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wileys-russo · 6 months

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That pic of mary and the baby hello…..i know you have written similar stuff before for her but could you do a blurb where the reader and mary have a baby together? maybe reader brings them to a match, once it’s over mary comes over to see them and takes the baby who instantly buries their head in her chest and all mary’s teammates notice and rush over to come see their favourite supporter

part of the a date to remember universe series 🫶🏻

crowd favourite II m.earps

you’d finally convinced your wife to let you bring your little bundle of joy to her first ever international football match, an england friendly against germany which being a euros rematch had already attracted a sold out crowd.

your wife forever over protective of both you and your little now nine month old daughter had banned the two of you from the previous england games claiming that the crowds became far too rowdy.

after a couple of months you’d started to take delilah to some of her home united matches, mary much more trusting of the crowds it drew in and knowing worse case she could be by your side in a minute if need be.

but now when you were up in the family and friends box staring down at your wife who was merely a spec in the wonderous size of a packed out wembley stadium, you’d needed to assure her over and over you would both be absolutely fine.

“well now do my eyes deceive me or is mrs earps finally off house arrest?” your head moved up toward the grinning blonde making her way over to you as you carefully stood with your daughter in your arms.

“hi lee.” you greeted the captain with a smile, kissing her cheek as she hugged you with one arm mindful of your daughter. “god she’s getting big, look at the hair on her!” leah gasped in surprise, ruled out from the game with a tweak in her knee sarina didn’t want to risk.

“you should see mary’s baby photos, this is nothing!” you laughed, kissing your daughters forehead affectionately before carefully passing her over to leah. you watched with a fond smile as the younger girl cooed at your daughter, face brightening as delilah rewarded her with a few giggles for her efforts.

“are you coming down?” leah asked nodding outside where you knew she’d shortly head down to sit behind the players bench with the rest of the staff. “i don’t think I have the clearance for that!” you laughed, handing off your daughter again to marys mum as she returned from the bathroom.

“please. look who you’re with! this face is all the clearance you need my girl.” leah grinned gesturing to herself making you roll your eyes playfully. “go! i’ve got her sweetheart she’s due for a nap soon anyway, mary will appreciate you being there.” julie smiled warmly.

“i’m just gonna see if she’ll feed before kick off. she was really fussy this morning with the bottle and mary not being home.” you sighed at the memory, barely able to have her drink more than a few mouthfuls.

taking delilah and grabbing your bag you moved toward the parents room, locking the door after you.

“-and you’re sure you don’t mind?” you asked your mother in law for the third time after your returned who shook her head with a laugh and waved you off. “darling she’s fed and fast asleep. go and enjoy the game!” the woman shooed you away as leah grabbed your hand, pulling you with her as you blew your daughter one last kiss.

“alright leah relax you’re gonna rip my arm off mate!”

“hi sexy.” you grinned at your wife as she finally made her way over after saying hi to as many fans as she could, the rest of the girls not far after her revelling in their 3-1 win.

“mary!” you squealed as your wife manhandled you up and over the barrier, placing you down on the pitch and kissing you fiercely earning you a few wolf whistles as you pulled away and buried your face in her shoulder.

“you’re so sweaty.” you mumbled with a sigh as she hugged you tightly, making a point to rub her face into your shirt as you pushed her off. “hello mrs earps! now where is mini earps?” you were quickly tugged into another sweaty hug by millie.

“up in the box with mary’s mum. nice to see you too brighty!” you poked accusingly at her chest. “excuse me it’s not my fault your bulldog of a wife won’t let us meet her unless through facetime!” millie pouted, several of the other girls around you joining in on their demands to meet delilah.

“hey i’ve been ready to bring her to the last three england games.” you defended, your wife sending you a murderous side eye for throwing her under the bus as her friends and team mates continued to whine at her.

“oh you guys haven’t met her? what a shame!” you were once again lifted into a sweaty hug as a smug alessia twirled you around and placed back on your feet, ignoring the unimpressed protests that followed her remark.

“stop winding them up. i’m raising you to be a pleasant and humble individual young lady!” you smacked her on the arm with a warning look as the blonde only grinned and kissed your cheek before you were pulled in by tooney who continued the teasing that the two of them saw your daughter almost daily.

“not a single one of you are laying a finger on her until you’ve showered, changed and washed your hands at least twice!” mary shouted sternly above all the noise, several of the girls all racing off to the change rooms making you laugh at their obvious eagerness.

“now look what you’ve done. whipped them into a bloody frenzy!” mary grumbled as she hugged you from behind, placing a few lazy kisses to your jaw as you leant into her secure hold, wincing slightly as she adjusted her arms to sit higher.

“hey love you alright?” she was back in front of you in an instant, hand caressing your cheek with a concerned stare as you nodded. “my boobs are killing me, i got her to feed earlier but i need to pump soon.” you mumbled in annoyance at your least favourite part of motherhood, your constantly aching chest.

“well i’ll make sure to give them lots of love and extra special attention and kiss them better for you later tonight baby.” the keeper whispered in your ear with a cheeky grin, hand moving around you to harshly squeeze your bum before giving it a smack as your eyes widened and you pushed at her chest.

“hope you’re washing your hands twice too after that little show mother mary!” millie and rach grinned wiggling their eyebrows at the woman, eyes widening as she lunged at them, chasing them off the pitch and back into the tunnel.

“hi gorgeous.” your wife was the first to appear upstairs, followed closely by a handful of her teammates whom you’d assume the girl kept held hostage in the change rooms until she was ready to come up herself.

“she just woke up, look whose back lilah!” you cooed rocking the infant in your arms as mary beamed, tickling underneath her chin as your daughter reached out for her eagerly.

a resounding chorus of aw’s echoed as mary scooped her up and your daughter buried her face in her hoodie covered chest, mary attacking her with kisses on every inch of her body as you watched on with a smile.

“right! make an orderly queue please girls. and no pushing! yes mills i’m looking at you when i say that.” your wife ordered sternly, bouncing your daughter on her hip as her team mates hurried to line up for a hold, the entire ordeal making you laugh.

“ah no! you let them have their turns you both saw her yesterday.” you were quick to grab both ella and alessia as they rushed past you, yanking them down into the seats beside you and ignoring their protests.

eventually they both gave up and rested their heads on either one of your shoulders, the three of you chattering about your plans to take delilah to the zoo next weekend. yet another thing you’d sworn the pair to secrecy over not wanting to upset the rest of their team mates much as the two loved nothing more than to flex their godmother and favourite aunty status about.

mary caught your eye with a grin as she protectively watched over your daughter, shaking her head at your two adopted daughters sprawled across your sides.

but neither of you would change a thing, your perfect little family.

#mary earps x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #mary earps #woso imagine #woso blurbs #engwnt

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ashersanity · 5 months

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whitney vs rapechester ville

whitney beefing with the entire town, hissing like an angry kitten because that’s literally what they are, a little bitch that I’d enjoy watching be put in their place. pasted from my reddit, so shitty, lazy rambles.

whitney vs low confidence!robin : yeah, whitney wins in this one. robin’s honestly too scared shitless to really do much against them, lets themselves get beat up before PC eventually intervenes.

whitney vs high confidence!robin : robin 100% They’re confident enough to stand up for themselves now and they literally sucker punched a full fledged bodyguard and made them pass out on the spot in that one scene. that’s like.. twice the strength of a max physique, large body type and sadistic PC. robin deals massive damage and wins easily.

whitney vs kylar : depends. they both like to play dirty in their own way if pushed far enough like in the cafeteria scene where whitney either wins or loses depending on who PC cheers for, but in the bully’s defence, they got kicked in the crotch while they were distracted. If we’re speaking strategic fighting, kylar probably wins. pure strength though? whitney definitely.

whitney vs pure!sydney : poor syd will be sobbing as Whitney crushes their glasses beneath their shoe, claiming that one shouldn’t fight back since everyone deals with their own battles in life. solemnly wipes their tears away right after. only time I can see them win is if it involves for PC’s sake and they completely snap.

whitney VS corrupted!sydney : this one’s difficult. I feel as though sydney is actually on par with whitney’s strength if they had fighting experience and whatnot. they were able to pull whitney over the counter in the library in that one scene with surprising boldness. I’m betting on sydney though because the motherfucker would be moaning from a punch alone and that just throws the delinquent off completely, striding away like they didn’t just hear that.

whitney vs bailey : bailey obviously. they’re built like a fucking brick wall and survived getting stabbed. totally sweeps the floor with the bully, leaving them bloodied and bruised up on the ground, nosebleed, broken teeth, fucked up face, you name it. just walks away right after since they have better shit to deal with and doesn’t like wasting time. whitney will still demand that kiss from you later though.

whitney vs eden : again, eden. they got like 600 or 800 health, I don’t remember. practically the strongest human NPC in terms of raw, physical strength. either way, whitney gets absolutely BODIED, thrown over the forest ground like a rag doll, offered as a chew toy to wolf!PC. The fuck are they going to do anyway? send their little delinquent friends to jump Eden? yeah, don’t think that’s happening unless they want their little gang to get murdered too.

whitney vs avery : usually whitney would win, y’know 70% chance and they also got the advantage of not caring if they make a scene in front of the whole town. depends if avery got rage maxed out, feel like it can get pretty serious from there when you deal with an enraged middle-aged adult. plus they can just run over the bully’s body with their super-expensive, worth more than whitney’s entire bloodline, car.

whitney vs leighton : yeah, it’s whitney. the old fuck doesn’t stand a chance against a bully that beats the living shit out of people for fun and snaps at the slightest provocation. doesn’t mean they entirely lose because they can make whitney’s life a living hell in more ways than one.

whitney vs alex : considering alex’s physique and the fact that they run an entire farm on their own with the help of PC, alex wins. slings whitney over their shoulder like they’re a stack of hay and feeds them to the pigs for food.

whitney vs black wolf and the great hawk : pretty self-explanatory on its own. it’s literal beasts against a school delinquent. they’ll rip the bully to shreds if they even dare try anything against them, but whitney’s an impulsive little shit that doesn’t back down regardless of the danger imposed, so’d they probably end up doing it anyway.

whitney vs wren : another L for whitney, it’s a grown adult versus a school student, they’re not doing shit and will only hurl insults at the smuggler that’s able to keep their cool unlike the others. gets sold off as cattle right after because it’s funny to think about cow!whitney.

i’d do more, but there’s too many NPCs to keep up with.

just the last category.

whitney vs sub!PC : depends if sub PC just relents to them like that, if yeah, they’re letting the bully dig their shoe into their crotch because it’s degrading like that.

whitney VS defiant!PC : PC absolutely. it’s not talked about enough of how much defiant!PC is an absolute menace in their dialogue that wouldn’t hesitate beating the living shit out of someone just for the sake of keeping their body unmolested.

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rainsparadiso · 6 days

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(Something my step-dad would say to me)

“Rain, there are two wolves inside us; a white wolf and a black wolf, and they are constantly fighting. The question isn’t ‘who will win the fight?’, the question is ‘which one will you feed more?’.

#writeblr #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #poetry #writing #artists on tumblr #poem #poets on tumblr #nostalgia #native american #proverb #quotes #inspiring quotes #inspiration

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kaiserin-erzsebet · 2 years

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Forgive me if this was explained already and I missed it, but why is Dracula obsessed with nomming Lucy in particular? Aren't there at least a hundred other young ladies who can be eaten without throwing a wolf through the window? Are we supposed to understand this as "By chance, Dracula started feeding on a woman who is connected to Jo Harker, and is obsessed with / determined to get his way" or is there something more going on?

