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scariusaquarius · 1 month ago

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rehab. 22.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: hnnn like i said, hated the last chapter, so i'm hoping that this one is much better rip so sorry about that!! I really wasn't sure how I wanted last chapter to go smh. Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 18 / chapter 19 / chapter 20 / chapter 21

His mind was quiet. For the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes' mind was quiet. Despite the fact that he knew Wanda had something do with the silence and there was a part of him that was actually enjoying the silence, there was another part of him that was angry.

Bucky didn't like not having control over his own mind and body.

While Wanda was purposefully keeping him calm, there was an untouched part of his mind that was extremely upset at the loss of control. To Bucky, it didn't feel any different than when he was trapped in his mind as the Winter Soldier during the moments he was present. When he was remembering.

His body was stiff as he sat near Rollins, and though Bucky wanted nothing more than to lunge and strangle the man, his body would not respond. It was like pushing against a wall, and no matter how much force he exerted and no matter how much he yelled in anger within his head, Bucky's body just wouldn't respond. Wanda was giving him a sympathetic look, stating softly to him within his mind.

"I'm sorry to do this, James, but we need Rollins alive."

It was strange to hear her voice in his mind though her lips never moved, and Bucky glanced at her, his eyebrow twitching with annoyance. Taking a leap, Bucky began to think.

"What makes you think I'm not in control of myself? You're just like everyone else...always believing that I'm going to revert back to who I was before."

He knew that he was being petty; his words accusatory and sharp with the intention of hurting, but Wanda didn't seem to react. The only inclination of any response was a subtle flash of shame that flickered within her glowing eyes before Wanda turned away from him.

"I do not think that for a second. We were all worried that you were going to breakdown at the revelation of the Winter Soldier having a part of Project Achilles."

The words made his chest cave in, and Bucky clenched his fingers. he hissed his thoughts, feeling as though he was back in a cage where control was an illusion; baring his teeth and tail between his legs as he became defensive.

"That's my choice to make. You don't get to choose how I feel."

His words seem to strike a cord in Wanda, and she glanced back at him, her gaze soft as she whispered.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt you."

Even through the twinges of betrayal that tickled at his mind; the anxiety and the anger at being forced to relinquish his control over his own mind and body, Bucky understood and knew that Wanda was being honest. He knew that Wanda just wanted to protect him, but Bucky couldn't turn a blind-eye to being made a prisoner in his own mind again.

"I didn't need your help. This is something that I have to live with...to take responsibility for. I did this to (Y/n)."

His fingers were clenching harder, the knuckles on his flesh-hand taut and shaking slightly. Bucky's muscles were tight and uncomfortable, and Wanda sighed slightly.

"Believe me, you will get your time with this vile man."

Bucky wanted to laugh. As if that was ever a question. Getting his alone time with Rollins wasn't just about what he had done to (Y/n)...it was about what Rollins had done to him as well. The hours of torture, of taunts...of watching as Rumlow took his time with him....smiling all the while.

Bucky could feel his fingers threading through his hair, pulling painfully and forcing his head up as lips brushed against his ear; hot and foreboding as the voice whispered promises of obedience and control. The sting was present; the burning the only thing that Bucky could comprehend as cruel taunts and encouragements echoed around the room. They were watching. Just standing and watching.

Why did they hate him? Why did they treat him like this? All the asset wanted was to please and perform well...to fulfill his duty as the Fist of HYDRA. Why did force him to his knees, pulling his hair, forcing his mouth open-

Bucky was suddenly jerked out of his memory, and his gaze flicked to Wanda, who looked horrified. Guilt flooded his body, shame and embarrassment making Bucky cower just the slightest as he attempted to apologize for what Wanda had just witnessed.

"I...I'm sorry."

"No, do not apologize...what they did to you...what they did to all of us...it will never truly leave. We may forget, but our bodies; our feelings...they will always remember. But they will never...ever...do that again as long as we are here with you, James."

Her reassurance didn't go unappreciated, but the damage had already been done. Bucky couldn't look at her; couldn't dare to see the expression that she wore upon her face. Bucky could feel control slipping back to him, the red glow over his body disappearing, and Bucky stood up, immediately leaving to find a quiet spot in the back of the quinjet. Sitting down by himself, he rested his head in his hands and could feel the tears coming to his eyes. As the emotional turmoil began to boil over, Bucky became lost in his thoughts.

No, this wasn't just about what Rollins did to (Y/n). While Bucky did care about the woman, there was still unspoken baggage that Bucky hadn't been able to work through since his time in Wakanda. There was no way to justify the cruel methods Brock Rumlow and his previous Handlers before him had enacted upon Bucky when he would fail, lash out, underperform, or when they just felt like it.

Yes, Bucky knew exactly what (Y/n) was going through...but the knowledge that even he had a hand in her inability to escape from HYDRA had Bucky in shambles.

She's got you to make sure that she doesn't fall back into that place.

But how can Bucky be there for her now and help her out of that familiar darkness when he helped put her there? All that talk of him having the only right to help was bullshit; nullified by his actions. Besides, when (Y/n) began to remember...why would she ever want his help then? When she remembered, Bucky was sure that she would curse him, hate him, make him remember that no matter what he did, HYDRA would always follow him.

You will always be HYDRA. Even if you escape, you will miss your time here. It will call you home whether you like it or not.

Bucky should have known. He should have known that he was connected to her somehow given the timeline. Bucky bit his lip, stifling his sobs as he held his hands up to his mouth, clenching his jaw so hard that he was sure he was going to break his teeth.

What did he not remember about her?

Bucky swallowed thickly, and when he was interrupted by Wanda informing him about their arrival back to Wakanda, he couldn't help but to look at the woman and beg her quietly.

"Please make me remember...what did I do? What did I do to her?"

Wanda's face fell, and she shook her head gently, responding quietly.

"I can't make you remember...that's not my place, and you know that."

Bucky knew he wasn't thinking rationally. He knew that his request wouldn't have been able to be honored, but it didn't make him any less upset. Bucky let his head fall into his hands again, and he whispered softly.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

Wanda pursed her lips, staring Bucky down before she came to stand near him, placing her hand against his shoulder and making him look up at her, his blue eyes red and puffy and nostrils flaring as his lip trembled.

"You face it. What's done is done, and though there is nothing that you can do to change the past, you can change the future. You are not that man anymore, James...and I think (Y/n) will understand that when the time comes. Just give it time. It is not going to be easy...but we are all here for you....for you both. Neither of you have to do this alone."

She then sighed and turned away, adding gently.

"The only thing that you can do is ensure that this never...ever happens again to anyone."

Her words were slightly vague, but Bucky could tell what she was trying to say. The woman stood up, her eyes glowing brighter before she stated.

"I didn't tell you this, but they're planning on moving Rollins to a secure part of the kingdom...and (Y/n) is upset about your absence."

Bucky was surprised, asking as his eyes fluttered just the slightest as he cleared the tears from his eyes.

"She's...upset that I left?"

"She wasn't told about the mission, so she was under the impression that you were retrieving Rollins to return her back to HYDRA. I think she needs to hear it from you that it wasn't the plan."

Bucky took a moment before he shook his head, stating quietly.

"I don't know if I can face her...not after knowing that I had a hand in this...in her."

Wanda was quiet before she comforted gently before turning to leave.

"You don't have to right now...but think about it."

Her exit was quiet; her feet never touching the ground, and Bucky, though feeling slightly better, still felt the bile sitting at the back of his throat. Wiping his eyes and face, Bucky took a calming deep breath before he stood and walked out of the quinjet. While he wasn't surprised to see Steve waiting for him, Bucky wasn't sure if he liked the furious look within his eyes.

Bucky's steps were slow and cautious, and Steve asked him, the anger within his eyes lessening just the slightest as he regarded his friend.

"How are you holding up?"

Bucky gave Steve an annoyed look, shrugging his shoulders.

"As good as I can with knowing that I helped with all of this."

Steve looked at Bucky with a sad yet guilty expression, and Bucky honed in on it immediately. Before he could ask what was going on, however, Steve informed him gently.

