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sulfies · 5 months

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Wolves in Romé pt1

Desmond ran. His paws trotting on the stone floors of Rome, with the wind licking at his maw, he did not stop.

They were after him… the crazy furry cult.. the followers of Romu- Romunucu… or whatever Shaun had called them. They weren't so silly once they appeared to be real and very much after Desmond.

Desmond who had a tail and two furry ears and paws and a whole wolf body. Desmond who had woken down at the sanctuary that held that ugly armour, covered in fur, no longer human.

Did Rome even have wolves?

An arrow flew past him and he stopped his flashback with a sad inhuman yelp to keep on running. Didn’t these guys worship wolves, shouldn’t his species be considered sacred to them or something?

His paws slipped slightly on the smooth dirty stones as he took a left to an empty alley. He was glad it was dead of night, Desmond did not think crowds could handle a wolf running up and down the streets.

Another arrow flew past as Desmond tried to plan his route, he remembered that there was an entrance to a forest he could maybe get to if he took a turn two streets down to the left… or was it to the right? He never had to do this without the animus map on his right corner before.

Desmond howled suddenly as pain shot through his back leg.

He got hit…

One of them had to hit eventually but damn it hurt. He took a sharp right, eyes blind in pain and crashed muzzle-first onto a dead end.

The kicked puppy noises that left his inhuman form were pretty sad.

“There you are finally! Come here doggy”

3 cackling shadows came over him as he backed into the end, laid low, teeth bared, snarling.

Desmond knew he was fucked. His new wound was hurting and he was tired, he didn't think he could take all three of them with these odds but at least one would come down with him if he did.

One of the cultists, the one at the front, stepped up holding his sword between them to put distance between his very biteable arm and his sharp teeth. Desmond barked at him and bit the air… teeth clanking in a clear sign of step the fuck away but the man only grinned.

“We have been waiting for you little pup, come on now don't make this hard for us. Romulus is not the most patient…”

Desmond only snarled and growled back again, thunderous rumble from his chest never stopping as the other man swung his sword around his face.

Suddenly, a landing shadow on the clothesline above them caught the corner of his eye. As he snarled and dripped sylva everywhere for his life he could see the shadow shift and move right above the other two wolf furries slowly, like a predator eyeing its catch.

“Come on you stupid dumb mutt…”

The sword's tip slashed at his muzzle and Desmond's attention shifted back to his main threat as he growled once more, his snarl fully on display as he started tasting blood from the dripping wound. Oh, how he wished he had his gear.

Busy with keeping the sword in his line of sight, Desmond only saw a glimmer of metal before the two men staying behind, laughing at his desperation, crumbled onto the cold stone road behind his main attacker. There was no other sound as Desmond saw his savior rise from the bodies that cushioned his fall and make his way over in small steps.

If he had lips he would have the biggest grin right now.

“Why don't you leave the poor dog alone Amico, I’m sure we can find a lady that is more of your…taste”

Ezio spoke.

Desmond knew that voice as if it was his own.

The remaining follower whipped his head around and Desmond saw his opening.

He lunged at the man's arm holding the sword, bringing the man down in a scream with his soft arm in-between his very sharp teeth. They slammed down to the hard ground in a roll and the man, to his credit, managed to land a punch on his nose, kicking him onto a stack of empty crates. Desmond would have been madder if he hadn't taken a chunk of the man's flesh between his blood-soaked muzzle as he was thrown across.

The man's agonized screams filled the alley and left as quickly and abruptly as they started. Desmond could not see what happened from where he was thrown into but he could guess where one or two pointy metal objects could end up in a screaming man on the floor.

When Desmond could get the dirty cover they put over the half-rotten crates out of his eyes and tangled limbs he saw Ezio leaning over the man with a chunk of an arm missing.

Ezio turned his head to where he was lying down, wiping his blades on the dead man's robes.

”You poor thing must have been scary to get chased by these lunatics.”

Yes, it was.