It isn't explained in the text, so you aren't missing anything.

So, as with most things in the book, there is a Doylist and Watsonian reading. The Doylist one is rather boring, so I'll start with that. If the Count moved on and preyed on someone else, we would have to shift to some other set of characters somewhere else in London. Which would understandably make the narrative bigger. So Stoker chooses to keep it limited.

But I really do think the Watsonian explanation is way better in this case. He won't give up because he has laid claim to someone and he refuses to be defeated or told no. She isn't particularly special to him- she's just the person who sleepwalked into the graveyard. But like with his claim on Jonathan ("this man is mine"), once he has decided to sink his teeth into someone, they become his. He'll come back to Lucy over and over because he's claimed her.

The fact that someone is clearly giving her blood and guarding her room against him means that there is a battle being fought for her soul. He knows he has adversaries. So no matter how much easier it would be to find someone else, he will not let anyone keep him from what he thinks is his. He will do whatever he has to in order to get past those guards, because that's how he proves that no one can stop his claim.

And he'll also leave her with just enough life that the people trying to thwart him have to watch her fade away, because that's how he shows that he's more powerful than them. It isn't about Lucy, it's about winning.

#dracula #dracula daily

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frozenlight-gvf · 9 months

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Strawberry Wine: Part 1

pairing: barn au: danny x fem!reader (enemies to lovers)

summary: you'd spent the whole summer tormenting the new barn hand, but things were finally reaching that inevitable tipping point where you two would either fall in love or fall apart... or both

word count: 4.5k

warnings (for this part): language, dirty talk, ~digital penetration~, something to do with a hayloft...?, praise/degradation all that good stuff (18+ MINORS DNI)

a/n: this one is dedicated to my youth spent riding horses, everyone who likes imagining danny in levi’s and a cowboy hat, and “strawberry wine” by deana carter

***

Even without the heaviness of the southern July sun and that infamous humidity, you would still be hot under the collar.

You seemed to always wear a scowl. Perhaps it was because the muscles of your face were permanently screwed-up in a sun-blinded squint, or it was because Daniel never let you win a single argument.

Susannah– your mother and owner of the Nightingale Ranch– had hired the man to help around the barn– feeding the horses and cleaning the stalls and that– but she also had a not-so-secret hope that maybe her only daughter would take a bit of a liking to him. You were always a lone wolf, howling at the moon and snarling at any human– specifically the male type– who got too close.

Daniel Wagner was only the latest victim of your bared teeth; you’d ruthlessly torn out the throats of three other barn hands in recent years, mercilessly tormenting them until they quit the job, citing “workplace tension” to Susannah as the reason for their seething resignations. But despite your constant raised hackles towards him, Daniel stayed. And he stayed with a shit-eating smile.

***

“Wagner, how many times do I have to tell you not to feed Chief until after the 4 o’clock lessons?” you scolded with a bite in your voice.

He flashed a teasing grin at you, carrying a saddle towards the tackroom.

“At least one more time.”

You stomped your boot on the packed-dirt floor of the stable, knuckles planted firmly on the waistband of your jeans. You knew tugging on the horse’s lead rope would be completely in vain, so rather, you focused your frustration at the man walking brazenly down the line of stalls.

“You know I need him for one of my riders, and he won’t do shit when he’s got food in front of him.”

“Come on, that spoiled little priss can ride any other horse here. She doesn’t always need to ride Chief. Put her on Tucker today.”

Scoffing, you marched after him, following him towards the dusty tackroom, the saddles and pads lining the walls making the entire room smell like leather and sweat.

“And who are you to tell me which horses to put my riders on? I’ve known these horses my whole life, and I’ve been teaching lessons for three years.”

Daniel grunted a bit as he lifted the saddle up to one of the higher slots, reaching his arms above his head then turning to you, catching your eyes flickering to the glimpse of torso you got as his shirt lifted.

“My bad. I forgot that you're just so far above me, heiress."

You bristled at his nickname. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“Exactly why I do it– heiress.”

Since your mother owned the barn and all the horses, you were the technical “heiress” of all of it, just as your mother was. But Daniel always made it sound like you were some rich princess, rather than the granddaughter of an honest man who built that barn and raised all the horses.

You grabbed a saddle from the rack, begrudgingly heading towards Tucker’s stall and tacking up the flea-bitten grey stallion. You would never admit that he was a perfect fit for your rider in the absence of Chief.

After the lesson, the little girl dismounted Tucker, going on and on how she wanted to ride him every week rather than Chief. There was no way in hell you could ever let Daniel know.

You led Tucker back down from the lesson ring to the stable, both of you covered in sweat and desperate for a cool breeze. Once his tack was off, you patted his soaked side, feeling his huge lungs expanding and contracting rapidly, panting.

“I know, me too. Hotter than hell out there today. Let’s get you a bath, huh?”

The sun was setting over the barn, so you decided to take Tucker out back to the pasture to cool him off, rather than using the hose right outside the barn. The grass was soft and green, and the cicadas were starting to sing. You looked to your left to see Daniel hunched over the broken fence, placing a fresh plank of wood and nailing it in. The incessant noise of the hammer was spoiling what would have been an otherwise peaceful moment.

“Do you mind?” you called over to him. Daniel looked up in the direction of your voice, and a smile dissolved the concentration etched in his face. You could have sworn for a moment that he was happy to see you.

“Susannah said I have to get this done before I leave today. So… no. I don’t mind.”

You rolled your eyes and led Tucker towards the water pump, feeling the heavy softness of his hoofbeats resounding in the ground under your feet. Trying to focus on the sunset and the rousing song of cicadas rather than the pounding of Daniel’s hammer, you cranked the handle of the pump a few times, waiting for water to come out of the hose you had attached to it.

After a few more cranks and crouching down on your knees to see what the matter was, you were about to give up on the old thing and go back to the barn to give Tucker his bath, until water exploded from the pump, sending the hose flying off and soaking you to the skin. You shouted a curse and tumbled backward in surprise, landing in the grass.

Daniel’s loud cackles from across the pasture were not welcome.

And of course you had decided to wear a white t-shirt today.

“Did Tuck get any of that water or no?”

You growled in frustration, reattaching the hose to the pump and finally getting some water to come out. You grabbed the hose tightly, wishing it was Daniel’s neck.

“Do you wanna come do this? Considering bathing the horses is part of your job description?” You shouted as you shook the hose, coaxing the low-pressured water out from it. Your wet shirt was sticking to your skin, making the nagging heat of the day even more insufferable.

Daniel took the nail he was holding between his teeth and dropped it in his toolbox, closing it up. He gave the fence one last look-over before sauntering over to you. You tried to hide behind the horse to cover yourself; now that your shirt was practically see-through, your black bra was prominently making its presence known.

“Go home, Daniel.”

He didn’t stop walking towards you.

“But I thought you wanted me to bathe Tuck?”

He was close enough now that you had to physically angle your body away from his eager eyes. You watched as his gaze shifted from your chest to your face and back again.

“Black, huh? I always pictured you in pink,” he said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Your eyes shot open wide at his baiting tease, and words came flying out of your mouth.

“You shouldn’t be picturing me in anything!”

Daniel cocked his head, his smirk widening and a laugh bubbled from his chest.

“Alright then. I won’t.”

Your jaw dropped, then you clenched it up tight, hating the fact that a blush was rising to your cheeks. Maybe you could blame it on your anger. Or the summer heat. But the idea of Daniel imagining you naked made your whole face burn pink.

“I said, go home.” Your voice was quieter now, but there was still an unmistakable venom to it.

Daniel chuckled and shook his head, putting his toolbox down in the grass and extending his hand for the hose.

“Come on, give it to me. I’m the barn boy, so I’m the one who has to keep the heiress’ perfect hands from getting all dirty.”

You kept a tight clutch on the hose, skimming the water from Tucker’s coat with your other hand. At this point, you thought your teeth might crack. Daniel moved closer to you, keeping his hand outstretched.

“Y/N, come on, let me have it.”

“No. I know what you’re trying to do. If you get the hose, you’re gonna bathe everything but the horse. And I’d rather not get any more wet than I already am.”

You heard Daniel snicker a bit, and you instantly regretted your choice of words.

“You’re fucking impossible, Wagner,” you grumbled.

He grinned, moving even closer. Leaning down, his voice was low and taunting, almost whispering in your ear.

“But you like me anyways.”

Immediately, you turned the hose on him, relishing in the brief look of surprise in his eyes as he instinctively raised his hands to cover his face. You didn’t let up, bending down to crank the handle of the pump to produce even more water for your attack.

A devilish grin crossed your face as you watched Daniel try and back away, but it was too late. His shirt was already drenched and clinging to the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen underneath.

Before you knew it, Daniel was upon you and wrestling the hose from your grip. You yelped as you felt the water soak your hair and pour into your eyes.

“Daniel!” you shouted, trying to push him away, but one of his strong arms was wrapped tightly around you, keeping you held fast as he laughed and let the remainder of the water drain from the hose.

Sputtering, you wrenched yourself out of Daniel’s arms, stumbling slightly, trying to keep a grip on Tucker’s rope.

“Fucking dick!” you shouted, sweat and sunscreen stinging your eyes.

Daniel just shrugged and smiled, wiping his wet curls from his face.

“Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can't take it?”

“I swear to God, Wagner, I’m going to get you fired.”

He dropped the dripping hose into the grass, taking the horse’s rope from your hand as you kept trying to get your eyes to open without them burning.

“Susannah loves me. There’s no way in hell she’d fire me.”

“Then quit,” you growled, starting to make your way through the pasture, back towards the barn.

Daniel chuckled, following close behind you and leading the horse with him.

“Aw, but if I quit, that means you’d never get to tease me again. And that’s your favorite thing in the world.”

“My favorite thing in the world is watching you leave the barn at the end of every day so I don’t have to be around you anymore,” you shot back.

“You watch me leave every day? Someone’s obsessed,” he teased in a sing-song voice.

You clenched your fists and continued your trudge back to the barn, not turning around or responding to Daniel. When you got back, the sun had fully set, and your mother was standing at the back entrance of the barn, watching as two soaking wet figures and a horse approached. You heard her mutter something like “I don’t even want to ask” before turning and heading up towards your house, which was a short walk from the barn.

The lights inside the barn were warm and cozy, the heat of the day still lingering. Your body was still simmering with anger as you squeezed out your hair. You turned to take Tucker’s rope from Daniel, but he didn't let go.

“I’ll put him away.” His voice was surprisingly soft, and he was wearing a warm smile as opposed to his usual roguish grin. You stared up at him, in a bit of shock– and hating how the sight of him looking down at you made your heart flutter.

“No–”

“Do you not trust me to put the horse back?”

“I don’t trust you being in the barn alone.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Set all the horses loose?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Come on, heiress, I love these horses just as much as you do.”

You scoffed and opened your mouth to speak, but Daniel cut you off with a wave of his hand as he started walking Tucker back towards his stall.

“I know, I know, ‘I grew up with these horses,’ ‘I know them better than anyone,’ blah, blah, blah. Ok, I love these horses just a little bit less than you. Better? Are you gonna correct me on that, too?”

You cocked your head proudly, biting back a smirk.

“No.”

“Alright then.” Danny removed Tucker’s lead rope and hung it up on the nail outside his stall, turning the lock on the gate. He turned to you, giving you a dramatic bow. “Am I dismissed, heiress?”