"I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s best if you take a step back from helping with (Y/n)'s rehabilitation program. Not because of what happened—but because I can see this is tearing you up, Buck"

There it was again. People trying to tell him how he should feel; trying to control his actions and what he needs to do. Bucky couldn't help but to become upset, giving Steve a glare.

"You think I can't handle it."

Steve was hesitant, shaking his head as he raised his hands in surrender.

"That's not what I'm saying, Bucky."

Bucky couldn't help but to snap, his voice raising just the slightest as he gestured wildly with his hand.

"That's what it sounds like. I have to face this, Steve. I have to face and deal with the fact that I helped put her in this position...that I killed her mom just like I killed Tony's parents...like I've killed everyone else."

Bucky took a breath, his hands trembling and chest tight as the guilt began to eat him alive.

"You know what sucks the most? Out of every single one that I remember...I can't remember her....what I did...what I always do."

Bucky began to walk away, and Steve turned to look at him wistfully and with exasperation. Calling Bucky's name, the man didn't even turn towards Steve, and Steve couldn't help but to sigh and place his hands on his hips. Natasha's voice made Steve turn to her, his gaze sad and upset.

"He's gonna need time, Steve. This wasn't great news for him to hear, you know."

Natasha was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed as she regarded Steve with an expressionless face; her eyes betraying her worry. Steve shook his head, crossing his arms and running a hand over his face.

"I know. I just...I wish he knew that he didn't have to go through this alone."

Natasha was quiet for a moment before she observed.

"You tend to want to insert yourself into his problems a lot. Even if you're coming from a good place, Steve, this is something that Bucky is going to have to do alone."

Steve looked conflicted, staring down at his feet for a few moments before Natasha pushed herself off of the wall to walk back inside, adding.

"Don't push him, Steve. You're just gonna make him runaway again...and he won't come back this time."

Once Steve was left by himself, his shoulders fell, and Steve became lost again; feeling as though his friend was falling through his fingers once again.

STORY NOTES: The scene opens with Bucky's point of view. While Bucky knows that Wanda is controlling his emotions and mind and is appreciative of the silence, he also is very upset that she is doing this. Bucky makes the correlation between Wanda's mind control and being trapped in his own mind when he was the Winter Soldier. Wanda apologizes to Bucky for having to control him, and Bucky, being petty, snaps that Wanda is 'no better than everyone else' in believing that he would revert back the Winter Soldier at any given moment.

Despite his words having the intention to hurt her feelings, Wanda does not seem to react him. Instead, Wanda explains that everyone was worried about him having a breakdown because of the revelation of the Winter Soldier having a part of Project Achilles, and Bucky becomes distraught at the reminder. Bucky is firm that his feelings are his choice, but he understands that Wanda is just trying to help. Bucky further adds that this revelation is something that Bucky has to work through on his own.

Bucky begins to have a flashback about Rollins when he thinks of the man. He remembers how the man stood by and watched as Brock Rumlow sexually assaulted him for the fun of things, and Bucky is instantly horrified and ashamed when he realizes that Wanda is still able to see into his mind. Wanda, however, is understanding and reassures Bucky that HYDRA will never hurt him ever again. Bucky, however, is already spiraling. Sensing this, Wanda allows Bucky to have complete control, and Bucky immediately retreats to a quiet and empty part of the quinjet.

Bucky begins to cry, thinking about how he understands exactly what (Y/n) is going through and what we went through, but is struggling with the knowledge that he had helped HYDRA capture her before she was able to escape with Doris. Bucky suddenly remembers what Sam had told him about how (Y/n) had Bucky to make sure she 'doesn't fall back into that place,' and Bucky begins to question his authority on the ability to help her. He begins to think about the possibilities that would occur once (Y/n) finally remembers everything, and he is certain that (Y/n) will hate him.

He begins to relapse, thinking that he will never be escape HYDRA, and he struggles with the fact that he is unable to remember (Y/n) and when Wanda comes to inform him that the team has arrived back in Wakanda, Bucky begs Wanda to make him remember. Wanda, however, refuses and tells Bucky that he has to remember on his own. Bucky becomes frustrated, and Wanda adds that even though Bucky can't change the past, he can change the future. Moreover, (Y/n) has a better chance of understanding him instead of blaming him, and that neither of them are alone in this matter.

When Bucky doesn't respond, Wanda reveals that the Avengers are planning on taking Rollins to a secure part of the kingdom and that (Y/n) is upset that Bucky left for the mission. Bucky is surprised by this, and Wanda elaborates that (Y/n) wasn't told about the mission. She tells Bucky that (Y/n) is under the impression that Bucky found Rollins in order to give (Y/n) back to him, and that (Y/n) needs to hear it from Bucky that it was never the plan in the first place. Bucky refuses, stating that he isn't sure if he can face (Y/n), and Wanda reassures him that he doesn't have to, but to think about it.

After waiting a moment once Wanda leaves, Bucky finally leaves the quinjet to be greeted by Steve. Steve reveals that he thinks the best course of action is to take him off of (Y/n)'s rehabilitation program, and Bucky is offended. He accuses Steve of thinking that he can't handle it, and though Steve tries to disagree, Bucky is set in his opinion. Bucky reveals his frustration out of not being able to remember this particular incident, and Bucky walks away from Steve. Although Steve tries to call after him, Bucky ignores him, and Steve becomes upset. Natasha suddenly appears and tells Steve that he needs to give Bucky time to himself, and Steve replies that he doesn't want Bucky to do it alone.

Natasha reprimands Steve, telling him that he needs to stop trying to control Bucky, stop inserting himself where he can in Bucky's problems, and to stop pushing him. She tells him that Steve is going to make Bucky run away before she leaves back inside, leaving Steve by himself to begin thinking about his actions. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

None

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 years ago

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Steddie Upside-down AU Part 21

Part 1 Part 20

Steve’s dragging his feet on their way out the door, not that Eddie can blame him. He’s practically been vivisected by that thing twice now, and Eddie can’t blame him for not wanting to see it again.

Eddie wants to sandwich Steve in the middle. He’s listing on his feet, and his skin’s ashy and pale from all the blood loss. But he’d shoved Will in-between them like usual, and that was that.

He keeps his pace slow and measured without making it obvious he’s doing it. Steve will kick up a fuss if he realizes it’s to accommodate him. He keeps his ears peeled.

They’re walking around in a hellscape, weaponless. Just like old times.

They don’t make it to the quarry. They’ve barely made it anywhere at all when there’s a scream that sounds alarmingly human.

It, of course, comes from the woods. The trees tower over them, casting looming shadows. They all freeze like dear in the crosshairs of a car’s headlights.

It’s quiet.

So, so quiet.

Then, “Nancy?” muffled, like it’s being screamed through a straw. “Nancy, are you there?”

“Jonathan,” Will says, taking off into the woods, Steve right behind him because “Nancy” can’t mean anyone other than Nancy Wheeler.

“No, no don’t,” Eddie says, knowing it’s too late. “Son of a bitch!” The trees cast shadows, long and menacing as they swallow Steve and Will up. Eddie runs. “Oh, this is so stupid, this is so stupid.”

“Follow my voice!” Jonathan calls again. Eddie does.

He doesn’t hear the clicking of the Demogorgon until he sees it. Will and Steve are frozen, watching it stalk toward where Nancy Wheeler is crouched, peering into a pulsing red light between two trees.

Steve turns toward Eddie, eyes wild. “Keep the kid alive, Munson.”

Eddie’s stomach lurches violently enough that bile fills his mouth. Because Steve is standing there, weaponless and injured. There’s ash coating his hair, band-aids plastered to his forehead, dirt caking his pants to his thighs. A fallen angel in the making.

“No,” he whispers, voice gaining volume as his words gain speed. “No, no, don’t do this to me.” He takes a step toward Steve, not caring at the twig snapping beneath his foot. “Come on, come one, I dare you to stay alive.”

Steve smiles with his whole face. Blood drips down from beneath the bandages on his forehead. It looks black in the shadowed wood. “I didn’t pick dare he says.”

Then, beautiful, brave, fucking stupid Steve Harrington runs at the Demogorgon, screaming as he punches it in the back of its head.