Desmond stayed where he was, breathing heavily as the adrenaline slowly started to leave him.

“Let me look at you little pup… I think I saw his sword hit but it's too dark.”

Desmond huffed what was supposed to be a snort when he saw Ezio slowly get on his knees, hand stretched out, crawling closer over to where Desmond decided to lay inside the old broken crates.

“Come here Cucciolo…” snapping his fingers, he whistled.

He whistled. He didn’t think Desmond was actually a dog…surely. It was dark but he was clearly larger than a village dog with way sharper teeth even in pitch black.

“Come on I won't harm you~”

Yea, I, might harm you!

If he had been a regular wolf that is, Desmond thought.

Another whistle and Desmond gave up trying to teach Ezio common sense.

“There you are mi Bello…” Crawling under the boxes and bits he could see Ezio take in his size. “You are a bigger thing than I thought huh, couldn't see much at this hour but not a puppy I recon…”

Yes… He was very much not a puppy. Desmond rolled his eyes as he stopped in front of Ezio shaking his coat to get rid of bits and dust. Moonlight on his fur the assassin was now finally able to get a real good look at him.

“Definitely not a puppy… oh boy… Not even a dog are you?”

The hand he held in front of him wavered a bit, clearly wasn't sure if he wanted to keep the limb so accessible now that he knew the animal in front of him wasn't the friendliest of spiciest or a man's best friend.

Ezio wanted to laugh, Desmond also did because why the fuck was Ezio Auditore alone in an alley at night face to face with a wolf he rescued from some crazed bastards. And why was his arm still out!?

“H-how about you don't hurt me?”

Of course, only Ezio would try to bargain with a wild animal. Stubborn dumbass, but this was a better scenario than having Ezio put him down for a rampage a wolf could cause on the streets.

As the man tensed further, Desmond trotted closer with his eyes on Ezio. His hand was still but he could see from Ezio's face how much he wanted to move it away.

Once again, stubborn dumbass.

He heard the man take a sharp inhale as he brought his wet nose to his palm, he waited a bit sniffing mostly for show and for Ezio to let go of the breath he held. Slowly, placed his maw onto the open palm, his blood-soaked fur dirtying the man's gloves.

“No way…”

He looked back up to Ezio to find the man's eyes twinkling with glee he had never seen in any memories he watched. Tilting his head into the palm Desmond felt the man finally get the courage he needed to start petting him as his fingers twitched between his sticky fur.

“Leonardo is going to lose his mind… Pazzesco! I am petting a real wolf…”

He wouldn't be alone, Desmond was losing it for sure. Well, he had been losing it actively since the animus but becoming a wild animal in the 1500s Renaissance? I think he got to a point past therapy on day one of Abstergo kidnapping.

He was a wild animal in Ezio’s Italy…. He was getting pets from THE Ezio Auditore in THE Renaissance.

“Who's a good boy~ Look at that tail wag!”

Oh god, and his tail wagged….

Desmond turned his head to look at the betraying limb but when he did the twist bumped his back leg right onto Ezio’s knee. He jolted in a yelp as pain shot through him, he had almost forgotten he had an arrow to his glute.

“Oh Cucciolo... wait a second boy”

Desmond stayed in a low whimper as Ezio dug into his pouches. Getting bandages and a flask, he looked over to the wolf with sympathy.

Lips pressed flat Ezio spoke in a teasing tone his face did not reflect ”Facciamolo… we are going to make a little deal you and I” He placed a gloved hand to his own chest “I promise to help you heal…” then pointed at him…

Desmond looked into his eyes unimpressed as Ezio tried to bargain with, again, a literal wolf. He hoped his animal face was expressive enough to get his point across.

“...and you have to promise not to bite, Capisce?”

His hands scratched at his ears and Desmond had to admit it felt nice, like a relaxing massage on just the right spot. “This will hurt, I am sorry.” Then the same hands moved slowly toward his legs. Desmond knew Ezio talked from experience when he said his warning.