Without a word, you turned to leave, but you felt a firm grip on your wrist. Danny pulled you back to face him, suddenly very close to you. You could feel the heat of his muscular body radiating off of him, making you flush even hotter. Your breath hitched in your throat. Once again, his eyes flickered down from your face, catching on the areas of your body that your soaked white shirt revealed. His voice was low and smooth, sending goosebumps up and down your skin.

“Am I dismissed?”

You looked back and forth between his dark eyes, swallowing hard. Daniel smirked at your apparent speechlessness.

“Well, heiress?”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, but your voice had lost all its usual force. Daniel’s closeness and the heat of his eyes was like anti-venom, sucking out all your bite and resentment. His hand travelled slowly from your wrist up your arm.

You backed away, shuddering slightly.

“Go home," you said, your voice sharp and trembling.

Daniel stood back up to his full height, rolling his shoulders back.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

~~~

You didn’t speak to Daniel at all the next day, practically shivering with unresolved tension. He knew something was up when you didn’t say a single word to him when he once again fed Chief before 4 o’clock; instead, you headed straight to Tucker’s stall without so much as a glance in his direction. He watched you with an eager smile quickly fading from his face as he realized you weren’t going to engage.

After you finished your last lesson of the day, you decided to retrieve your favorite horse– a beautiful dapple grey mare called Guinevere– from her stall for a sunset trail ride. The trail wound through the thick woods that stood behind the barn, just beyond the pasture. There was a lusciously cool breeze blowing, like the Earth was sighing at the end of a long day. You sighed with it, unable to shake Daniel from your mind.

You plodded along the trail on the back of Guinevere, enjoying the feeling of her slow, steady movements beneath you, unimpeded by a saddle. Riding bareback was your favorite way to unwind; you let your mind drift away, lulled by the warmth of your horse and her dependable gait.

A flash of a wispy black shadow flickered through the trees. The burning gold of the setting sun almost made it look like smoke from a fire before you realized it was the tail of Ares.

“Hello?” you called through the woods, wondering if someone else was there, or if Ares had broken the lock on his stall with a kick of his powerful hooves and escaped. It wouldn't be the first time.

“Y/N?”

Of course. Ares was Daniel’s favorite horse in the barn.

Daniel came trotting around a bend in the trail, saddled up on the tall black horse. He held the leather reins in one hand, forgoing a helmet for his weathered Stetson. You internally scolded him for his blatant disregard for personal safety, but you couldn’t help but think that he almost looked like something off the cover of a Western romance novel, with the golden light shining through his dark curls and illuminating his tanned skin. And him taking a liking to the most notoriously difficult horse in the barn made it even more cliche.

“You shouldn’t be out on the trails. Don’t you have work to do?”

Daniel shrugged and urged his horse closer to you. “I finished everything before 3 o’clock. You know, I do my job a lot better when you’re not constantly torturing me all day.” Something in his voice almost sounded regretful-- like he missed your taunts. But he hid it well behind that damned charming smile.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you nudged Guinevere’s mane to turn her around, starting to head back towards the barn. The trail ride wasn’t worth it if it meant having to be out there with Daniel.

He noticed your wordless retreat. Surrendering wasn't like you. “Relax, heiress, I’m done out here. I was just taking Ares back and then heading home for the day.”

You turned Guinevere back around, facing Daniel once more. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, giving you a look of concern.

“What’s wrong?”

You shrugged, urging Guinevere forwards, passing Ares. “Nothing,” you muttered. You were glad to leave Daniel behind you, so you didn’t have to try and hide the utter longing in your eyes anymore. Ever since last night, you yearned to be close to him again. But the very fabric of your being wouldn’t allow that.

“I’ll stay at the barn until you get back. In case you need anything.”

“I’m fine,” you called back to him, already disappearing through the trees. "See you tomorrow.”

There was nothing but silence behind you, until you finally heard Ares’ heavy hoofsteps grinding on the gravel at the trailhead. You let out a deep breath.

You tried to enjoy your ride, but not even Guinevere’s gentle presence could calm you. She could sense that you were uneasy, her head on a constant pendulum swing as she looked around the darkening woods for any sign of danger. But she didn’t know that the danger was only in your mind– the irrevocable, perilous danger of falling for a boy.

Guinevere carried you back up to the barn, and you were surprised to see that the lights were still on. Usually when you came back from your late trail rides, the barn was dark and empty, the only sounds being the sorts and sighs of the horses. You assumed your mother was sitting in the small makeshift "office," perhaps finishing up some work.

You got Guinevere all cozy in her stall, giving her some loving pets and a kiss on her nose. But before you could close the gate, you noticed that her bucket of food was emptier than usual. You decided to head towards the back of the barn and climbed the ladder to the hayloft, where you kept a stash of treats specifically for Guinevere. A burlap bag of apples was your goal, but your mind instantly shifted when you saw a figure sat up against the hay bales.

Your heart shot to your throat and you almost fell back off the ladder in fright, but the figure reached out from the shadows to grab your wrist.

“Daniel! What the hell are you still doing here?” you whisper-shouted as he pulled you from the ladder up into the dark loft. The barn lights didn’t exactly reach that area, but you could still see his flickering smile, like a candle in the night.

“I told you I’d wait here if you needed anything,” he said, settling himself back against a hay bale, one leg kicked out.

You shook your head, sighing, trying to get your breathing to slow. “In the hayloft?”

“Where better?” He said, outstretching his arms, looking around at the space, then locking his eyes on you.

The entire reason for your being up there was forgotten. “Seriously, why are you up here?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I like it up here. It’s quiet. And I get a good view of the stable. Figured I’d get some payback and watch you go home this time rather than the other way around.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, that familiar frustration you felt towards him starting to simmer. “I told you to leave an hour ago, Wagner. You know I don't trust you to be in the barn alone.”

“Why are you always trying to get rid of me?” he asked with a stupid grin.

“Because I hate you.” You spoke bluntly, with the intention to hurt him. Anger was curling off your skin like smoke. But your words bounced off of him– he saw right through you and locked onto the desire bubbling just under your surface.

“You don’t hate me. You hate the way I make you feel.”

“Oh, yeah? And how do you think you make me feel? Other than angry?” Your voice was louder than it probably should have been.

“Turned on,” he answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re full of shit, Wagner.” You snarled, ready to rip him to shreds.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” he said, standing up. “I turn you on. I get you all bothered, and if my assumptions are correct, I’m the first person that’s ever made you feel this way.”

You chuckled bitterly: an attempt to bring him down a peg, as well as to mask the sensations stirring within you. “You’re definitely not the first.”

Daniel cocked his head, and you instantly realized your mistake. You just admitted that he turns you on. You exclaimed, stomping your feet and clenching your fists. You were seconds away from digging your claws into him.

“That’s not what I meant–!”

You bumped into a stack of hay bales behind you. You hadn’t even realized you were backing up. Daniel was stalking towards you, his eyes intense.

“Oh, don’t worry, I know exactly what you meant.”

Before you could say another word, Daniel moved as close to you as he was last night, his breath fanning across your face. One of his hands grabbed the side of your face, holding you fast. You were about to protest, and Daniel could sense it, so he leaned his forehead against yours and stared into your eyes.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

His lips were almost touching yours, his eyes fluttering as his breath grew heavier. His closeness almost felt like static electricity; sparks flew between your lips as they threatened to collide. Panting already, you swallowed hard as he pressed his sturdy body into yours.

“Tell me you don’t want this, heiress.”

The tension was so thick that you could see it– you could see it in the twitch in the corner of Daniel’s mouth, in the imperceptible flare of his nostrils, in the lift of his eyebrows. Months of teasing and taunting were coming to their inevitable head right before your eyes, right in front of your face.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

He seized your face with both hands and pulled it to his, your lips slamming together in a kiss like a firecracker, setting the both of you aflame.

Your head felt hollow, weightless– but the feeling of Daniel was quickly filling it like water. He pressed you against the hay bale as the kiss deepened, one of his hands skimming down your body and squeezing your waist. You found yourself clutching at his shirt, almost like you wanted your bodies to exist in the exact same spot, with no space between them. You wanted to live inside him.

Daniel let out a grunt, meeting your whiny sigh as his tongue pushed into your mouth, finally tasting you for the first time. His body bucked into you slightly, forcing you harder against the hay bales.

You gasped into his mouth as you felt his thigh shove itself between your legs, applying delicious pressure on your most sensitive spot. He smirked against your lips as he started moving his leg back and forth.

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it?” he spoke in a soft, provocative tone, taking your little moans as a sign to keep going. “See what I can make you feel when you stop fighting me?”

You practically growled into his mouth, curling your fists around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him tighter against you. He let out a little grunt of surprise, falling into you.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” He smirked down at you.

Your voice was nothing but a breathy whisper. You were just staring at his lips. “Shut up and kiss me, Wagner.”

He kept kissing you deeper and deeper, unable to get enough of you. His fingertips toyed with the hem of your shirt for a moment or two before slipping underneath the fabric to feel the soft warmth of your bare skin at your stomach. His hand was soon splayed out, his palm rubbing your waist and traveling up towards your ribs, holding you tight.

You were pinned against the hay bales by Daniel’s weight. His fingers started working at the button and zipper of your jeans, not wasting a moment before stroking your clit over your panties with the pads of his fingers. You sucked in a sharp breath, your head falling back.

Daniel chuckled darkly, and you knew he was feeling how wet your panties were. “What was that about me not turning you on? You’re soaked just from bickering with me, sweetheart.”

Before you could shoot back, he pulled your panties to the side and made direct contact with your swollen clit, making you choke on any words you were about to fling at him. Daniel raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth in a mock look of surprise, mimicking your pitiful moment of submission.

You started grinding your hips against his fingers, instantly addicted to the friction his arousal-slicked, rough fingertips provided you. Daniel smirked, enjoying watching you already coming apart for him.

“Yeah? My fingers feel good against your cunt, don’t they?”

All you could do was nod, squeezing your eyes shut as he slipped his fingers inside you, forcing a moan from your throat. The movements of your hips didn’t stop as you fucked yourself on his thick fingers. He matched your rhythm, hissing at the way you clenched around his fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart… so fucking tight…”

A coil was twisting itself mad in the pit of your stomach, begging to be snapped. Daniel could tell how close you were by the crease between your eyebrows and your desperate gasps for air.

“Aw, is the heiress gonna cum on my fingers? Make the barn boy’s hands all dirty like they should be?”

You nodded frantically, mere moments from your peak.

“I bet you don’t even touch this filthy pussy with your fingers… would be such a shame to get your hands dirty, right?”

“Daniel–” you squeaked, warning him of your impending release.

“Maybe I should take care of this little cunt of yours as part of my daily chores.”

You whined as your head fell forward against his shoulder, your movements becoming frenzied as you edged closer and closer to that blissful explosion of pleasure.

“I know. Give it to me, sweetheart. Make a mess of me.”

A moan clawed up from your chest as you began to convulse, your vision going white for a moment as your entire body erupted with wanton delight. Daniel held you upright with an arm tight around your waist as your legs gave out. You clung onto him as the waves crashed against you. You could vaguely hear Daniel whispering words of praise in your ear.

“That’s it– yeah, that’s it, good girl… good girl.”