“Come get me, you fucker,” Steve spits. The Demogorgon’s face splits open, and it screeches, guttural.

“Steve?” Nancy calls. Her hands stuck in the red light now, but she’s just sitting there, staring at Steve like she’s never seen him before.

The last thing Eddie sees of Steve Harrington is his back as he bolts through the trees, the Demogorgon following close behind.

“Eddie,” Will cries. He’s tugging Eddie relentlessly toward where Nancy’s still crouched. They’re stumbling over every root and rock because Eddie refuses to look away from the spot Steve had been. If he looks away, that’ll be it. Steve will be gone.

But then the kid shoves him, hard, and he falls. Nancy Wheeler latches onto his arm hard. Just as unrelenting as Will’s grip on his waist.

They’re pulled through the pulsing red hole in the world. It’s a squeezing, almost violent pressure, that pops along with his eardrums once they’re free.

It’s nighttime in the real world. He doesn’t realize the shadows of that place had been wrong until he seems the right once more. His breath comes easy, clear of ash and that pulsing red. He doesn’t care.

Eddie turns back to where they’d come, but it’s just fucking bark. Innate fucking wood. He slams the heel of his palm on it, trying to find any give at all.

“Will?” Jonathan says, voice breaking. Eddie doesn’t care, barely registers it at all.

“No,” Eddie cries. He doesn’t feel his nails give as he starts clawing at the thing, like he can scratch his way back to where he’s supposed to be. “No, no, no!”

He doesn’t stop until someone pulls him bodily back and away. He struggles like an animal in a trap. Doesn’t stop until another set of arms box him in, holding him back.

He sags, bringing all three of them to the ground. His throat feels raw, like he’s been screaming. Maybe he has.

He lands partially on other bodies, feels them shove him off. Doesn’t care. Just stares at the bark where Steve Harrington isn’t until Will calls, “Eddie?”

He turns on hands and knees. The ground is cold, but Eddie barely feels it. Will’s in his brother’s arms, face pressed into Jonathan’s chest, one eye watching Eddie, wide and trusting.

Nancy is on her butt in the dirt, mouth still parted in shock as she looks at the same spot Eddie was just staring at. She’s wearing a brown jacket with pristine white trim, hair in a perky ponytail. Eddie wants to yank it clean off her head.

Beside Nancy, her redheaded friend sits, squinting suspiciously between Eddie, and Will, and Nancy, then back to Eddie, like she can’t figure out who’s fault this is.

It’s Eddie’s. He sinks his fingers into the dirt, clutching it in his fingers, even as his messed-up pinkie screams. He barely feels it past the shock.

He can still see Steve Harrington’s back as he turned away for the last time.

“I’ve got to go back,” Eddie says, looking up at Nancy imploringly. “How do I go back?”

Nancy shakes her head, shaking loose a few tears that trail down her cheeks. “I don’t—” she says, swallowing. “I don’t know.”

Eddie makes a sound like a wounded dog, full of unwanted pain and impotent rage.

“Why the hell would we go back?” Nancy’s friend asks.

It’s like the words are the last cut needed to break him. Eddie starts sobbing, barely hears Will’s answer over his own devastation.

“It’s Steve,” he says. “He’s still there.”

Part 22

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic #eddie in my outline was supposed to stay in the UD but then he just didn't???? so

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arrow-jsy · 2 months ago

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Here Are My 100 DBDA IDEAS

As some of you may know, i started a list of all my ideas expecting to reach maybe 40? And well i was at 40 by the time i finished going through some old tumblr posts. And then i kinda kept having an idea or two (or 3 or 5) a day and here we are. i dont think i will ever write all of these, lets be real the list is going to keep growing, but i have no intention of writing some of these but i had the thought so i wrote it down

this is a long post friends

IF YOU SEE AN IDEA YOU LIKE FEEL FREE TO TAKE IT AS INSPIRATION BUT PLEASE TAG ME WHEN YOU POST IT, not because i want credit but because id love to read it <3

The numbers are what they are on the list, mostly in order of when i had the idea but a few are old ideas i remembered. But for reading convenience i organized them a bit, categories are loosy goosey but there was an effort

Posted ideas

1. Ghosthunting AU

3. Mechanic AU

38. Charles gets a teddy bear

39. Charles under a love potion 100. (actually the first fic i wrote for this fandom but i havent thought about it in so long) Monty's first bit as a human 2. Charles gets stuck in a mirror learning to mirror hop

Kinda Canon Compliant

4. Gladys isnt a made up character for episode 6

5. Esther's Backstory

12. Post s1 with Jenny being able to see ghosts, she sees her parents

13. NN tries to teach Charles manners (hes so adhd)

14. The boys first night together (and as ghosts)

27. Mick takes Monty in after Esther dies

49. Edwin cant orb beacuse of his experience in Hell

Not Really Canon Compliant

46. Charles has never been on a date

57. Monty is a vulture instead of a crow

68. Esther is Edwin's mom

89. Edwin has glasses (with the little hanging chains)

Media AUs (musicals and movies)

11. Monty Tangled AU

19. Newsies (musical) AU

20. Wicked AU

21. The Grear Gatsby (musical) AU

24. LOTR AU

33. Huntchback of Notre Dame (musical not disney movie) AU

37. Princess Bride AU

45. Adjustment Bureau AU

51. Bonnie and Clyde (musical) AU

52. Palaski Howls Moving Castle AU

53. Paynland Les Mis AU

61. Tinkerbell AU

64. Beetlejuice AU

65. Spirited Away AU

66. Nonstop & Hurricane (from Hamilton) Edwin in Hell/with his journal au?

71. Payneland Heathers JD/Veronica (more movie) AU

77. Payneland Twisters (2024) AU

83. Bring Him Home (from Les Mis) Jenny as Valjean, Niko as Marius

84. Stardust AU

90. Coraline AU

92. HTTYD AU

93. Kimberly Akimbo AU

94. Palaski Dash & Lily AU

Other Conneted to Media AUs

8. Payneland Hades and Persephone Au

9. Edwin is Crowley and Azi's (good omens) son

56. Payneland Joker and Harley Quinn AU

58. Freaky Friday with Edwin and Crystal

87. Payneland Post Hadestown (they both get out) AU

88. Payneland Tale Tale Heart AU

91. Stardew Valley AU

97. Starwars fan Charles

98. Movie night boys watch Dead Poets Society

Other AUs

10. DND AU

15. Foster family AU

16. Jenny "The Butcher" zombie apocalypse AU

17. Coffee shop AU

18. College AU : poli-sci Edwin, social justice Charles

23. Journalist/reporter Edwin, military Charles

26. Highschool AU

31. Modern Charles using dead Edwin's poems in his songs (rock ballads)

32. Payneland musician and tour manager

28. Historical anatomist Edwin and grave robber Charles

35. Alien/hybrid AU

40. Chef Charles and food critic Edwin

41. Archeologist Edwin and Treasure hunter Charles

43. Nail tech Niko and makeup artist Crystal

44. Spy AU

47. Payneland actor AU

54. Formal fantasy's Gala

55. Serial killer Edwin just trying to keep detective Charles attention

60. Med student Edwin

62. Arranged marriage

63. Drag performance

67. If the boys were ghosts during the Blitz

69. Payneland gladiator fighters

72. They're bakers

73. Criminal Crystal with Edwin as her parole officer

74. Cyclist Charles and Runner Edwin

78. Payneland Scuba diver and mermaid

79. Drunk driving Charles meets Edwin in the ER after a crash

80. Edwin's a sniper

81. Prison Break

82. Payneland streamer AU (charles on camera edwin private)

99. Horse racer Edwin

Long Winded Explinations

36. Apprenticeship au (charles&jenny, niko&kashi, monty&mick,crystal&esther, edwin&maxine)

48. Football star charles leaving the sport after he meets clueless about sports edwin to who he is smart edwin and realizes how dangerous it is

85. Kashi is some prince or something imprisoned in angie.....mick is a pirate bounty hunter or something going to save him

86. Mick is going through his stock and finds a trinket thats muttering - its a sending stone and kashi has the other half, he keeps it as a companion

95. kashi is a sailor turned pirate who always takes home little treasures (small things like rocks and shells) back to mick on land

