Nightmares Desmond Miles x Reader One-Shot

Nightmares

Desmond Miles x Reader


Ever since he first stepped into the Animus, Desmond had been getting horrible nightmares at night. Sometimes you heard him sobbing and sniffling as tears streamed down his cheeks, and sometimes he'd howl and scream and murmur things underneath his breath as though he was giving the world his last words. It hurt you to hear him in so much pain.

You had asked Rebecca and Shaun if there was anything they could do, if there was some bug in the Animus causing this to happen to him, but they had shrugged off your requests with sentences along the lines of "nightmares aren't something to worry about" and "Desmond is strong enough to know that a nightmare can hardly effect him". You weren't even going to repeat Shaun's answer about misjudging his skills on spotting bugs and viruses and such.

But still, you worried. You knew the team cared for Desmond just as much as you did, and as bad as you felt for admitting this to yourself, you couldn't help but feel that they were heartless. Did his cries really not get to them?

You found yourself watching the brunette every night, prepared to reassure and calm him whenever his dreams morphed into the beast of the nightmares he suffered. At times, all it took was a heartened squeeze of your hand in his to stop him from whimpering, and on other occasions all you had to do was briskly run your finger through his tousled, short hair.

But it was when he started yelling and sobbing that you actually started to fret. You took both his hands in your own and held them tight, and when that didn't work, you rushed to wet a piece of cloth and wipe the sweat beading on his forehead. For some reason, none of the techniques were working tonight.

He was panting and stirring, restlessly shaking as his chest irregularly rose and fell. You knitted your eyebrows in distress, and peeled the creased blanket from Desmond's torso, feeling that it would only fasten the process of his sweating. You then assigned yourself to unzipping his white hoodie. You worked at the zip, and once it was undone, you realised that trying to pull his arms from the sleeves was only going to wake him, and the last thing you wanted him to think of you was a creep who watched him in his sleep and tried to undress him or something.

You sighed, and gave up, rubbing your temples. Desmond was a tough cookie, even in his sleep, you could give him that. There was nothing you could do to help him without feeling violated on his behalf. But then the said brunette mumbled something you thought you misheard. Shaking your head, you whispered, "Desmond? Say that again?"

You thought he wouldn't be able to hear you, that you were just talking to yourself for the good of entertainment - considering that you were the only one awake at this time of the night. But your thoughts were switched to something contraire when he repeated his words again.

"Thank you, (Y/n)."

You blinked. Desmond's consciousness had to be hovering between being asleep and awake, but then that meant that he would have been aware of what you were doing, even if his awareness was ever-so-slight. A blush crept to your cheeks, and you lowered your vision to the floor.

Suddenly, a hand rested on your shoulder, and your head shot up. Desmond was now awake, and his bloodshot eyes were half-lidded, his brown irises sifting in-between softness and tiredness. He smiled at you weakly, and his feverishly hot hand gripped yours powerfully.

You were at a loss of explanation, and in the process you were unaware of his appreciation towards you, and you found yourself tripping over your words, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why you were here watching over him when you were meant to be asleep.

"Desmond, I... uh, well, you made these really weird noises, and... um, so, then I had to come here and - and check up on you and -"

"(Y/n)."

"I'm sorry, Desmond, I'm sorry!" You yelled, your eyes burning and brimming with tears. It was a habit; whenever you were nervous and afraid, you came to the verge of tears.

"What are you sorry for?" came the tired brunette's husky voice.

You paused. "You don't think I'm a creep?"

Desmond chuckled weakly. "Why would I think that?"

But before you could reply, he wiped a loose tear from underneath your eye, and huddled his figure against yours strongly. "Thank you, (Y/n)."

"A- Anytime, Desmond."