A few moments passed before you could string a coherent thought together. You were panting, trying hard to swallow past your dry mouth. You could hardly believe what just happened– it was like your brain wasn’t allowing you to process it.

Daniel smiled at your disheveled state, picking bits of straw out of your hair.

“So, I think it’s safe to assume that you don’t actually hate me, right?” Daniel said, breaking the silence and grinning teasingly.

He slid his fingers out of you and buttoned up your jeans. Before you could speak, he was already tipping his hat with a crooked smile and descending the ladder, leaving you swaying and trying to remember your name.

"Goodnight, ma'am."

***

PART TWO

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defectivevillain · 11 days

Text

this winding labyrinth, ch6

chapter six: awakening

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 6, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-5, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: typical fare (canon-typical blood, violence, gore, etc.)

Your greeting falls flat in the tense air. You can vaguely hear footsteps and shouts from the other cells, but it all fades away when you meet those ever-familiar gleaming crimson eyes. For a long moment, there is nothing but horrid anticipation. He’s forcing you to sit in this stifling silence as penance.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Hannibal eventually hums. It doesn’t take long for you to remember that Hannibal has been expecting you from the moment he turned himself in. You try to envision him rotting away behind these walls, ignorant of the developments occurring all around him. It’s a bit hard to imagine—namely because you suspect it didn’t happen that way. You didn’t need to speak to Hannibal today to confirm your suspicion that someone has been feeding him information from the outside. After all, his surrender was entirely tactical. Hannibal knew what he was doing when he folded his arms behind his head and knelt before Jack—knew what he was doing when he left you with everything but an explicit promise that he would see you again.

Yes, Hannibal has been expecting you. And you, in some regard, have been expecting him. You weren’t so foolish to think that Hannibal’s captivity would remove him from your life forever—things are rarely so simple. You had a feeling you’d return to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for a house visit—you just didn’t know when. Indeed, it’s been years since Hannibal’s surrender. You idly wonder if you should be proud of yourself for how long you maintained your distance. This brutal eye contact through glass that feels far too thin; these clenched fists and gritted teeth… They were bound to happen eventually. Perhaps you were just prolonging inevitability.

You digest his words for a few moments longer, before taking a deep breath. “I’m here to speak with you about the Tooth Fairy.” You announce. Hannibal doesn’t seem surprised by your statement, as he surely knows that you’re only visiting him out of necessity. There is no trace of amusement on his face, yet you can see his twisted delight regardless. He planned for this—painstakingly waited weeks, months, years for you to arrive. You willingly walked into this trap.

“Did you receive my letter?” Hannibal asks, before you can elaborate any further on the Tooth Fairy. You had forgotten how smoothly Hannibal can manipulate a conversation, steering it masterfully into any desired direction.

When you manage to process his words, you feel frozen in place. “I… did receive it, yes,” you say, wincing as you’re forced to remember what you’ve spent years trying to forget. You’re thrown back into the uncertain time following Hannibal’s surrender…

You hadn’t spent long at your house in Wolf Trap—you needed to get away from it all. You hadn’t told anyone about your relocation except Jack, Bev, and Alana. You wanted a break from the caution tape and bloodstains. A break was what you wanted, and a break was what you got: two months of time to yourself. Just before it got to be too much, you were back at the Bureau, continuing your work. The move was a great decision overall. Perhaps best of all, it put even more distance between Baltimore and you. The further you were from Baltimore, the better.

Then, one afternoon, you returned home to find a letter in your mailbox. You were suspicious at the time. After all, by then, Hannibal was growing to be a popular figure in the news—which had forced you into the spotlight as a result. Even despite your relocation, you occasionally received strange mail from impersonators. You convinced yourself this letter, hidden in a burgundy envelope with an elegant wax seal, was another prank. Still, against your best judgment, you opened it. The elegant cursive writing immediately threw all realistic explanations out the window. At that point, you had only read the first few words—but you knew it was no prank.

You wanted to throw it into the fireplace and let it burn to ashes. However, the thought of never getting to see the message was even worse. You took a slow breath and moved to your dining table, laying the letter flat and reading it under the dim light.

My dear,

You need have no concern as to your fate. You have no better nor more respectful friend than myself.

I have been reading rather frequently these days. There is not much else to be done. I suppose I should instead be grateful that I am provided with books, a desk, a bed, and similar luxuries that the other prisoners do not have. Yet a gilded cage is still a cage.

Your image wanders the halls of my mind palace quite frequently. Even in the darkest depths of this winding labyrinth, your gleaming eyes tear through the shadows with ease. Your voice reverberates through these confines, drawing me from slumber and compelling me to take measured breaths with renewed vigor. I wonder if I have grown to wander the recesses of your mind in return, slipping into your mind palace despite your most concentrated efforts.

I do wonder how you are faring. I find myself looking at the night sky through the skylight often. Some of our stars are the same, after all.

Are your stars burning too?

Yours,

Hannibal Lecter

The signature at the end of the letter captured your attention for a moment, before your mind fell to the uncomfortable realization that Hannibal had found your new address. You moved away from Wolf’s Trap to escape your memories, to escape him. Yet he found you with ease, even when in captivity.

A polite cough brings you back to reality. Hannibal is staring at you expectantly, and you remember that he is waiting for an answer. “Thank you for the letter,” you say, albeit with a bit more irritation in your voice than usual. You don’t have the freedom to say what is truly on your mind, lest he grow disinterested and refuse to give you more information. Regrettably, you’re forced to play along.

Despite your somewhat snippy tone, Hannibal is dissuaded. “Of course,” he smiles, a sharp thing. You truly cannot tell if he is taking pleasure from your gratitude (regardless of its veracity). Silence stretches across the space once more. The two of you are assessing one another.

“Now, about the Tooth Fairy,” you finally manage to say, “I was hoping you could give me some professional insight.” Hannibal nods and you pull out a crime scene photograph and a picture of Mrs. Leeds, ensuring that nothing is attached to them (Chilton was very strict about that) before sliding them through the mail slot fused into the glass wall. Hannibal gets up from his chair and takes the photographs, studying them with a careful gaze. You think you see his eyes gleam brighter as he evidently looks at the corpses in the first picture and your stomach turns at the observation.

You’re not sure how much time you spend watching him as he looks at the photograph. You get the feeling that he’s luring you into a false state of security by allowing you to look at him, and you can’t get rid of the unreasonable conviction that, somehow, he is watching you right back.

“And what have you gathered so far?” Hannibal asks once he has thoroughly scrutinized the first photograph.

“In terms of physical characteristics… he’s right-handed; has blonde hair; and has size eleven shoes.” You recall. “Otherwise, we don’t have much, unfortunately. I’m trying to establish some sort of connection between the two families, the Leedses and the Jacobis. They’re both white, middle-class nuclear families. Not much else sticks out, save for the special attention the killer paid to both of the wives.”

“The wives,” Hannibal repeats, his eyes now locked on the second photograph you handed him. There’s a strange look on his face—it almost looks like revulsion. You know he wouldn’t be disgusted by the act—he’s committed murder before and will do it again without hesitation, you have to remind yourself. Maybe his contempt is for the fact that he’s trapped, while this killer roams free? You’re honestly not sure. It’s been a while since you’ve devoted significant time and energy to thinking about Hannibal, so you get the feeling your characterization of him may be a little tarnished and inaccurate with how much time has passed.

“He found the wives beautiful,” you continue, following his gaze to the crisp print. The image is burned into your mind: Mrs. Leeds glances at the camera, shimmering hair flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes are gleaming and her lips are twisted into a conspicuous smile, as if sharing a secret with the onlooker. “He was fixated on them.”

“A sexual obsession, perhaps.” Hannibal hums. That thought had already crossed your mind, of course—Jack and you discussed it shortly before you left. Even so, an obsession of that nature doesn’t elucidate all of this killer’s actions.

“He exhibits a lot of the indicators of psychopathy…” You break off.

“Yet, he is not typical,” Hannibal finishes for you. You nod.

“Not from what I can see,” you admit. “Plus, he left frighteningly little evidence. The few pieces of evidence we found almost seemed to be deliberately placed.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “He will kill again on the next full moon,” you continue, crossing your arms over your chest. You feel strangely vulnerable standing in front of Hannibal after all this time. “Which leaves us… less than a month to capture him.”

“Jack must be stressed,” Hannibal intuits.

“Of course,” you acquiesce. It’s a reasonable assumption to make, so you don’t feel like you’re revealing any information by agreeing with the statement. A killer on the loose is never a good thing, and will cause any FBI agent considerable stress. “We all are.” You affirm.

“Is there anything else?” Hannibal asks. You desperately want to deny him any more information but, damn it, you need some sort of lead on this killer. And this discussion, riddled in ambiguity and riddles and philosophy, does challenge your existing assumptions in a way nothing else has.

These thoughts convince you to share one more tidbit of information—arguably one of the more important pieces of evidence. “The killer shattered the mirrors at both crime scenes.” You answer. You blink and you’re standing over shards of jagged glass scattered across the ground. The fragments crunch underneath your feet and a twisted thrill runs up your spine, a cruel smirk distorting your face. You blink again and are abruptly thrown back to the present moment, standing across from Hannibal Lecter with only a wall of glass separating both of you.

“Intriguing,” Hannibal remarks. His tone is rather flat, and you’re unable to tell if he really thinks it’s intriguing or not. You think he must be telling the truth—he psychoanalyzed people for a living, after all. The more puzzling and perplexing, the more entertaining. “Perhaps it’s born out of a sense of frustration. The killer feels disconnected. He feels as if he isn’t where he should be. He may even be attempting to experience… a becoming.”

A becoming. That’s an interesting way of phrasing it. “But what is he trying to become?” You hear yourself say. You’re not sure if you’re even asking Hannibal at this point, or if you’re just reciting your thoughts aloud. “Or… who?”

“I believe that’s your question to answer,” Hannibal responds smoothly.

The smile on your face hurts and you feel it slide off within moments. You take a deep breath and try to calm your racing thoughts. You’re not sure why you’re fighting so hard to maintain pretense, even now—when Hannibal is caged behind a wall of thick glass. “The biting leads me to believe that he thinks himself to be some sort of creature. Maybe.” You’d venture to guess that he has some sort of physical deformation or abnormality, leading to debilitating self-esteem issues (in addition to a host of other far more pressing issues). The killer holds contempt for how others see him. Yet… he arranged the Leedses so that they were watching him—watching his performance as he took Mrs. Leeds’ life from her. Perhaps he only feels whole when he is committing acts of unspeakable violence. Perhaps… he is striving for some sort of unattainable ideal. And the smashing of the mirror is a release of his frustration with the laborious process of “becoming” that Hannibal mentioned. He does not believe he has achieved his “becoming” yet. You need to do more research. You get the feeling you have more reading to do when you return to the Bureau.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been of much assistance,” Hannibal then says regretfully. His eyes are twinkling and his lips are twisted ever so slightly, informing you that he is feeling more amused than apologetic. You’re not sure why you expected anything different. Any other person would be weathered down by years in prison; Hannibal only seems sharper.

Besides, it was foolish of you to think you could get all the answers you desired within one conversation. You suppose Hannibal has given you something to think about, at least. Still, it feels as if your visit was ultimately a mistake. All you have gotten is the unnerving confirmation that Hannibal had been waiting for you to appear. He sprung a trap for you years ago, and you thought time would erode its netting. Yet you foolishly wandered right into it. It was silly of you to think of yourself as anything other than the prey.