96. Edwin losses his parents to a car crash and refuses to use cars or buses and then meets charles whos some maniac racer or back street drag driver and Payneland and angst ensues

Named But Unwritten (unposted, living rent free in my mind and google docs)

6. Captain of Hell

75. Where the Road Meets the Roots

Everything Else

7. Tragic mick pirate captain

22. Charles brings a cat back to the office

25. Vigilante Edwin

29. Charles with a motorcycle

30. Werewolf Charles

34. Crystal and Esther witch rivalry

42. Kashi pulls NN away from work so they can go on a date

50. Alive AU snowday

59. Kashi/mick pirare au (general)

70. Zamboni Monty one shot

76. Pre (my) valentines fic, dead bride

if you made it this far thanks for reading, please tell me your favorite idea from the list!!

id like to thank @makemeimmortalwithahug @ahyperactivehero @genevievefangirl the most, for hanging out in the DBDA Haunt sever and being there when i come up with most of these ideas

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #dbda fanfic #arrow writes #100 dbda ideas

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sabine-smitten-obviously · 3 months ago

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Good Omens - January reads part #2 - fanfics recs 🤓🩷

Follow along for short summaries and recs on the books i read🩷 The numbers are for funsies - i want to count my reads throughout 2025.

I only read finished stories and one-shots. You will find no WIPs in here. Also you will only find happy or at least hopeful endings here - i couldn´t handle anything else.

Also i try to find every author here on tumblr to link-to, but some times i am out of luck. If you happen to know them, please tell them, write to me in the comments or DM me and i will update the post!

Ratings in ()

Multichapterfics

13] Or Be Nice (E) by @charlottemadison42

Aziraphale ist happy to move into his new appartment in Soho after his breakup. What he is not so happy about is the noise nuisance of a neighbour he has, who likes to play his drums in the middle of the night. When the nice and polite way of finding a solution through talking seems futile, its time to try another way.

One of the best enemies-to-lovers human Au i ever read, a classic must-read for everyone in the fandom. The banter is hilarious!

Best laugh:

Aziraphale: "You can walk."

Crowley: "Allegedly." 😂

14] Any foolish Thing (E) by @caedmonfaith

Human Au. Crowley is a lawyer - and a real asshole. His businesspartner threatens to cancel their partnership unless Crowley takes a month off. So Tadfield it is. Surprised by sudden rain he stumbles into a shop full of books and candies. You'll never guess who the owner is. 😉

15] Arise my Darling and go forth (E) by @naromoreau

Human Au. Father Aziraphale likes his perish and is shocked to learn that a second priest will join him. But father Crowley is rather pleasant to be with and soon they both find themselves questioning ... everything.

The story takes turns in the POV and lets the reader glimpse into their inner turmoil - they are men of God, after all. Beautiful language and art! 🩷

This wonderful art is unrelated, but i am so in awe with it that i wanted to share it. You will find it here and it is by @flypanegg88 !

16] Epistolary (E) by @maaikeatthefullmoon aka Imposterssyndrome

Set after the end of S2, Crowley discovers Aziraphales diaries in the bookshop. He learns like A LOT about how the angel feels and their missunderstandings throughout the centuries. As he can´t talk to Aziraphale any more, Crowley starts a diary as well.

This is part-1 of a series!

17] 1888 (T) by Imposterssyndrome aka @maaikeatthefullmoon

Technically a oneshot but it is part of this series. 1888 is a diary-entry of our angel about this one time he tried to learn the gavotte.

Can be read as a stand-alone but probably doesnt make any sense without

18] The Angel Miscalculated (E) by @imposterssyndrome aka @maaikeatthefullmoon

This is part 3 of Epistolary, we get to know Aziraphale´s point of view while up in heaven.

The whole series ends practically in between S2 and S3. I don´t know whether further installments are planned - but i´ve got you covered!!

19] And i did [E] by @di-42

This is so funny, i was the beta for this story and it fits perfectly after the end of part-3 of Epistolary (see above). This story starts out with Aziraphale up in heaven and Crowley being the Grand Duke of Hell. They are on opposite sites - aren´t they?

"The angel deserved to know how marvellous he was being and how enraptured he was making Crowley feel.

“Angel... ngk... fuck!” he squealed. Nailed it, Crowley, well done." 😂

20] Aziraphale´s naked man friend [M] by @naughtyspirit

Set between S1 and S2, Aziraphale opens to door of his bookshop to find a naked Crowley outside. The demon has lost the memory of the last 24 hours and together they go on a quest to find out what has happened. If they happen to choose a "date" as cover-up for their investigations, it is only because it would help their quest. Of course.

Very funny and nice read, biggest laugh: "Once a wily serpent, always able to wiggle."

Oneshots

21] Bless you (T) by @terrorandchaos

Its been a nice afternoon in the bookshop. That is, until Crowley sneezes and Aziraphale mindlessly says "Bless you." To a demon.😅

22] Strokes make clean the innermost parts (E) by @depraveddame

Father Crowley feels the need to punish himself after a night with his gardener Aziraphale. Things do not go as planned ... pls do mind the tags!!! 🌶️

23] The co-pilot (e) by @e-rated-beardo

Human Au. When policeofficer Aziraphale sits in the Pub on a friday evening, he is quite happy to see his friend Crowley joining him for a pint. Though - honestly - the bottle of wine Aziraphale has up his flat light be a better idea. 😁

24] A wish your heart made (G) by @avoicebehindthestars

Set after they averted the second coming. Crowley asks Aziraphale about their future.

Be careful with this one and do mind the tags - this is my big exception from the "only good endings"-list. Still - worth a read! 💔

25] My songs know what you did in the dark (E) by @hazelsage

Aziraphale learns that humans fear dangling their legs out of bed, because a demon might lurk underneath and grab them. He tells Crowley about this ridiculous fear. And dangles a leg out of bed that night. 😉

26] You're Back (T) by @avoicebehindthestars

35 years after hell has taken him, Crowley finds himself back in London with a splitting headache, unable to do anything but lay still in the ground. Aziraphale finds him and helps him recover. 🩷So tender!

27] If you were church, i'd Go down in my knees [E] by @hazelsage

When Crowley gets to watch an angry Aziraphale defending his bookshop against measly investors, he only knows one way of worshipping his Angel. 🌶️

28] Hot Whiskey Eyes [E] by @hazelsage

Sometimes Crowley needs his mouth stuffed to be able to shut up his incessantly brain. Thankfully Aziraphale likes to help. 🌶️

Reading keeps me sane. Thank you all for writing! 🩷🤗

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #fanfic #good omens fanfic rec #good omens fandom #i read too much fanfiction #thank you for your fanfiction #i read my fanfics at night #smutty fanfiction #reading #fanfic rec #fanfics

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fkarelyxoxo · 1 year ago

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human Ao’nung 🙇‍♀️

#myart #aonung #human aonung #hes 20-21 in my human au #first artwork of 2024 #atwow #atwow aonung

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rosanna-writer · 1 month ago

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (29/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~6k

Some text in this chapter is lifted directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-ninth chapter below the readmore.

I hadn't felt properly home again until Rhys was buried inside me to the hilt. I chased the feeling until he'd whispered, "Take what you need, darling," rolling us over to put me on top.

I'd gained strength and endurance in my thighs from years of hauling deer carcasses for miles through the forest. It was so much sweeter to put it to use riding my mate instead—I could tell him to sit back and enjoy it, then go and go and go until I'd wrung every last drop of pleasure from him.

When it was done, I ended up on my back with him sprawled half on top of me. His massive wings took up most of the bed, and he'd rested his head right on the crook of my shoulder. Gently, I raked my nails along his scalp. Though I needed to be careful not to tug—Amarantha had liked to yank and pull hair—this always got him to relax properly, until he was boneless, his guard down in a way it could only be with me.

In some ways, the afterglow felt like a hard-won victory.

He'd been quiet long enough that I thought he might have fallen asleep. I was also close to it, though I'd missed touching him so much that I couldn't quite stop paying attention to the feel of his skin against mine long enough to drift off. If the visit to the Day Court had kept us apart any longer, I might have worried for both our sanity.