God and he couldn’t even have alcohol to ease the pain that was about to come!

Ezio’s eyes darted between his wound and his face a few times.

He was clearly expecting to be bitten.

Then again what wild animal would not if you yanked an arrow out of them? Desmond could not blame him really for thinking of his limbs when he was making a chew toy out of one a minute ago…

Ezio's hand closed around the arrow shaft in a gentle pressure.

Both of them took a deep breath.

“Please don't bite me!”

Yank.

Desmond was not proud of the voices that came out of him…

#there are infact wolves in rome #its italys national animal lmao #well probobly not in rome rome but... italy has em #It is aslo Turkeys national animal so twinnnns #fanfic #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ezio auditore #this took longer than I thought lmao #poor desmond always ends up blacking out at the end of my fics huh

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after-witch · 7 months

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To the Top [Yandere Chuuya x Reader]

Title: To the Top [Yandere Chuuya x Reader]

Synopsis: Over the past few months of your pregnancy, you’ve never been sweeter to Chuuya. Little does he know that for every smile you’ve given him, you’ve stashed away something for your escape.

Word count: 3100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader is pregnant, abusive behavior (chains, restrictions, food control, etc)

Life in this shut-up penthouse was never exactly invigorating--but over the past few months it has become unbearable. And that unbearable, stifling heaviness weighing you down every single day has taken its toll in more ways than one.

It’s made you feel like you’re going to lose it at any moment. It’s made you feel like you’d rather be anywhere than here.

You want to get out.

Chuuya had rules for you, of course, when he first started keeping you here. They came slow--a leash that tightened before you realized it--and sure.

But now, with your belly swollen and growing bigger by the day, he’s completely taken control.

You’re not allowed to go outside, even with Chuuya, even surrounded by bodyguards ready to take a bullet or unload them into any would-be assassins. Those brief bouts of fresh air were one of the few bright spots in your life, now blotted out from Chuuya’s paranoia of losing you.

You’re not allowed to use your exercise bike or take a swim in the heated indoor pool tucked in the basement. It doesn’t matter how much you argue that you should be exercising for the sake of your health, because Chuuya says he does let you exercise. According to him, anyway.

He only lets you do the mildest--and you do mean mildest--of aerobic exercises in the pool. Only under supervision, and the moment you look like you want to start leaning into the water and getting in a nice backstroke, Chuuya orders you out and you’d best comply if you ever want to see the pool again for the next 2 years.

You’re not allowed to eat whatever you want, even when your cravings feel like they’re going to eat you from the inside out. He doesn’t starve you, no, no, no. But you can’t have a big juicy cheeseburger topped with bacon and a side of onion rings, a heavenly concoction that makes you drool just to think of it.

If you must have a burger, and it’s a big if--Chuuya allows you to eat a made-from-scratch ground turkey burger with low fat cheese and a side of mashed sweet potato (no butter, no extra salt!) all courtesy of the well-trained personal chef Chuuya hired to live in the building.

They’re the reason you are eating three square meals and two snacks a day, and the reason each and every meal is perfectly designed to eat every nutrition goal. Everything you eat is always nutritious and sure, the food isn’t disgusting… but it’s not fucking fair, is it, that you can’t just eat what you want when you want.

Chuuya insists you eat only the best of foods. He makes sure every meal comes with a little cup of medicine--prenatal vitamins and anything else the doctor thinks will help keep you safe during your pregnancy.

He doesn’t let you run around or fret or clean or do much of anything at all. He doesn’t want you to exert yourself, he says. You can’t eat what you want or do what you want or go where you want.

It’s all too much.

You fought at first. You argued. You pleaded. But it didn’t do anything but make Chuuya tighten his hold on you.

And that’s why you accept his rules now with the utmost of patience and sweetness that you can muster. Oh, you haven’t given in. You aren’t meekly submitting to Chuuya and agreeing that he surely knows what’s best for you.

You’re just biding your time for the day when you can get the hell out of here.