Your thoughts spiraling into self-deprecation, you bid Hannibal goodbye and start walking back down the hall. He returns the sentiment, albeit with a slightly different departing remark—likely to imply that you will be seeing him again. You try not to think about it as you continue walking down the hall, but you can’t quite stop your racing thoughts. Besides, there is merit to considering everything you’ve discussed with Hannibal today. There is value in dissecting his emotions and determining his conceptualization of the killer, because it could better inform your search. He may have been withholding information, but his characterization of the killer’s actions as a journey towards a “becoming” is still immensely informative.

You get the feeling that his ambiguity and evasive answers were primarily for the purposes of establishing a need for future conversation. He has given you just enough to prove useful, but not so much that you’ll never come back. You feel somewhat akin to a wild animal that just fell into a trap, successfully earning a reward but sustaining injuries regardless. Your pride is wounded, and your immediate recollection of the trap will succeed in deterring you from trying it once more. But, as time passes and you slowly let your guard down, you will stumble across the trap the hunter has set for you once more, and fall into it all over again.

You shake your head and continue walking, pretending not to notice the jeering and shouting coming from the nearby cells. It feels as if you’ve been walking forever, but you’re hardly ten steps away from Hannibal’s cell. Your momentary pause in the hallway seems to tempt one of the prisoners, as he races forward and slams his hands against the bars of his cell.

You freeze, your heart hammering in your chest. The prisoner is now almost crushed against the barrier, staring at you with enough intensity to melt through the iron bars of his cell. You make the unfortunate mistake of returning his eye contact, and he purses his lips before spitting at you. Disgusted and revolted, you wipe his saliva off of your face with the back of your sleeve. There’s no point in attempting to retaliate—the guy will be confined here for the rest of his life. Besides, your momentary glance at him was enough to inform you that the man is severely unstable. There’s no telling if he even sees you right now—he could easily be seeing a shadow of his past standing under these fluorescent lights, jeering at him with venom.

You hear a whisper of your name in the hall, but put it down to your imagination and take another step away from the prisoner. You don’t make it far before you hear your name again, and you’re forced to come to terms with the fact that someone has been calling your name. And, not just someone—Hannibal himself. You want nothing more than to ignore his remarks, but, somehow, you can’t take another step. As if a puppet on a string, you feel compelled to return to your original spot in front of the Ripper’s cell. “You have Lecter on a leash, don’t you?” But you’re the one on the leash, and he is the one dragging you back. The walk back to the end of the hall feels far too quick.

Hannibal is standing close to the glass wall, his gaze flitting across your face. You’re startled to recognize the fury glittering in his eyes and the rage forcing his posture ever straighter. Despite these glaring abnormalities, Hannibal’s voice is unsettlingly tranquil. “Did Miggs spit on you?”

That must be the prisoner’s name. The last name doesn’t ring any bells, and the man remains little more than a shadowy visage in your mind. Seconds later, Hannibal’s expectant gaze forces you to remember his question. As you process just what he’s asking of you, you realize that you really have no choice but to answer truthfully. There is no point in attempting to lie to Hannibal—not only does he detest dishonesty, but he was also a short distance away from where it happened. He’s only asking out of courtesy. “...Yes.” You eventually murmur.

“How discourteous.” Hannibal frowns. There’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes and it unsettles you. You’re briefly satiated with the knowledge that Hannibal can do no one harm from his glass confines; yet, at the same time… in the back of your mind, you can’t help but instinctively fear for impending violence.

“I’ll survive,” you say, trying to smile and manifest an unbothered attitude. Your effort quickly falls flat when faced with Hannibal’s insistence. “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Lecter.” You finish with a small nod.

“You’re attempting to distance yourself from me by referring to me with that honorific,” Hannibal states clinically. His voice is entirely void of emotion now—instead laced with a professional frigidity that you haven’t heard from him in a long time. His mask briefly cracks, as his expression shifts to one of mild curiosity. “Is it working?”

“Not quite.” You mutter. Hannibal must hear your answer, because his lips tug into a smirk for a moment before it is smoothed over. You pretend not to notice—something you’ve been doing rather frequently within this stretch of time that you’ve shared with him. “Goodbye.” You remark, turning on your heel to walk away.

“I think we both know this isn’t goodbye.” Hannibal says in lieu of a farewell. You don’t bother to respond to that statement (and, secretly, you’re not sure what you could possibly say to that). But your shoulders stiffen as you depart and his voice follows you down the hall, up the steps, and out into the open night air. Even when you’re back at home under your covers, his remark sits heavily on your eyelids and repeatedly pulls you away from a peaceful sleep.

FOOTNOTES:

1. In The Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost leaves the following note for Christine: “My dear Christine, you need have no concern as to your fate. You have no better nor more respectful friend in the world than myself.” Hannibal has absolutely read The Phantom of the Opera enough times to quote it from memory, and that is a hill I will die on.

2. Hannibal sends a letter to Clarice in The Silence of the Lambs, where he writes: “Orion is above the horizon now, and near it Jupiter, brighter than it will ever be again before the year 2000. (I have no intention of telling you the time and how high it is.) But I expect you can see it too. Some of our stars are the same.”

In the books, Hannibal sends Will a Christmas card, but I had him send the reader a letter to make it relatable for a general audience (aka nondenominational). I simultaneously do and don’t see Hannibal as the type to write a Christmas card. On the one hand, it’s amusing to think about + he absolutely gives off the vibes of someone who writes messages in cursive with a nice pen. On the other hand, a Christmas card isn’t always super personal and I felt that a letter is more demonstrative of the depth of the relationship between Hannibal & the reader. Also, speaking of the books… Miggs is somehow far crueler and his interaction with Clarice is even more unsettling (if you’ve read SotL, I’m sure you can understand why I altered the scene here).

media i've watched/read recently: texas chainsaw massacre, halloween (michael myers fic pending); phantom of the opera (may make this a recurring section in my endnotes, 'cause it seems fun)

thank you for reading!

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prideofcelestia · 1 year

Text

❝ with a mc who is a god when it comes to making food ❞

« characters - mammon, belphegor, solomon »

« gender neutral reader »

« headcanons »

« notes - requested by anon »

satan, asmo, beel

MAMMON

You are so distracting, human! Every time he is plotting something shady, the aroma of your food attracts him to the kitchen and renders him incapable of thinking more about his schemes. Can you not cook when he is busy with ideas to make grimm?! Kitchen duty is no excuse! You owe him a significant amount in damages! How do you wish to pay for your misdeeds? What did you say? You will make his favourite meal? Umm.. of course, he will accept the offer, but only because you are a poor human, more precisely his own servant. Since he is a kind hearted master, he will let it slide. Do not for a moment believe that he likes to eat your food! Nuh uh, the food is alright, he guesses since nobody complaints but that's all. If you ever catch him staring at your food with drool in his mouth, then you are mistaken.

It takes him a few weeks to come up with the plan of starting a restaurant, and trying to get you to be the cook. The brothers bet on how long it will take him to get that exact idea. Satan and Levi wins the bet, with Satan believing that Mammon will figure it out a day sooner and Levi expecting it to be a day later than the original date.

BELPHEGOR

Well, being the twin of the food lover and having their stomachs attached comes with its own set of quirks. For one, Belphie loves to eat, just as ardently as he loves to see his twin eating heartily and you happy. He's not one to refuse a meal you have prepared but he's just the one to to order you to feed him while he lazes around. There's something about the food you prepare, some X factor, just like the way you are special. You practically live with Beel and Belphie with how often you are requested to cook for them. Belphie is seen in your room on the days of his kitchen duty. It seems like a waste for him to cook when they can have your food. For the first time in his indolent life, he is not trying to escape responsibility completely, rather he is genuinely looking forward to your cooking at dinner.

SOLOMON

He's impressed by your culinary skills. The faith he puts in your taste is so huge that he genuinely requests you to give him tips so that he can improve his own cooking. Love is enhanced when you can feed your homemade meal to your partner, or so he says. One day you trod into his room to find a candlelit table with... is that food?... laid on it. Tada, that is the sorcerer's attempt at impressing you with his own talents... at cooking! Disastrous! A fear that if you put a spoonful of his food in your mouth, you will never wish to eat again consumes you. After quickly coming up with an excuse, you finally tell him that you find real joy in cooking for him rather than have him cook for you. You would rather impress the witty sorcerer with your skills. After all, Solomon is proficient at so many activities that you wish to have one thing completely for yourself - cooking. He tries to argue, but you put your foot down on it. Even though he is a little upset, he can't complain as long as he gets to wolf down your delicious food.

#obey me #gender neutral reader #obey me x reader #gender neutral mc #obey me x mc #obey me!#shion script #obey me headcanons #obey me solomon #obey me mammon #obey me belphegor #x mc #x reader

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lesbianwriter · 4 months

Note

Hello there! May we have a villain obsessed over not just hero, but her girlfriend as well? I find the concept of a villain obsessed with both parts of a pair really interesting. Thank you!

“Isn’t she such a darling little thing?”

Villain ran her finger along a picture of Civilian at the animal shelter, cradling and feeding a kitten. One of many, many photos tacked onto Villain’s board with a heart-shaped push pin, a bloody red color as violent as Villain’s desire for poor, sweet Civilian.

She ran her finger along a photo of Hero next to it, smiling.

Unlike other villains, who would have been vengeful if they discovered their enemy had a girlfriend—maybe even going so far as to harm said person—when Villain discovered Hero’s girlfriend, she was struck by Cupid’s arrow and knew in her heart that wanted both of them. Hero, with her intensity and passion, with years of fights, jagged scars and tender bruises. Civilian, with her soft gaze and sweet nature. Surely Civilian could learn to look at Villain with kindness and love, as she did with those kittens and puppies in the shelter. Surely Hero would learn to love her, too—learn to see her scars, her faults, and love her for it instead of condemn her.

“Villain, I think you’re taking it just a little too far.” Henchman said, as he looked at the board. “Why do you need so many photos of them?”

“It’s called manifesting, Henchman.” Villain pouted, glaring back at her subordinate.

He didn’t understand love.

Not how she did.

It seemed nobody understood love how she did. Nobody was as passionate as her about love.

“It’s stalkerish.”

“We’re villains, do you put it past me?” She sighed. Of course, count on Henchman to throw a wrench in her fun.

He’d been that way since they were kids. Henchman was a shepherd trying to tame a wolf. Yet he stayed, and as much as Villain tried to find out why he hadn’t left, he never gave her a definitive answer—nothing deep, nothing meaningful, nothing Villain could scour for meaning. None of the fluff and flowery words that Villain loved, like in the fairytale books she’s pored over as a kid.

“…no, not really.” He sighed stepped closer to the board, his brown eyes taking in all the photos of Hero and Civilian. “So, what’s your grand plan? Kidnap the both of them?”

“Exactly.” Villain smiled, clapping her hands together at the idea.

Hero and Civilian would still love each other, then they’d love Villain too, and they’d all be in love together.

It would be a bumpy road, but it would be worth it. Hero would fight. She would struggle and claw and kick, and that’s because she was passionate—she had passion, as Villain had passion for love and all things romantic, and all Villain had to do was harness that passion…turn the fighting spirit into affection.

After all their battles, all their scars, Villain could hold Hero close without hurting her.

That’s all she wanted.

Hero just didn’t ever let it happen, because she was stubborn, because she didn’t trust Villain. However, she would fix that. The bruises would turn into something more romantic and symbolic than mere wounds—they’d be a testament of their love, they’d be a violent delight.