Despite all that research Amren conducted on mates, I still wasn't sure how anyone with a mating bond got anything done.

After a while, Rhys's voice drifted into my head, as if he was too worn out to speak aloud. By the way, I have business to discuss with you before we consult with the rest of the Inner Circle tomorrow. Better to do it now while we have time alone.

"Business?" I said.

Regarding strategy for getting the Book of Breathings. Ideally, we'd meet with the mortal queens at your family's estate. Neutral territory, where humans have invited us in. But of course, that will require Nesta's cooperation. How should we proceed?

I sighed, my breath fluttering his blue-black hair. I'd considered that very same question for days now but still hadn't come up with an answer. Nesta wouldn't allow me in the house, lest any word of my involvement with the fae get out. My family had already had their lives ruined once; they would not survive it again.

They wouldn't survive a war, either. That much was obvious to me, but Nesta's stubborn defense of Elain meant that she'd dig her heels in and refuse anything that might risk our family's social standing. It was horribly short-sighted. But if Nesta could position herself as a buffer between Elain and any faeries, she would, even if it meant all of the human realm would burn down around them.

And if I had any idea how to convince Nesta to do anything she didn't want to, my life in that cabin would have been far easier.

"I think it's a lost cause," I said.

Ultimately, it's your decision, but we might have more success if we asked Cassian to speak to her.

"Because you think they're mates?" The words were out of my mouth before I thought them through.

For a moment, Rhys was silent. Then he picked his head up to look at me, as if he knew avoiding my gaze was cowardly. "Yes," he said aloud.

Perhaps the idea should have bothered me more than it did. But I knew how easily Rhys and I were inclined to agree with each other—I could never find it in me to judge his choices too harshly when I knew I'd make the same ones in his position. Whether that was because the mating bond primed us to think the best of each other or because the Mother matched individuals who saw the world the same way, I didn't know.

If anything less than the life of every mortal were at stake, I might not have been able to stomach manipulating my family. But the possibility of war brought more hard choices with it, and I'd stopped hesitating to do the necessary, unpleasant thing a long time ago. "I'll ask Cassian about it tomorrow, then."

"I can handle it if you'd rather not."

I saw the offer for what it was—not merely him trying to shoulder my burdens, but a willingness to step in and allow me to keep my own hands clean. As High Lord, Rhys would take full responsibility for a decision like this. But I wouldn't let him.

I was his mate before I was his subordinate.

"You don't need to," I said, and it was a testament to how relaxed I was with his body curled around mine that I didn't snap the words at him.

For a long moment, he studied my face. I waited for the reminder that I could lean on him, that I didn't have to go it alone anymore, but it never came. He just leaned down and kissed me gently.

I let myself fall into it, hooking a leg around his hip to draw him closer as I parted my lips. It was a strange tightrope to walk—Rhys's mate and the High Lord's emissary, a member of a ruler's Inner Circle of advisors and a member of a tight-knit family—but I was managing to balance without falling.

But as Hybern inched closer, I doubted it would always feel quite so easy.

Our conversation wasn't over; after a few minutes of lazily kissing each other and getting tangled in the sheets, I pulled away again. "What happens if Nesta refuses? We should have another plan in place."

"You sound like you have an idea," Rhys said, propping his chin on a fist as he studied me.

"There are two halves of the Book and two of us. While you're in Summer, you could send me to the Continent to speak to them. I'm human—they might agree to hear me out."

The bond pulled so taught that for a moment, I thought my rib might have cracked. My hand flew to my chest as darkness flooded the room.

Then, as quickly as it tightened, the bond slackened. Enough light to see by returned. Rhys was still on top of me, but his wings were flared wide, no longer drooping on the sheets. Something dark flickered in his eyes.

"I don't think it would be prudent to put an ocean between us. Especially not if we were both undertaking dangerous missions. It wouldn't end well for either of us."

He wasn't wrong. Even if I took a bodyguard, the distance was too great for anyone but Rhys to winnow. We'd both be out of our minds with worry, and even if we avoided danger, I doubted we'd manage to get our hands on both halves of the Book that way.

I reached up, brushing a thumb along his cheek. "Then we'll make sure it doesn't come to that."

Rhys said nothing, just leaned into the touch. His eyes fluttered shut, and he angled his head until his nose rested against the pulse point on my wrist. I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed my scent deep into his lungs.

"How are you planning on getting the Book from Summer, then?" I said, bracing myself to be told I'd need to stay behind in Velaris.

Instead, Rhys said, "To be decided tomorrow with the rest of the Inner Circle."

I nodded. "And that's all the business we need to take care of for now, then?"

"Not unless you have something pressing."

I kissed him in answer, tipping my hips upward—the only pressing thing on my mind was pressing my body against his. One brush of my fingertips against his wing, and we were ready to begin another round of making up for time we'd just been apart.

After the too-bright sun in the Day Court, I welcomed the steady rain beating down when I returned to the training ring the next morning. A chill was already settling into my bones, the first cool early morning that signaled autumn had arrived. Fog blanketed Velaris, and as Rhys flew us up to the House of Wind, I could hardly see anything but mist.

I spent most of the warm-up avoiding the water droplets that flicked off the Illyrians' wings each time they moved. But still, I didn't complain, not when I knew that each raindrop that landed on the sensitive membranes of their wings sent a jolt of cold through their bodies. My leathers, at least, kept out the damp.

Cassian and Rhys had immediately begun sparing, and the clashing of their blades broke up the steady pattering of the rain. Azriel, as close to cheerful as he ever got, pulled me aside to work on properly gripping a knife in slippery conditions. We'd only been at it for a few minutes when something made his head whip towards the door. I glanced up, though the sound of steel-on-steel in the distance continued.

Mor had arrived.

Since I'd returned from Under the Mountain, she hadn't joined us for training. All her recent trips to the Hewn City had eaten up her time. But war was on the horizon. She needed to prepare just as much as the rest of us.

"You're late," Cassian called over his shoulder. "Rhys and Feyre managed to get here on time, and they probably spent all morning fu—"

A thud cut off the rest of that sentence. Rhys had knocked the sword out of Cassian's hand, and there was a blur of arms, legs, and wings as the fighting devolved into grappling. Next to me, Azriel made a low, disapproving noise.

"Not all of us get up as ridiculously early as you do. I didn't even sleep in," Mor said smoothly. She walked over to us, plucked a knife from the sheath on Azriel's arm, and sent it sailing into the target. She threw with perfect form, and it landed directly in the center of the bullseye.

"Not a bad start," Azriel said.

When Mor turned to him, her face was grave. "Returning to it is easier than I thought. I wonder if you ever truly forget what it's like."

"It's not the sort of thing you could ever forget."

Some sort of shared understanding seemed to pass between Mor and Azriel. I was acutely aware, again, that everyone here but me had already fought in a war once. It was a wonder they didn't view me as a child.

Mor's gaze flicked over to where Cassian and Rhys were still attempting to pin each other to the ground. Despite Cassian's massive bulk, Rhys had wriggled out of his hold multiple times. His limbs were free, but Cassian had dodged each one of his blows.

"It's been a while, cousin," she said, "but unlike Cassian, I think I could still beat you into the dirt without any trouble."

Rhys answered with a growl, and just that split second of distraction was enough for Cassian to twist his arms behind his back. The fight ended. Cassian leapt to his feet.

Rhys took Cassian's proffered hand and stood, glaring daggers at Mor. "Back it up if you're going to talk like that."

Mor unsheathed the sword at her hip. Rhys picked his own up off the mat; she stepped into the ring, and they began to circle each other. For a moment, I stood and watched; Mor had always moved differently from the Illyrians. They'd trained her in combat basics themselves, but eventually, she'd sought teachers elsewhere, learning techniques that didn't assume a fighter had wings. She was a far smaller target, more nimble on her feet in a way that made her nearly impossible to hit.

I set the knives aside after that, running through drills where Azriel knocked me over or grabbed me while Cassian observed and corrected my form. I'd improved, if a bit slowly, over the past few months. My best chance of survival was still running away, but I was better at staying on my feet and instinctively sinking my teeth into the soft skin at the crook of a would-be attacker's elbow or tearing at a High Fae's pointed ears.