Besides, you needed a little bit of freedom if you were going to escape. And a little bit of freedom was all you were going to get.

Early on in the pregnancy, Chuuya kept you locked in the bedroom when he was away because you fought him too much. A chain around your ankle kept you from even trying to get out the bedroom door.

Yes, you were given food by a stoic bodyguard throughout the day and it wasn’t like you were left to fend for yourself, but still. It would be impossible to leave if you were stuck in the bedroom all day.

Now, though, Chuuya lets you walk around the penthouse when he’s gone. He allows the chef to premake some of your meals so that you can microwave them if he’s not here to feed you; you can watch a movie in the living room or take a nap on your shared bed or whatever you’d like, as long as it’s quiet and calming.

Because you’re good, and you’ve behaved, and you let him do what’s best for you.

It’s not a lot of freedom. But it’s enough to give you the chance to start stashing away supplies for your escape; it’s enough to give you the perfect moment to pretend to fall asleep on the sofa before Chuuya leaves one day, so you can look just in time to see the passcode he enters on the electronic lock attached to the front door.

It’s enough to put you on the path towards freedom.

Chuuya paces back and forth so rapidly that you’re starting to feel a bit dizzy. There’s a framed picture of flowers--your favorite--on the wall behind him, and you focus on that to keep yourself steady. Chuuya… flowers… Chuuya… flowers.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight. I could send someone else for this.”

“Chuuya.”

“Or I can send one of my guards to stay in the apartment while I’m gone. Just to be safe? Shit, I don’t know.”

“Chuuya.”

“Fuck it, I’ll call it in, I’m not going--”

“Chuuya.”

He stops, and you take the opportunity to step forward and grasp both of his hands in yours. You pull them against your chest and watch as his expression goes from agitated and fretful to sweet, almost puppy-love. Every time you touch him without being told, it’s like you can see a sweet light spark in his eyes. Too bad you lost your spark a while ago.

“Go,” you say, soft and sweet and so fake you wonder that he can’t see through it. “I’ll be fine. The building’s being guarded, and the door will be locked.” The tension begins to melt from his shoulders, and you continue. “Just come home safe, all right?”

His frown holds for only a moment more, then it splits into a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah… You’re right.” He lifts his hands, taking yours with them, so that he can press a short kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll be back in the early morning--don’t wait up for me, you two need your sleep. Got it?”

We won’t be here when you get back, you think. “I know. We’ll go to bed early,” you say.

And then you lean forward and kiss him softly on the lips, your stomach brushing against him as you do.

He expects a kiss whenever he leaves and you’re almost happy to give it, tonight, because you know it will be the last one he ever gets from you.

You don’t act right away. You’re not stupid. It’s about 2 hours after he leaves that the plan is ready to set into motion. In the meantime, you’ve read and reread the same page of your book a thousand times; sweat has begun to cling to your back as your eyes dart from the page to the clock.

The sensation of your stomach in knots is equaled only by the frenzy of activity inside your belly--you swear they can sense what’s going on. Can they feel how your heart has begun to race? Can they tell that your muscles are tense? That your ears are strained, listening for the sound of his footsteps, in case he changed his mind?

You’re thankful that you’re not alone when you finally retrieve your bag from its hiding spot. You’ve got supplies. Some cash, food, a few water bottles. Underwear, clothes--yours and the babies--and some of the baby things Chuuya has already picked up. A blanket, a package of bottles, in case he doesn’t take to the breast.

It’s not a lot. But it will be enough to get you through to safety and freedom, and that’s all that really matters.

The bag shifts on your shoulders as you stand at the door, heart pounding, breath coming in short puffs. The guards outside the door are doing their rounds--back and forth, stopping in front of the front door of the penthouse and again at the door of the elevator just a few steps away, then going round the corner to complete a circle.

It takes them 15 seconds to walk down the hallway once they walk away from the elevator. And you have about 60 seconds to get from the front door into the elevator before they come back. Maybe 90 seconds, maybe 2 minutes, if they stop to chat. They don’t do that with any regularity, so it’s impossible to plan for it. So you don’t.