Oh, and sweet, precious Civilian…a normal girl who worked at an animal shelter, tending to animals in need. Villain wanted to be cared for that way, looked at with kindness, instead of given judgmental looks from others who deemed her insane…she would show Civilian her vulnerabilities, and surely Civilian would make a space, even a tiny nook, for her in that beautiful heart.

Civilian could make her feel normal, make her feel loved.

Was it wrong for Villain to merely want to spread love? The plan was all laid out. The tactics, the words she’d say to them…all of it was planned and orchestrated so that she could win them over.

Henchman looked at Villain, his eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t like that look on your face. That means you’re planning something bad, and it’s going to blow up in your face, and I’ll have to comfort you while you cry into my shoulder, even though I warned you.”

“Why are you being so unsupportive today?” Villain glared, her smile fading. “I don’t force you to be here. You could leave if you wanted to. I know you think I’m crazy, so why bother with me?”

Henchman’s look was as cold and pointed as a knife. “Villain, this isn’t going to fix the past. This obsession isn’t going to help you get better, it isn’t going to erase what happened, it won’t fill that hole inside of you.”

“You don’t know that.” Villain stared at Henchman.

He was wrong. Everybody was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Nobody understood her, her love, her heart.

Hero’s and Civilian’s love couldn’t erase the past, but it could prove something—it could prove that despite what everyone said, she could be loved.

#hero x villain #villain x civilian #hero x villain x civilian #obsessive villain #sapphic #heroes and villains #thank you anon <3 #henchman is trying to be a voice of reason #poor dude #unreliable narrator #wlw #sorry this took forever #love y’all <3

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aphroditesmoon · 1 year

Text

cara mia

wednesday addams x enid sinclair

summary: Enid spends the holidays with her girlfriend's family to avoid her owns.

warnings; implications of homophobia from enid's mother.

requested by @crazyshipper67

°°°

She knew, the moment she step foot in her hometown, she'll be dragged straight to conversion therapy. Being in the comforting protection of the school didn't help much when a certain holiday lurked by the corner.

She remembered the fear drowning her as she scroll down through her mother's text messages.

disappointment,

abomination,

a lone wolf forever.

There were more of course, but as her eyes became blurry from tears and her lover had snatched her phone from her she saw nothing else.

Now as she sits next to Wednesday and opposites the infamous Addams family on the dinner table, she tries to convince herself that she's having fun.

Her uncle Fester, going in full detail of his adventures involving feeding on girl scouts, was making it a tad hard though.

She could feel Wednesdays evil, evil smile, burning through her sides.

Of course she enjoyed watching her squirming and uncomfortable.

Morticia, thank the heavens, immediately intervenes and changes the topic.

"Perhaps another time, for the tales of your endeavors, Fester."

He gets the hunt and laughs casually, "Hope I didn't scare ya kid! Don't worry, I usually avoid kids with dyed hair, too much chemicals, nggh." He laughs again and Enid forces herself to go along awkwardly, though her eyes evident with fear.

"Uncle Fester.." Wednesday's tone, a warning as he shakes his head and waves her off.

"Oh fine, fine."

The food, thankfully wasn't anything weird or some sort of dead corpse, she quite enjoys them and Wednesday looks satisfies when she finishes her plate.

Immediately after, Morticia has pulled her to the living room and brought out old photo albums of Wednesday's.

She was exactly the same was she is now besides the obvious age difference, black clothes, glaring at everyone, odd weapons as an accessory.

A specific picture of her holding a shovel in front of an open grave made Enid frown at her.

She only raised an eyebrow.

"Ah yes, her first digging kit, the perfect outlet for her growing obsessions with death at the moment." Morticia explains.

"She got started almost immediately! I think it's safe to say Wednesday's got her red thumb from me!"

Enid leans and whispers to Wednesday; "I don't even want to know what that means."

Wednesday only smirks and places a kiss on her temple.

As the collection of pictures starts to grow more ridiculous and embarassing for her, Wednesday dressed as a tree for school plays and forced into pink dresses for pageant shows her teachers signed up for.

Try as she might to pull the album from her lover's grasp, the werewolf strength always wins.

"Are you done now?" She questions as Enid finally calms down from her fits of giggles over Wednesday dressed as a shark for a costume party.

"Now, yes. But you'll be sure to know I'll be using this againts you in the future." She teases with a proud face as her girlfriend nods. "I expect nothing less."

Morticia, doubtful of the colourful girl at first, immediately softens at seeing her daughter's love for her, she had never seen Wednesday as infatuated with anyone, though it might not be obvious to anyone else. But a mother's eyes always sees.

She and Gomez has taken it to themselves to take Enid for a tour of their weaponry room.

Axes, swords, chains and even stink bombs used by ancestors of the Addams family hang from walls. Gomez had a splendid time explaining the histories and details of them.

A lot of Fester's creations also hangs there. In fact, he even has his own section.

From uncomfortableness, she grew more intrigued by the house and it's inhabitants. The peculiarity of her girl's family had interested her and had her in awe of the family legacy. They were truly one of a kind.

Her brother Pugsley, reveled in Enid's kind and sweet demeanor, a different treatment he usually gets from his sister. Wednesday was however, quick to insult his sensitivity and was immediately cut off by Enid scolding her.

Like a child being chastised by a mother, she sulks as Pugsley cheers over his newfound guardian angel.

By the end of the night she didn't need to convince herself she was gratefully for coming, she was sure of it.

Lying in the dark with her face facing Wednesday's, she feels her hand brush a hair behind her hear.

"What are you thinking about, cara mia?"

the roll of the r's send shivers down her spine, it always does when she calls her that, her rare little nickname for moments of intimacy and adoration when they're alone.

"nothing, I'm just glad I'm here, with you, and your family." Her hand goes to hold Wednesday's, their fingers intertwining.

"So am I." The monotonous girl speaks with a hint of softness only reserved for her love.

Enid let's herself fall into the comforting embrace of sleep as she leans into Wednesday's chest, automatically the dark haired girl's arms moves to wrap around her.

"Good night, cara mia."

#wednesday netflix #wenclair fanfic #wenclair #wenid fanfic #wednesday addams x enid sinclair #enid sinclair fanfic #enid sinclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday addams #addams family #the addams family #Wednesday addams fanfic

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so-long-soldier-writes · 1 year

Text

~ updated 4/24/24

~ read tags before reading; each fic is thoroughly tagged

~ back to main masterlist; back to TVD / TO masterlist

✨ ~ fluff

🖤 ~ smut

⛓️ ~ dark &/or kink themes

💚 ~ angst

🌈 ~ fun themes

• never let me go ~ (here) (ao3) 💚✨

you're getting used to the coldness in your apartment. the chill that lingers in the air, the absence of his presence. for four months you wait for him, willing for the past and cursing those who've altered your future; wishing for the way things used to be, and hoping they wouldn't be lost beyond repair. but the next time you see him, out on your doorstep, you realize you can't just pick up the pieces, you have to restart the whole puzzle. (heretic!kai) pt. 2 ~ (here) (ao3) pt. 3 - (here) (ao3)

• gorgeous ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🖤

troubled by his own body, kai's afraid to go all the way with you. that is, until you confess you love him regardless of the way he looks, giving him just the confidence he's needed all along. (tw: implied abuse & s3lf h4rm) (virgin!kai)

• anatomy class ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤

kai + magic + boredom = trouble (high school au / both 18+)

• dog days are over ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️💚✨

the post-wedding heartbreak never ceases. without him, life seems to lose its meaning. but despite your best efforts to depart and chase the void that seems to call to you, somehow you're held back. someone refuses to let you go. (tw: sui attempt)

• feeding 101 ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

damon was a great teacher during elena's transition, but he's less than helpful when kai escapes hell and needs to feed. luckily, you're there at the right place, right time, and offer to teach him, (much to damon's disapproval). (heretic!kai)

• teensy little crush ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

you have a crush on kai you haven't been able to shake for weeks. unfortunately, you're too shy to do anything about it, either. but luckily, elena steps in with a plan, and helps you win over the witch's heart.

• the agreement ~ (here) (ao3) ✨💚(ish)

helping kai adjust to a normal life has its ups and downs, but he, of course, always wins in the end.

• good morning ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️🖤✨

you and kai make an agreement to wake each other up one morning when the other's least expecting it. it has an… unexpected outcome. (tw: cnc / somnophilia)

• flying monkeys ~ (here) (ao3) 🌈

kai mentions in passing that he can fly a plane. you challenge him to prove it.

• new year's kiss ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

it's tradition for new year's to start with a kiss… just like it's tradition to kiss under a mistletoe. and unfortunately, as traditional as mystic falls is, there's no way out but through

• of mice and... heretics? ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

of all the problems to have in mystic falls, yours is mice... luckily, kai comes to the rescue (heretic!kai) (soft!kai)

• red ~ (here) (ao3) 💚✨

for forty years, kai only knew three shades of red. however, he finally finds his fourth and favorite the year he settles into a new life in mystic falls.

• bar shots ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤

your newest coworker takes his staring problem further up a notch.

• little wolf ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

kai bonds with the girl that lives down the hall from him in the boarding house. (wolf!reader)

• airport troubles ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤✨

you face some trouble with TSA while trying to catch your flight. the suspicious agent uses some unconventional methods to get the truth out of you.

• stormy weather ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️✨

the rule is always the same: thirty minutes after it storms, kai can spend some time outside. that's when most people are still in their homes and it's too muddy for the children to go out yet. though this time, his father bends the rule, just a little, and lets his son out one wet, chilly afternoon. it just so happens that something bad is about to go down at that very same time, and luckily, kai is there to protect her. (tw: s3lf h4rm)

• our little secret ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤

you should've known wearing a short little skirt would rile him up. but then again... maybe you did it on purpose. (80s!step-brother!kai)

• make me a promise, please? ~ (here) (ao3) ✨💚 | requested

sometimes the easiest way to deal with pain is to feel it upon your skin. but of course, there's consequences to that. for years, you've been able to hide your scars, though, as you'll quickly discover, you can't hide the truth from your boyfriend for long.

• more than friends ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🖤

your "more than friends" status with kai is revealed when you lose hold of a silencing spell. jo, of course, has a lot to say about it. (80s!kai x witch!reader)

• his for eternity ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🖤⛓️💚 | requested

alaric steals a gemini grimoire, summoning you and kai back to mystic falls. trying to get it back proves to be a challenge with a risk kai’s not willing to take. (heretic!kai) (witch!reader)

• drunk words are sober thoughts ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

of course, on the night all your friends are hooking up, you get too drunk to take yourself home. walking home at night, drunk, and in mystic falls is not something on your bucket list, and to make matters worse, you can't help but feel a pair of eyes on you from a distance. so, feeling desperate, you call the contact given to you "for emergencies only," and hope that he shows.

• best cure for boredom ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤⛓️

you text your boyfriend, bored in class and looking for entertainment, but instead catch him in one of his needier moments. after two seconds of debate, you decide you have nothing better to do than to help him.

• favorite sociopath ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

damon and bonnie leave you in charge of babysitting kai. you accept willingly as time to get to know him.

• almost caught ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🖤

innocent cuddling turns into something more on one of the few nights a week joshua parker lets you spend alone time with kai. who can blame you, as strict as he is?

• bloodlust ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤⛓️

part of you knew it was wishful thinking to believe vampires couldn't sense period blood. your heretic best friend proves that true when he comes over to see you. in fact, to him, it smells even sweeter than the blood you normally offer, and he practically begs you for a taste. (heretic!kai) (virgin!kai)