When we were all finishing up, my heart returning to a normal rhythm as we ran through our last few stretches, the door to the stairwell swung open again. An umbrella emerged, the same soft grey color as the storm clouds above us. Below it, I caught a flash of black hair and a pale hand wrapped around the sapphire-encrusted handle.

All five of us froze in place.

A long raincoat swished around Amren's feet as she stepped carefully around the border of the sparring ring, then sank onto the chaise in the corner. "Since I was the only one not present, I decided to join you all today," she said, answering the question that none of us had dared ask.

Cassian's grin was positively wolfish. "It's been a while since you've come out to play."

He wasn't wrong. Before I'd gone Under the Mountain, Amren had occasionally come up here to pick at her nails while the rest of us trained. I hadn't seen her here since Rhys and I had returned, probably because she was off making sure the Night Court kept running smoothly.

"We have much to discuss, and I believe all of us—yes even you, Cassian—are capable of multitasking," she said, resting the umbrella on a slim shoulder.

Rhys must have agreed; he waved a hand, and a familiar tang of magic hit my nose as a privacy shield closed around all of us. "I intended to meet with you all this afternoon, but now is a good a time as any," he said.

Right. The Book. We'd planned to make a plan for that in the afternoon, but it was only a small sliver of time. It was difficult, these days, to get the entire Inner Circle in the same place for very long.

Mor had been sitting, leaning over with her face against her knee and her hands around her foot. She straightened and said to Rhys, "I assume you already have a plan then?"

Perhaps it was just me, but there was a sharpness in her voice that sounded almost…accusatory. Rhys snapped his wings in tight, the movement sharp enough to send another spray of water into the air. Despite his obvious agitation, his power didn't slip its leash.

"I've decided that we'll steal the Book of Breathings from the Summer Court," he said.

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain against the windows of the House. Despite the silence, however, no one's face betrayed a hint of surprise. I'd half-expected this, too. Tarquin hadn't been High Lord long enough for us to build up enough trust to ask for a small favor, let alone a powerful artifact his court had been trusted with safekeeping.

Rhys's gaze swept over all of us as he continued, "I'm interested to hear your thoughts on how to best accomplish that."

"I’ll contact my sources in the Summer Court about where the half of the Book of Breathings is hidden," Azriel said.

"No need. I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, with anyone outside of the Inner Circle."

“They can be trusted,” Azriel said with quiet steel, his scarred hands clenching at his leather-clad sides.

“We’re not taking risks where this is concerned,” Rhys merely said. He held Azriel’s stare, and I could almost hear the silent words Rhys added, It is no judgment or reflection on you, Az. Not at all.

But Azriel yielded no tinge of emotion as he nodded, his hands unfurling. It was Cassian who set down his glass of water and said, "Then how the hell are we stealing it if we don't know where it's hidden?"

"I'll have to pluck that information from Tarquin's mind," Rhys said.

"You think you can manage that undetected?" Amren scoffed. "It's your funeral, I suppose."

"Amren's right. You might as well sign your death warrant if you try and invade another High Lord's thoughts," Mor said.

Rhys's jaw tightened. "I would have succeeded tunneling through Amarantha's shields at that damn party if I hadn't gone alone. At least some of you will be accompanying me on this trip. I refuse to make the same mistake again. This time, I— I'm asking for help."

Guilt gnawed at Rhys every single time he delegated a task to the Inner Circle rather than complete it himself, even as he recovered from a fifty-year long ordeal Under the Mountain; he was, as Amren had said, a self-sacrificing idiot. Admitting he couldn't do this all himself cost him something.

But he'd managed it. That might be the reason we had a shot at survival.

Amren crossed her legs, the jeweled buckles on her rain boots glinting as she moved. "I've been telling you for centuries that all the magic in the world doesn't preclude you from needing assistance, boy. Late as it is, I'm glad you've finally learned that lesson."

Rhys bowed his head. His wings drooped just a bit, and for a moment, he looked less like a High Lord and more like a pupil who'd just gotten a verbal lashing from a teacher. I wondered, not for the first time, exactly how young he'd been when she'd taught him to control the immense power that thrummed through his veins.

"Are you asking for bodyguards," Azriel said darkly, "or a distraction?"

"One of each, I think. Though I'm open to suggestions," Rhys said.

Across from me, Cassian's wings rustled. "The Summer Court is full of hotheaded fools and arrogant pricks. I should go."

"Bringing a male who wrecked a building last time he visited is a horrible strategy. Or have you forgotten that you're banned for life?" Mor said. The surprise must have shown on my face because she looked to me and added with a wink, "Remind me to tell you the story next time I've got a couple glasses of wine in me."

Cassian had been unwrapping his hands when Amren arrived, but now, I noticed that he'd stopped. As if he was remaining prepared for another fight. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rhys cut him off, violet eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'll need you in the human realm, Cassian. If I'm unreachable in the Summer Court for any reason, then I don't trust anyone but you to keep watch on the Archeron manor."

"Then don't take Azriel, either," Mor said, her tone brooking no argument.

"Agreed," Rhys said, "bringing my spymaster would send the wrong message and put them on their guard."

That left Mor, Amren, and me. On the rare occasions Rhys left the borders of the Night Court, he preferred to have either his Second or his Third stay back and guard Velaris.

And I certainly wasn't powerful enough to do that. Or to protect Rhys from another High Lord, either.

"Mor would be the better option if you wanted to appear friendly. She's built a rapport with Cresseida as they've corresponded since Amarantha's death, and if we're stealing the Book, that will blindside them more effectively," Amren said.

Cassian sighed. "Robbing another court blind could blow up in our faces, even if we're not trying this around the Summer Solstice. Are we sure we need to steal?"

I wasn't quite sure what the time of year had to do with it, but Cassian had said it so matter-of-factly that I must have been the only one who didn't know. Despite living in Prythian for months now, I still didn't understand faerie holidays. Summer solstice in my village had been nothing more than some donated ale from a local tavern and a few half-hearted line dances before most of us returned to tilling and planting.

This seemed more serious, and that left me with a faint sense of unease.

"Yes," Rhys said tightly. "As much as I'd like to avoid making an enemy of the Summer Court, we can't risk the possibility that Tarquin will say no then sell the information to the highest bidder."

Keeping our true motives hidden protected the Night Court. Rhys saw that clearly, even if he didn't relish the thought of stealing. It was yet another tough call he wasn't shying away from.

I just hoped it didn't end with blood on his hands, like it had with the Summer Court faerie Under the Mountain.

With the entire Inner Circle here, I didn't want to draw him into a lengthy mind-to-mind conversation. I merely sent an image down the bond, of my fingers interlacing with his. He sent a pulse back, a feeling I couldn't quite identify.

"Are you hoping they just won't notice, then?" Cassian demanded. "Because that's bullshit."

"Presumably, Rhys is banking on the assumption that he'll be gone by the time they notice," Azriel said, disapproval evident in his voice, too.

They were right—no surprise there, considering they were both strategists. The situation left us with no options that didn't come perilously close to ending in disaster, and just the thought of it made my chest tighten. War, perhaps, was an inevitability, and the real question was merely of how much damage we could mitigate.

I hadn't truly considered the possibility that I might go to the Summer Court. As a human, my role had seemed lie primarily in obtaining the other half of the Book. Now, I reconsidered and wracked my brain for the scraps of information that I'd read about the Summer Court in the history books the priestesses had recommended.

An idea struck me. "Would we have a better chance of pulling this off if we had someone else we could pin the blame on?" I said.

Rhys's voice became a lethal caress, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold rain. "Say more, Feyre."

"The Summer Court doesn't involve itself in conflicts," I said, "We could ask if they'd be willing to serve as a neutral meeting place, now that Under the Mountain has been sealed off."

"After fifty years together underground, it will be at least a few centuries before the High Lords agree to convene in one location," Amren said, shaking her head.

"It doesn't have to be all of them. What if we told them we wanted to meet with Tamlin and observers from a neutral court, so I could finally provide some answers about the time between Calanmai and Amarantha's death? If I told them a few half-truths, that could be enough of a distraction for Rhys to get into Tarquin's mind undetected, and when the Book turns up missing, we blame Spring."