Instead, you count, one hand on your belly, one hand poised above the numbers on the electronic lock. It makes a noise so you have to wait to just… the right… time…

Now.

Despite all of the careful planning that went into this, as soon as your fingers press the code in, all thinking seems to cease. You are running on pure instinct. The door opens and you don’t even look to make sure the guards aren’t there, instead you fly right to the elevator door and push down.

It could all go wrong here. If someone is in the elevator, if someone is coming up from the floors, if the elevator didn’t return to the top after Chuuya left.

But the door has mercy and opens right away, and you rush into it, almost tripping over the threshold. Your finger trembles onto the close door button and it shuts. You don’t hear shouts. You don’t hear panic.

They didn’t see you.

Timing, again, is everything. You press the fifth floor so that the elevator will stop there long enough for the guards at the bottom to--you hope, you hope, you hope, if you timed it right--be around the corner as well. But there’s no telling if your timing is correct here. Maybe they don’t leave the doors at all, on the bottom floor. Maybe there are more guards, maybe they take shifts. All these maybes ball up in your stomach and take the air out of you as the elevator reaches the ground floor and opens.

You rush out without looking, but no one is there. You’re at the private back entrance and you don’t waste time thinking about how lucky you are or what to do next; you simply push yourself out the door and begin to run down the street.

It doesn’t take long for your feet to hurt. The house slippers Chuuya gives you are not meant for concrete, not meant for uneven sidewalks where people occasionally drop glass bottles and cigarette butts.

You don’t let the pain stop you. You never have before.

As you run, solid thoughts finally begin to return to your mind, which feels less fuzzy and more aware of the danger that you might be in. You did it. You’re out. You’re gone. You’re free.

But not just yet, right? You need to stay hidden. You need to be safe. You need, above all, to get off the highly visible streets.

A sign for a bus stop catches your eye. Yes--a bus. You could let it take you as far as it will, and then go from there. But the sign says the bus stops on the hour, and there’s still 30 minutes to go--you can’t stay out on the street that long.

Instead, you slip into an alley just a little bit away from the sign. It’s close enough that you could press yourself against a wall and still keep an eye out for when the bus arrives. Will it be comfortable? No. Will it be smelly? Probably. Will you be out of public view? Yes--so that’s what you do.

You slip into the alley and immediately every nerve on your body raises because there is someone here with you.

No. Scratch that.

Two someones.

There is a man standing that you can only see from behind. He is shrouded in the shadows of the alleyway’s end, which isn’t lit by anything but the hint of light from the street.

And there is a man on the ground, pressed against the farthest end of the alley, begging for his life. You only catch some of the words that tumble out of his desperate lips: I didn’t betray you, I swear, I swear, I can tell you everything you need to know, it wasn’t me, oh please, fuck, I swear--

And then he doesn’t speak anymore because the first man shoots him in the head. He falls backward and something hits the wall and you can't help the noise of startled horror that slips out of your mouth.

The man turns around, gun drawn, and you have just enough time to think--this is it--before he steps forward.

And… says your name?

The man is Chuuya.

The man is Chuuya, who holsters his gun and, mouth gaping, has his hands on you before you can even think about running. He’s checking you over--for bruises or cuts or who knows what else--and his grip on your forearm is relentlessly strong.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” He says, not believing the sight of you, even as he touches you. “Babe, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Where’s--”

And then he sees the bag slung over your shoulder. Sees how full it looks. He glances down at your stomach. Then back up at your face.

“You were trying to leave?”

The hurt on his face might induce pity, if you weren’t currently dealing with the most horrific adrenaline rush in the world.

“No,” you sputter. “Yes. No. I--”

And it’s then that your body and mind crash together, and the realization that you’ve been caught catches up with you. You should run. You will run.

And you try, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t even have enough leverage to take a step back with how tightly he’s holding you. Your mind knows this, but your body doesn’t accept it quite yet, and you squirm fruitlessly against him.