• brooklyn ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

kai finds you wearing his shirt.

• see you at seven ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️

you let kai feed off you for the first time. (heretic!kai)

• go to hell ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤⛓️

there's nothing like waking up realizing you've been kidnapped by mystic falls' own sociopath, malachai parker. will this day end with your blood on his hands, or will his sweet spot for you save your life? (tw: cnc)

• love bite ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️

a make-out session gets heated. kinks are explored. a friends' dinner reveals all.

• nightmares ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

after three straight days of kai having nightmares, you can't take the cries anymore and need to intervene.

• he’s like a puppy ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

an argument starts up when damon and bonnie return to the boarding house to find you and kai spending time together. it goes south when you start to defend kai against your friends' remarks.

#1 - stomach ache ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

kai comforting you when you have a stomach ache

#2 - pink starbursts ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

listening to caroline plan a party gets boring. kai finds a way to entertain himself.

#3 - can’t help that i love you ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

while you and kai aren't necessarily in a relationship, no one can ignore the way you are together. it started with kai's nightmares, bringing you to his side for nightly comfort. soon, gentle touches on his back led to full blown hugs and forehead kisses; simple conversation turned to long talks, and you're only getting closer every day. kai feels safe with you, and you're falling for him. maybe he's falling for you, too. this is why your "thing" needs to stop. right now. (soft!kai)

#4 - the dinner party ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤(minor ⛓️)

ten minutes before company arrives. five to finish up, two to clean up, one to fix your hair, and the last two to occupy yourself with something inconspicuous. a perfect amount of time. let's just hope they don't show up early...

#5 - stupid, sad movie ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

since kai missed out on over a decade of movies, you now spend your nights watching the best ones. tonight's movie: titanic. (soft!kai)

#6 - “i took his virginity” ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

you should've known kol would find out about your new boyfriend before you'd be able to tell him yourself. luckily, you're able to talk him into accepting kai, as long as he treats you right. (best friend!kol mikaelson x reader)

#7 - kissing disease ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

despite the deal he had made with her several weeks ago, kai needs his sister for her medical opinion, again.

#8 - jumpscares ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

kai has the worst timing for wanting your attention (best friend!kai)

#9 - hope ~ (here) (ao3) ✨⛓️

kai notices your scars. (tw: s3lf h4rm)

#10 - aphrodisiac ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

you can only listen to damon ramble on for so long before you lose focus. unfortunately, this time, your zoning out manages to cause maximum embarrassment when the rest of the group follows your line of sight.

#11 - sinful ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤

shoe humping with kai... specifically, those old 1994 converse

• dating yandere!kai ~ (here) ⛓️✨

• heretic kai x accident prone reader ~ (here) ✨

• driving lessons ~ (here) 🌈

• kai’s sex life ~ (here) 🖤⛓️

• king!kai / royalty au ~ (here) 🌈

• demon!kai x angel!reader // angel!kai x demon!reader ~ (here) 🖤⛓️

• how he would be academically / intelligence-wise ~ (here) [n/r]

• childhood best friends to lovers ~ (here) ✨💚

• werewolf alpha kai // kai's demigod parent (pjo) ~ (here) 🖤🌈

• kai with a lip ring ~ (here) 🖤(mild)

• comfort ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️

a flashback to his childhood. a terrifying memory he thought he had repressed. | pre-1994 | (tw: [non-graphic] non-consent)

• the dog ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️

kai hates the family dog. | pre-1994 | (tw: violence)

#masterlist #malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #kai parker #tvd fanfiction #kai parker fluff #kai parker smut #kai parker drabbles #kai parker headcanons #kai parker oneshot

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robfinancialtip · 8 days

Text

David Whelan remembered the story of his Native American grandfather sharing inspirational knowledge with his grandson. The story revolves around two wolves within each person: one represents negative feelings such as anguish and fury, and the other represents love, tenacity, and power. The granddad demonstrates that these wolves are constantly fighting with everyone. When the grandson wonders which wolf will win, the grandfather replies, "The one you feed." This demonstrates the motivating power of choice in shaping one's thoughts and actions.

David Whelan highlights this inspiring fight's universal aspect, meaning everyone experiences internal struggles between negativity and positivity. He admits his personal experience with failure, the desire to succumb to the victim mentality, and his ability to identify failure methods. However, he also acknowledges the alternative—nourishing strength and positivity. This dichotomy represents people's continual mental dialogue when facing life's trials and failures.

David Whelan's Native American story emphasizes the significance of self-awareness and purposeful decision-making. Individuals may create resilience and growth by identifying their inner wolves and consciously promoting their good traits. The metaphor reminds us that personal progress frequently depends on purposeful decisions made in reaction to hardship, eventually shaping one's path to fulfillment and success.

David Whelan promotes reflection and empowerment. He emphasizes the transforming possibilities of feeding the wolf with strength and endurance rather than grief and bitterness. By adopting this motivating approach, people may tap into their inherent resilience and create a route for personal and spiritual growth, overcoming challenges, and attaining fulfillment.

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gaysindistress · 8 months

Text

As Good a Reason - six

pairing: ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️ x reader

summary: when Brock Rumlow picks a fight he can’t win with the White Wolf, he drags his Snake back. Six years after she ran away, Y/N Rumlow is faced with a choice to make; do as she’s told and kill the White Wolf or overtake her father instead because spite’s as good a reason to take his power?

warnings: ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️, cursing, Y/N getting slapped and being held at gunpoint, this part gets dark so please read with caution, mentions of creepy fathers (aka Brock all of time), feral Bucky, character death (two to be exact)

word count: 3k

A/n: Im moving states this weekend so the next parts are going to be delayed. I won’t be posting Monday or Wednesday but after that, it should go back to normal!

Tag list @kandis-mom @casa-boiardi @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @cakesandtom @unaxv @vonalyn @hidden-treasures21 @emerald-writes

five | series masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are not how Y/N is supposed to look. They are merely for aesthetic purposes and Y/N is written for anyone to see themselves in her.

“Hel…Hello?” Victoria stutters into the phone with her eyes trained on her father. He nods, urging her to stay on the phone and keep talking like they’re negotiating the release of a hostage.

“Is that you, Victoria Marie?” the other voice asks with a sinister smile in their voice.

“Let me talk to Y/N.”

The voice hums, thinking about the imaginary options they have before settling on a monotone, “No.”

“Please…” she pauses, looking to Brock for the name, “James. I just want to make sure she’s okay.” “If anything, she’s the one who needs to see if YOU’RE okay.”

“Then let me talk to her.”

James sucks his teeth for a moment, “I’m assuming Daddy dearest is next to you.”

Brock shakes his head, telling Victoria to say no and she does.

“Don’t lie to me, Vikki. I don’t like when people lie to me.”

Victoria corrects her mistake before Brock can stop her and he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Good girl,” he ends his portion of the call and assumingly passes the phone off to Y/N.

“Vic?”

“Y/N oh my god, are you okay?” she asks frantically.

“I’m fine,” the strain is evident in Y/N’s voice but she keeps a collected composure, “how are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m in a little pain but I’m okay.”

“Good. That’s good to hear.”

“Y/N, come home. Please, it's not safe. Dad told me..”

The woman on the other side interrupts her sister, “Dad?”

Victoria freezes but keeps up with her ardent pleading with Y/N to come home, find a way around it all, and get to safety. Y/N listens but doesn’t acknowledge a thing her sister is saying for it’s all lies. The moment Victoria said dad instead of “our father” or “Brock”, she knew that something was up and anything that was about to come out of her mouth would be a direct copy of whatever Brock forced her to rehearse.

James reaches over and presses the mute button before saying what they’re both thinking, “It’s a setup.”

“Clearly.”

He rolls his own eyes, “Get her to agree to a meeting.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you need a way into his house,” he states as if it’s the most obvious thing and unmutes their side before she can answer.

“Y/N, seriously please come home,” Victoria’s voice cracks with emotion as she finishes her tearful statement.

“James won’t let me without a meeting between him and Brock.”

“Okay! We can set that up.”

James feeds her the details;

Two days from now, 8pm sharp at the Rumlow house.

Victoria agress on her father’s behalf and both sisters, acting as mouthpieces for the men controlling them, say their goodbyes before hanging up.

James takes the phone from Y/N and gives her his permanent wolfish grin.

“I’m proud of you.”

She deflates into her chair, sinking into it and trying to make herself appear smaller so as to not be seen by his watchful eye. However under the eye of this wolf, there is nothing that goes unnoticed by him, especially not his favorite little snake.

“What’s wrong?” he tries to fake concern but it falls flat.

“Nothing.”

“Try again.”

Y/N sits up and leans forward as she over enunciates the word, “Nothing.”

Mimicking her actions, he leans forward too and meets her on her level, “Try again, little snake.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

With as much disgust as she can, she spits out, “Because I’m not your little snake. I’m no one’s snake.”

His grin turns sour and a sinister look takes over his face, one that he dons when the White Wolf controls his actions. He goes from charming to alarming in seconds but Y/N has come to learn that showing fear will only end badly for her so she matches it as best as she can. They stare at each other, waiting for the other back down but neither do. She can sense his hands itching to make a physical attack but they stay in his lap as long as she doesn’t move. It’s similar to how a wolf might stalk its prey; waiting for the kill shot but she is not a bunny to be eaten.

She is the Snake after all; quiet and patient, waiting for the moment to strike.

James relents and sits back into his seat with a look she can’t figure out. There is no anger but there is no joy. There is not a hint of anything that might give her a clue to what he’s feeling but his next sentence clues her into exactly what’s brewing beneath the surface.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You are because you’re mine.”

“We’ll see,” she ends the conversation and gets up, leaving him to fume at the idea that’s resisting him even more than before.

Mere days ago she would’ve jumped at the chance to be with him however the more he tries to control her, the less she wants to submit. The more he exercises what power he has over her, the more that she's going to fight to get away.

But then again this isn’t the average man and her push back only makes him want her more.

“I need you. Now.”

Steve raises his brows with a smirk and glances at Sam who matches his expression. Y/N rolls her eyes and disappears back into the dark hallway she came from.

“Now.”

He follows after with a swagger in his step and it reaches his head when she slams him against the wall. He lets out a deep chuckle, craning his head up to avoid the blade that rests under his jaw.

“Kinky.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not trying to sleep you, you filthy pig,” she sneers at him, pressing the blade further into the soft skin, “I need a favor.”

“A favor?” he parrots back as his eyes dart down to her lips.

“Before the meeting, I’m going to sneak in and get my siblings out. I need you to get them to safety.”

“Why would I do that?” “Because I will slit your throat right now if you say no,” she says, pressing the knife hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

Steve freezes and grimaces at the feeling before agreeing, “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll even get Sam to help.”

She flashes him a devilish smile and backs away, keeping the knife pointed at him.

“That’s not the only thing you’re planning on doing is it?” he asks as he touches the wound she made, drawing his fingers away and making a face at the blood that’s dripping down his fingers.

“You might want to get a bandaid,” she throws at him as she turns, leaving him alone in the hallways and disappears into the shadows of the prison they call home.

Cyanide wasn’t her first choice.