"If Feyre is coming, then I'm bringing Amren. They're all utterly terrified of her," Rhys said. Amren frowned—annoyed, perhaps, that he'd made a decision without asking her. But he added, just a bit too casually, "There is also a great deal of treasure to be found in the Summer Court. If the Book is hidden, Amren, you might find other objects to your liking."

"Very well," she said, "I'm in."

I didn't exactly relish the thought of facing my kidnapper again. But if I was doing it flanked by Rhys and Amren, no one would dare lay a hand on me.

Azriel said, "If that's the plan, then we should limit the attendance to three per court. Tarquin will likely want Cresseida and Varian there, and I assume Tamlin will bring Lucien and Ianthe. Feyre, that's—"

The sound of her name sent a wave of white-hot rage coursing through me. For a moment, I could think of nothing but the need to see her guts spilling out of her. My hand curled around handle of the knife strapped to my thigh.

"I know exactly who that bitch is," I ground out through clenched teeth, "and what she tried to do to Rhys."

Gods, if we really needed a distraction, then I could certainly provide one by severing Ianthe's head from her body. But perhaps that would be too quick, too painless—

A gentle tug on the bond interrupted my train of thought.

"Cauldron, Feyre. That was at least a hundred years ago," Rhys was saying aloud, shaking his head in disbelief. "Who even told you about it?"

"You were still mine back then, even if I wasn't born yet. She had no right to breathe the same air as you, let alone bear you a child. The priestesses know that and told me when she returned to Spring."

Someone made a noise that sounded like a snort—either Cassian or Mor, I couldn't tell. Not when I was too distracted by the feeling of Rhys's arms wrapping around me. He'd moved too quickly for my eyes to follow, but in an instant, the scales of our leathers were scraping against each other as he pulled me to him. My anger disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by the contentment that flooded me each time I got near my mate.

One word floated through the crack in my shields. Yours.

His lips brushed my cheek; I wanted more, to tear his clothes off and leave a few bite marks on his skin, but we couldn't exactly do that in front of the rest of the Inner Circle. I merely smiled and relaxed against him.

"Ianthe can't fight. Feyre could probably kill her if she wanted to," Cassian said.

At that, a flicker of lust warmed Rhys's end of the bond. I pressed my legs together, resisting the urge to drive my ass back like a cat in heat.

Mor groaned, "Please try to get the Book without any casualties. And don't stink up the place either, you two."

Rhys just smiled and kissed me again.

The Inner Circle didn't linger much longer after that. Once I changed into dry clothes, I spent most of the day in the library, where I claimed one of the leather couches near a fireplace and began working my way through a stack of books about the Summer Court.

Cassian, to my surprise, had readily agreed to speak to Nesta. Even after I'd warned him that she wouldn't like what we were asking of her, he'd only grinned at me and said handling it would be "an honor and a pleasure." Perhaps it was merely because he liked a challenge, but I wondered if Rhys was indeed correct that a mating bond might snap between them.

It would certainly explain why Cassian was the only person I'd ever known to be so eager to speak to Nesta.

Even after a few hours of reading, however, I still didn't understand exactly what he'd meant about the Summer Solstice earlier. I didn't work up the courage to ask. So far, Calanmai had been the only holiday I'd experienced in Prythian, and that had been...well, eventful.

It wasn't until that evening, when Rhys and I were alone in the townhouse, sharing a quiet dinner, that I said, "Why is it for the best that we won't be in Adriata until after Summer Solstice?"

Rhys studied me over his wineglass, probably wondering why I'd asked out of the blue. I tried not to squirm as I waited for an answer—now that the words were out of my mouth, it seemed silly to be afraid of a holiday.

"Superstition," he said eventually. "The solar courts are the only three that experience a change in seasons. The Summer Court doesn't have any particular sway over Night during the summer season, but with the stories about how magic waxes and wanes, I'll confess it would worry me to attempt to steal from them on the shortest night of the year."

I kept eating as I considered that and attempted to ignore the violet eyes boring into me. Rhys was quiet, but he didn't have to say anything—his expression alone was an obvious request to say what I was thinking.

But in truth, I felt like a bit of an idiot for not having considered the connection between the seasons, the length of days and nights, magic, and the courts of Prythian. A part of me was glad I hadn't asked in front of the Inner Circle. They probably thought me naive enough as it was.

It did beg another question, though. One I'd have to ask carefully. "Do we....do anything for the Winter Solstice? Here in Night?"

"It's one of our most important days of the year."

Of course it was. I scowled. "That doesn't actually answer my question, Rhys."

"There are services in the temples, but few people actually attend, in all honesty. It's time off spent with family, feasting and exchanging gifts."

"That's all?"

Another feline smile. "Did you want there to be more?"

I stilled. Rhys couldn't know. I hadn't told anyone, and my shields were secure and had been for months now.

"Out with it, Feyre," he said. I started to tell him that there was nothing at all, but Rhys just rolled his eyes. "I'm not reading your thoughts, but it's clearly written all over your face that there's something you haven't mentioned."

"Promise you won't do anything with the information."

"No."

We glared at each other over our plates. A talon ran down my shields—playful, somehow. Not a threat at all.

"Rhysand..." My use of his full name was an obvious warning. He just smirked, and I realized I'd inadvertently turned this into a game for him. I sighed, unwilling to prolong the conversation when he'd find out eventually. I mumbled, "I was born on the Winter Solstice."

He blinked in surprise. "You were born on the longest night of the year."

"Yes, but there's no reason to make a fuss about it." I knew Rhys, though. He'd fuss anyway.

Predictably, he said, "There's every reason in the world to make a fuss about it."

I shook my head. My family had forgotten my birthday often enough that I'd lost interest in celebrating it well before we'd lost our fortune. And now, I didn't see the point in counting the years as an immortal.

Unwilling to talk about it, I merely pushed my peas around my plate. We went quiet. But I could still feel the weight of his stare, even with my own eyes cast downward, so I made sure to take a few bites of food before I gave Rhys another reason to worry.

"Mine is exactly two months before yours, and I hardly celebrate it, either," he added.

My brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"It's uncomfortable to receive birthday gifts as a High Lord. Solstice is a bit different—it's an exchange. But otherwise, there's enough bowing and scraping to me every other day of the year, and I hate the thought of anyone feeling obligated."

I hadn't considered that. But even as a trainee in an Illyrian war-camp, I supposed Rhys couldn't avoid the strangeness that came with being a crown prince, long before he'd become High Lord. Most of the Night Court probably remembered the announcement of his arrival into the world.

Of course he hated attention just as much as I did.

"Can we agree to forget each other's birthdays, then?" After all, we'd made it this far as a mated pair without knowing. It clearly wasn't important.

"No," he said flatly, and I glared. More softly, he continued, "I used to mark the occasion with a night out with the Inner Circle. Dinner, drinks, dancing. No gifts."

Before Amarantha, I realized. Rhys had fifty years of celebrations to catch up on, and I couldn't begrudge him that. "That sounds…nice," I admitted.

"If you'd rather I didn't buy you anything, at least allow me to make you climax twenty times on Solstice."

He tossed it out so casually that I was sure he was serious. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time he'd wrung more pleasure out of me than I'd thought possible, his relentless hard thrusts reducing me to a trembling, mewling mess.

But even as my cheeks heated at the thought, I found myself balling up a napkin and chucking it at his head. "Your cock is not a gift."

By now, I'd thrown enough objects at him that Rhys wasn't caught off-guard. In one smooth movement, he dodged and used a wing to smack the crumpled paper, sending it sailing back in my direction. I caught it deftly in one hand.

He winked. The napkin dissolved into mist—and me into a fit of laughter.

A letter from Nesta materialized next to my plate. Odd—I hadn't expected to hear back from her so quickly. Cassian wasn't due back at my family's manor for another few days. Ignoring Rhys, I opened it immediately and began to read.

