two in the morning when you woke up. You weren't sure what it was until you sat up in bed and saw that he was gone. You tossed the blanket aside, trying to ignore the anxiety that clumped in your throat and plagued your mind.

What if they took him? What if Abstergo finally found him and kidnapped him in the night? What if you lost him to the bleeding effect and he was wondering the streets as Ezio Auditore? What if the life of an Assassin was too overwhelming and he finally decided to leave even if that meant never seeing you again?

You saw him in the bathroom long before he sensed your presence. He was rummaging through the medical basket just as he looked at you, the skin around his eye swollen and red, a gash across his brow.

"Des!" You tossed aside anxiety and fear for anger. "What the hell happened? Is that... blood?"

He stepped away from the basket and innocently looked over his clothes, barely reacting to the blood speckled there. "The blood on my shirt...." He gave a cheeky grin. "Uh, would you feel better if I told you it wasn't mine?"

"Not really."

He raised his shoulders.

"It's 2am." You marched forward and grabbed the basket from him. "Sit down and explain to me how you got a black eye and a bloody shirt."

He gave a low groan but sat down on the edge of the bathtub without further comaplaints. "I couldn't sleep. I went for a walk and I..." He tossed his hands as if he were trying to grasp an excuse. "There were these punks harassing this old lady. I might have stepped in and..."

"Another nightmare." You dampened a wet cloth and carefully dabbed it onto the reddening cut across his brow and temple. You smirked, chiding him, "You should have stayed in bed." Your anger was gone and even if it story hadn't been about rescuing the elderly you would have forgiven him. It was impossible to stay mad at him.

He delicately took your hand and pressed his cheek into your palm. "Next time I'll be sure to stay home and watch late night TV."

You huffed, brushing your thumb along his cheek. "Good because the next time you come home covered in blood--"

"Covered?" Des gave a delightful chuckle, arms snaking around your waist to pull you closer. "More like... sprinkled."

"I was really worried," you whispered, words barely audible even to your own ears. "I thought... maybe you left for good."

He choked on his words, shocked you could even suggest such a thing. "You know I'd never leave. I couldn't leave you."

You tossed the rag onto the side of the tub. "No, you just go out every night on late night strolls."

"Hey." He playfully shoved. "I apologized, didn't I?"

You snorted, eyes rolling. "That's not exactly what an apology sounds like."

"I know," he muttered. "I know, babe. I'm sorry. These past few years... I just can't close my eyes without dreaming about their deaths. Every death I witnessed in the Animus. It just feels so real sometimes."

You pressed your face into his crown, buried your senses into the soft tufts of his hair. You missed having that smell surround you, missed having it embrace you. "We'll get through this, Des."

"I know we will." He pressed his cheek against your stomach, just as eager to bury himself against you. "We've faced far worse."