If she had her way, she would’ve picked something that took longer so she could watch Brock slowly lose control over his own body. It would’ve brought her great joy to watch him lose the control that he exercised over everyone else but she didn’t have that time.

Cyanide acted fast, too fact for some but for the Snake, it would work just fine.

The little glass bottle is tucked into the breast pocket of her vest, the safest place it could be until it found its rightful place in Brock’s body. Her feet make no sound as she drops from the window into his office. Just like she had hoped, it’s empty, save for her generational anger and spite.

Beyond the doors, she can hear his voice and John’s arguing over something that seems insignificant in comparison to what she;s doing. Within seconds, she spots the glass bottle filled with his favorite amber liquid and she’s pulling off the cap before she lets out her first breath. Taking out the bottle and taking off the cap, she’s pouring the pale blue poison into the bottle as she lets out her second breath. On her third, she’s putting the bottle back and slipping back out the window.

Inching her way across the ledge, she drops herself onto Victoria’s balcony where Steve is waiting for her. He goes to ask her what she was doing but he doesn’t get the chance. Y/N is picking the lock and pushing open the door in a matter of seconds. Something sits horribly wrong with him but he doesn’t have the time to question it.

Laying in her bed is Victoria covered in bandages and with numerous machines around her. Y/N wrinkles her nose at the sight, willing her tears to absorb back into her body. Sam opens the bedroom doors to the sight of Steve pointing a gun at her; however , it's dropped when the threat of Brock proves to be false. Wordlessly the three work to undo whatever is holding Victoria to the bed and Steve scoops her up into his arms as Y/N slips back out of the french doors.

In the next room, Sam meets her as she’s whispering, arguing with Niklaus.

“What? Are you stupid?” Niklaus growls at her as she levels her signature bored look at him.

“Go with him. Now. He’ll get you out of here before all hell breaks loose,” she tells him as she pushes him towards the door. He keeps trying to argue with her and she’s not having it. When he’s too preoccupied to worry about Sam taking him, she stabs a syringe into his neck and he goes limp in Sam’s arms.

“Jesus, was that really necessary?” Sam groans as he lugs Niklaus’ limp body onto his shoulders.

“Oh I’m sorry did you want Brock to hear him and catch us?”

He glares at her and keeps his mouth shut as he makes his way back towards the entrance. Y/N slips into her old room and finds clothes to change into. Re Emerging from the room dressed in loose fitting cargo pants, a white shirt, and a dark wash jean jacket, she spots John at the top of the staircase. She throws herself against the wall and hopes to whatever god is listening that he didn’t see her.

Her prayers are ignored.

“Y/N?” he asks as he peers at where he saw her and makes his way in that direction. She tries to slip back into her room but the clicking of the lock tips him off to her location and he grabs her by the wrist, yanking towards him. He traps her hands in one of his and with the other points his gun at her. Narrowing his blue eyes at her, hurt and betrayal flashes before he can turn him into a wall of stone.

“What are you doing here?” “There’s a meeting about to take place.” “What are you doing here?” he asks again.

She repeats her first answer much to his dismay but he lets it go to further question her, “How could you take his side?”

That hurt and betrayal from earlier sneaks into his voice and it takes all her strength to not roll her eyes at him. The cold gun against her temple isn’t a bad reminder either to not piss him off.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” his voice wobbles as he grows more emotional and his grip grows tighter, “We could’ve gotten Victoria and Klaus back without you making that stupid deal. You didn’t have to do this!”

The more frantic he becomes, the harder the barrel digs into her skin and she winces at the feeling. Her reaction shakes him back to reality and he lowers the gun.

“I… I’m sorry,” he tells her as tucks his gun away and uses his free hand to caress her face, “I was so worried about you. All the things I heard about him, I just.. I was so scared for you. Did he…hurt you? Touch you?” She suppresses the urge to cringe at the feeling and puts on a sincere face, “No, he didn’t do anything.”

John smiles a little, “Good. I’d have to kill him if he did.”

Y/N looks down in disgust but he mistakes it as something else and leads her by her chin to look back up at him. Her worst nightmare comes true as he leans down to kiss her. His rough lips try to get her to kiss him back and she opens her mouth as he tries to deepen the kiss.

A fatal mistake for him.

Biting down as hard as she can, her teeth tear into his bottom lip and blood rushes forward. He jerks away in pain and touches his bleeding lip as he can’t believe that she would do that. He’s met with the sight of her smiling with his blood dripping from her lips and it strokes a fire long dead inside him. He back hands her so hard that her cheek splits and she falls to the ground. The ring his father gave him just before he died glistens with her blood but he doesn’t care.

“You bitch,” he growls at her and goes to yank her up but another pair of hands pull her up and away from him.

The voice she dreaded the most pretended to soothe and comfort her, “It’s, okay, baby girl. Dad’s here.”

Her mother never cried a lot. She took the punches and violent threats that Brock threw at her but she never fought back. Y/N used to hate her mother for it, wishing that she would’ve done something to help her children but she never did. Jasmine always nursed her wounds in secret and put on a brave face for her daughter and her siblings. In hindsight, Y/N knew that she had no choice but to endure for the safety of her children. Fighting back meant that his wrath would be directed at them and a punch hurt a child more than a grown woman. One night after a practically bad lashing, Jasmine held Y/N and wept for hours on end.

As she wept, she told her daughter that “someone who loves you wouldn’t do this.”

Now Y/N knew that to be turned and it took everything in her to now scream, cry, fight with all of her might to get out of her father’s arms.

Holding her in a bruising grip, Brock pretends to comfort her and whispers threats veiled as reassurance into her hair as he walks to the office. John is grumbling behind them as he holds a handkerchief to his bleeding lip but no such thing was offered to her as her cheek bleeds as well. It stains the dark fabric of Brock’s shirt but whether he notices or cares, she can’t be sure.

James and Steve are waiting for them in the office, sitting as they exchange words in another language. Steve stops mid sentence when he sees the trio walking in and James follows his line of sight with fire in his pale blue eyes. He licks his lips as he reigns in his emotions and settles into his chair against the wishes of his heart. Or what’s left of it.

Brock makes a show of seating Y/N in his chair and tends to her wounds, a cut on her cheek from John’s ring. Steve looks to his boss for his reaction and to his surprise, there is only a murderous look upon his face.

James knows better than to make a comment about it and instead moves to the top of the meeting, “How do you propose we solve our ‘little’ tiff?”

Brock lets out a deep sigh as he places a bandaid on her cheek, pushing too hard as he does so, “Give me my daughter back.”

“No. I like her, I want to keep her.”

“She isn’t a toy, Mr.Barnes. She’s a human.”

“I never said she wasn’t,” James says cooly, “But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to give her up and especially not to a man like you.”

Brock’s jaw tightens as he turns to face James, “What do you want for her?”

A wolfish smirk, feral and dangerous, spreads on his plump lips, “Your head.”

“My what?”

“You heard me.”

Brock scoffs at his request, “That’s ridiculous.”

“So is the way that you hunted her for six years but never found her until I gave you a shred of information,” James mocks him as he stands.

Y/N’s eyes narrow at the revelation. He had led Brock to her? “I knew where she was the whole time.” her father counters.

James shrugs his shoulders but the pure predator look doesn’t leave his unnatural eyes, “You know what else is ridiculous? The fact that I can see the disgusting thoughts that you think when you see her in your eyes.”

Brock doesn’t answer and shakes his head to wordlessly combat the accusation.

“We can all see it. For a man who claims to be her father, you sure would end up in hell for the thoughts that pass through your mind.”

Y/N can’t tell if he is telling the truth or just riling up her father but either way she sees her chance to slip away. Steve is faster than John and has him on his knees within seconds as she rushes to stand behind James. Instead of tucking her behind him like she had hoped, he pins her back to his chest and presses a knife she hadn’t seen to her neck. His hot breath on her neck sends shivers down her spine but her body goes completely still when the knife makes a small cut in her soft skin. Breathing hard to keep the fear below the surface, Y/N squeezes her eyes shut and wills herself to keep breathing. James licks up the blood that trails down her neck and she can almost feel the sinister intentions that he has.

“She’s sweet, sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted,” he looks Brock directly in the eye as he chuckles and wipes her blood from her lips, “I can see why you wanted her.”

“You’re sick.”

He shrugs, “maybe but there’s no one worse than you, Brock. You didn’t even try to deny it.”

Y/N trembles in his arms and he quietly shushes her before diving back into his onslaught on Brock, “Do you know things I’ve heard about you? I would tell everyone all of the awful things you’ve done but I think you should. There’s nothing better than the monster admitting to their own wrong doings. So go on, tell everyone all of the terrible and disgusting things you’ve done.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brock tries to protect himself but it’s no use against the White Wolf.

“No?” James parrots, “Did you forget? Did it slip your mind that you’ve kidnapped and beaten your children's mothers? Or did you forget that you killed all three of their mothers because they weren’t compliant anymore? Or was it that you’ve abused your children in too many ways to count?

“I didn’t do any of that.”

“You can’t lie your way out of this.”

“It’s not lying if it’s not true.”

“Tony Stark would say differently.”

Brock visibly freezes at the mention of that name.

“He told me everything: everything you did to LeeAnn, Elena, and Jasmine. Oh Jasmine, you were the devil to that poor woman,” James cranes his neck to look at Y/N, “Why don’t you tell your DAUGHTER what you did to Jasmine?”

Brock locks his jaw and stares ahead without a word.

Y/N deflates in his arms but he grips her tighter so she doesn’t fall.

“Do you want me to do it? I won’t be nice if I do it.” “I didn’t do anything to that bitch that she didn’t deserve.”

James tuts at him, “now is that any way to talk about your dead wife? Oh wait, she wasn’t your wife, she was Tony’s wife. You got jealous and took her because why would anyone not want you? I can’t imagine how angry you must have been when you found out she was pregnant with his child, a sweet baby girl. That’s why you killed him, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N whispers to herself more than anything.

James leans closer to her ear, “Brock killed your parents.”

A single tear falls down her face and she allows herself to find comfort in the man behind her. She turns to hide her face in his chest and she can feel it swell with triumph at her actions.

Brock tries to defend himself but James will not have it, “No. There is nothing on God's green earth that could excuse that transgression. I hope for your sake that Y/N gets to you before I do because I demand a pound of flesh for what you did to her.”

Brock clenched his jaw and the muscles flex as he mulls over the threat in James’ words.

Satisfied with the fear he’s planted in Brock, James turns his attention to Y/N and inspects the damage to her face. “Who did this to you?” he mummers into her ear as he presses gentle kisses to the broken flesh.

She tells him what he wants and feels him make a gesture to Steve. John tries to plead with him to save his life but Steve’s cold heart does not care for his words and a shot rings out. She flinches, earning her a tighter hug from James and more promises to keep reconciling the wrongs that have been done to her.

“What do you want from me?” Brock’s words are muffled to her ears but James’ voice is crystal clear.

“Ideally you’d kill yourself but I don’t see that happening so I’ll settle for letting you disappear. Get out of New York and find a hole to crawl into for the rest of your life. If I hear so much as one whisper about you, I will hunt you down, drag your pathetic ass out of hiding, and butcher you like the pig that you are.”

“I’ll do it but I want my daughter back.”

“No,” the harsh word rumbles in James’ chest.

“I want my daughter back,” He tries again.

“You have two hours to get out.”

With that James, Steve, and Y/N walk out of the office, leaving Brock to lick his wounds and plan a way to get out before the White Wolf returns.

However it doesn’t take two hours for Brock's life to come to an end.

Fuming that he’s lost, he pours a drink of his favored amber drink. A bitter almond taste fills his mouth and he spits it out as the horror sets in. His body starts to betray him and he begins to lose control of it. Twitching and seizing, Brock cries out in his mind as the poison takes over. He falls from his chair, landing with a thud on the ground as foam leaks out of his mouth.

The Snake struck without him noticing and now he has paid the price.

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