He only needs one hand to keep you by his side as he takes out his phone and barks out an order at someone to come take care of the body of the poor dead man in the alley.

Then he looks back at you and hurt, fear, anger, play out on his face in a series of moments.

“We’re going,” he tells you. He’s back on his phone, another order. A car to pick you up.

His voice promises locked doors and lost privileges, yes, but there’s something else simmering in there that has you yanking back feebly as he drags you out of the alley and into an unmarked car.

Every guard Chuuya crosses stammers out apologies, swears they don’t know how this happened. Chuuya deals with them in clipped tones that make you wonder if they’ll survive the night. Reassigned, if they’re lucky.

The penthouse is just as you left it. Quiet. Clean. A now runny smoothie, fortified with vitamins and calculated with the perfect natal nutrients, sits on the counter; you didn’t drink it tonight.

Chuuya drags you through to the bedroom. All this time, he hasn’t let go of your hand. There will be finger-shaped bruises tomorrow.

You expect him to scream at you. Maybe even hurt you. A physical slap might hurt less than this all-consuming fear as he pulls you into the bedroom and gently guides you to sit down on the bed. What will he do? What will he say?

Your hand grasps your belly--please don’t hurt me.

Chuuya growls out bubbling anger, turns, and punches the wall so hard that his fist goes through the drywall. His knuckles have freckles of blood on them.

The sound, the sight of the blood, the anger pressing down on your shoulders--it’s all too much and hot tears spill over your lower eyelids and down your cheeks, salty, burning.

He’s on his knees, immediately, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pressing kisses to your tear-stained cheeks.

“Babe, I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to scare you.” He hushes your hiccuping sobs, wiping and kissing your tears in alternate measures. “I was just so fucking mad.”

At me? You think.

“Those guards,” he continues, frowning. “They weren’t watching you like they should.”

“But I…” You don’t finish: But I’m the one who ran away.

Your confusion must show on your face, because he presses a kiss to your cheek, to your lips.

“Hush. I know you’re prone to fits like this. I don’t mind. It’s why I do so much to watch over you, y’know?” He rubs at your cheeks with this thumb and cracks a smile. From the corner of your eye, you can see the blood on his knuckles. “It was either the wall or one of those guys’ heads, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he kisses you, more lingering this time.

“You make me crazy,” he whispers against your lips. “You know that?”

“Chuuya,” you whisper, breath mingling with this. “Please, I want to… I want to…” Leave. Be free. All words you could say, that never make their way past your lips.

He sits up taller on his knees and rests his head against your stomach. There’s a flurry of movement inside you--does the baby know he’s there? What does the baby, in all its primordial growth, think of any of today’s events?

“I know it’s scary,” Chuuya murmurs. “You don’t have to tell me. We’re about to be parents. Anyone would be worried.”

That’s not what you wanted to say. It’s hard to say if Chuuya knows it and pretends otherwise or simply doesn’t acknowledge your resistance at all.

He sighs through his nose and closes his eyes.

“I’ll have to bring the chain back out for a while. Maybe until the baby comes.” He opens his eyes just a little and glances up at you with a smile. “But I can make it long enough for you to walk around. Doctor said you needed to stretch your legs every day, babe.”

He closes his eyes again and you don’t know what else you can do but reach out and rest your palm against his head. He leans into your touch.

“I know,” you croak out. There’s a few beats--of your heart?--and your fingers curl against his hair. “I’m sorry I went outside.” What else can you do, but lean into Chuuya, but apologize for doing what he insists you never do. Leave him, be free, live your own life.

He sighs and nuzzles himself against your stomach. He presses a soft kiss to it before pulling himself off the floor, leaning down, and kissing you on the head.

“I know, babe. Don’t worry. I’m not mad.”

You wonder what Chuuya might have done if he had gotten angry at you.

Perhaps it’s better not to know.

#yandere chuuya #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere #afterwitch writes

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