Dear Feyre,

Cassian has explained the situation regarding the Book of Breathings to me, and there's no use mincing words—I do not want any more faeries in my house. That said, I recognize that it would be unwise to ignore the threat posed by a potential invasion by Hybern. I am considering hosting this meeting with the Queens of the Realm. In return, I would ask for your assistance in a matter regarding Elain.

A lord's son has been courting her, and I do not approve of the match. His name is Greysen Nolan, and his father has devoted himself to hunting the fae when they cross the Wall. Even though he is kind enough and clearly smitten with her, I have my doubts she would be safe if he one day discovered his wife's sister is married to a High Lord of Prythian. This makes him an unacceptable choice of husband for her.

Unfortunately, Elain is falling in love with him. As such, my attempts at warning her away from him are falling on deaf ears. Father is in Neva, but even if he were home, he's too eager to see us married off to do anything about it.

I'd appreciate it greatly if you or Rhysand could intervene before the situation gets out of hand. Whatever it takes to get him away from Elain with as little emotional upset and damage to her reputation as possible. This seems, if I'm not mistaken, like the sort of thing that could be accomplished with a glamour or your husband's ability to manipulate minds.

Please let me know if you're amenable to this. If so, I will make the necessary arrangements to contact the Queens once Greysen has been taken care of. For Elain's safety, I insist that you continue to allow her to believe you're staying with that fictional Aunt Ripleigh, and that you and your court continue to keep quiet about our family's involvement.

Best,

Nesta

I read the letter twice, then relayed its contents to Rhys. Nesta's request seemed so…well, feasible. I'd expected there to be much more of a fight to get her to agree. But then again, her first priority had always been Elain, no matter how badly I'd needed her, too.

And Cassian was, perhaps, a miracle worker.

"You can tell Nesta that it's no trouble, of course," Rhys said, waving his hand in a gesture that looked painfully aristocratic. "Scrambling one boy's mind is a small price to pay to keep us all safe."

That was all the discussion the matter needed. I sent a quick response to Nesta, letting her know, and then Rhys and I returned to our meal. The next day, letters went out to the Summer Court and, later, the Queens, each with a careful request for a meeting.

For a while, we could do nothing but wait for a response and hope they agreed.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

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oceandolores · 6 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If we died tonight, I'd die yours,"

summary: joel found you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

previous | chapter 20

next | ending

The cold seeped into your bones, icy and unyielding against the concrete floor, and you could feel every bruise, every cut, every ache in your body.

The pain was an unrelenting, throbbing reminder of everything you’d endured, but that wasn’t the worst part. What tore at you now was the horror of seeing Emma, your best friend, taken from this world in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible had you not witnessed it with your own eyes.

Her life, her laughter, her warmth—gone. Because of you.

A sob caught in your throat as the weight of it crushed you. Emma hadn’t deserved this; she had a whole life stretched out before her, full of hope and love.

She had just started it, a new chapter, a new promise. And now, because she’d tried to save you, it had ended in unimaginable horror. The images wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop replaying in your mind.

Jim—God, he was probably gone too. Gone, because of you.

Desperation clawed at your chest, leaving you empty and hollow. You could feel yourself slipping, hope draining out of you like a slow bleed, and something bitter was taking its place.

A deep, aching question clawed at the edges of your mind, one you’d never dared ask before, but one that refused to stay silent any longer:

Why would God let this happen to you?

You’d loved Him, stayed faithful, tried to be everything you were taught you should be. And yet, here you were, in the darkest pit, left to rot.

Why?

Tears blurred your vision, and somewhere between the sobs and the silence, you felt something break inside you.

You stopped praying, stopped hoping for anything good. The words, the comfort, the promises—all of it felt hollow.

You were empty now, just a shell of everything you once believed.

The door creaked open, and in he came—Negan, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a death knell. He looked at you, pity mingling with something else in his gaze, a twisted satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy.

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

“See, doll, I didn’t want it to come to this. But you had to go and make things difficult. If you’d just listened to me—if you’d been my good girl—none of this would’ve happened.”

The rage bubbled up, scalding and raw. You looked at him, every ounce of hatred burning in your eyes. “What did you do to her?” The words barely made it past the tightness in your throat, but they were laced with venom.

You could feel it, the sickening truth—whatever he’d done, it was something worse than you could imagine.

Negan chuckled, an unholy sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t you worry about her,” he said, a dark glint in his eye.

“I took real good care of her.” The words lingered, taunting, but before you could say anything more, he pulled a medical kit from his bag, the glint of a syringe catching your eye.

Panic shot through you, and you scrambled backward, heart pounding. “Don’t… don’t touch me!"

Negan’s eyes softened, his tone suddenly too gentle, too calm. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, reaching for your arm. “I just need you to play along for a bit.”

But you jerked back, thrashing against his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracked, fueled by the horror churning in your chest, the feeling of his hand on your skin like a brand.

The gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stare. His grip tightened, bruising, and in one swift motion, he struck you across the face, the impact leaving stars in your vision.

“Listen to me, you stupid little bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly. “I’m done asking nicely. You’re going to be a good girl and do as I say, or you’re going to wish you had.”

You barely registered the sting of the needle as he plunged it into your arm. The world began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges, and you fought it, clawing for consciousness, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But the drug took hold fast, dragging you down, down, until the world was nothing but darkness.

***

The address Negan gave led Joel to an unassuming neighborhood, quiet and tucked away, where homes lined the street like silent sentries.

Everything here was normal, almost obscenely so, and the ordinariness of it all set his nerves on edge. How could something so terrible be hiding behind these closed doors?

How could neighbors go about their days, clueless to the horror lurking so close? He took a long, deep breath, steeling himself, fingers grazing over the cold metal of his pistol holstered by his side.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew this was a trap. But nothing—nothing—would stop him from stepping into it if it meant the chance to see you alive again.

Before he entered, Joel slipped his phone from his pocket, sending his location to Tommy, leaving the device outside on a rock by the front gate.

He couldn’t afford distractions; whatever came next would be a fight to the end.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt it in his bones, that tether connecting him to you, stretched thin but unbroken. He knew you were here, somewhere behind these walls, waiting, needing him.

His heart ached at the thought of what you’d endured. It wasn’t right—none of this was right.

Inside, the air was thick with rot and rust, the scent of decay seeping into Joel’s lungs as he moved through the shadowed house.

Every step felt like a descent deeper into hell, each room echoing with the silent horror Negan had constructed within these walls.

The quiet was suffocating, pressing against his senses as he advanced with tense, deliberate steps, the weight of his weapon a cold comfort against his side.

The metallic smell of blood seemed to seep through the walls, thickening the air like rot as Joel moved down the dim corridor, his gaze fixed on the heavy big metal door at the end.

Blood was smeared across its surface, a dark, cruel stain, like the mark of some unholy ritual. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea rising in his throat, steadying himself with a muttered plea.

Please, God, let her be alive.

With a rough, trembling hand, he pushed open the door, entering a space so silent and hollow it felt like stepping into a tomb. The walls were metallic and gray, shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light.

A hulking freezer stood in the corner, and around it lay instruments of terror—chainsaws, rusted wrenches, and knives coated in dried blood.

This was no ordinary room; it was a pit of nightmares.

He barely took three steps before his gaze froze on the horror ahead—a headless body hung from a butcher’s hook.

With a dress dangling from her shoulders, hair matted against blood-smeared fabric. For a sickening moment, his heart stopped, every nerve screaming as he tried to push down the dread that it was you.

But it wasn’t.

He knew you. The shape of your body, the softness of your shoulders, the line of your arms. Relief coursed through him, but only for a split second.

Desperately, he moved toward the freezer, steeling himself for whatever horror he might find. Inside, jars lined the shelves—heads frozen in twisted, agonized expressions.

Women. Girls to be exact. They don't look older than 20.

His stomach churned violently, but he couldn’t look away. And there, in a fresh jar, he saw Emma’s familiar face, her eyes closed forever in a peaceful, sickening slumber.

His chest tightened as the desperate, icy panic surged within him. He’s taken them all.

As he backed away, his gaze landed on a large object draped in thick canvas, its edges sagging like a dark secret. Swallowing, he approached, slowly pulling back the cover, revealing a small dog cage, lined with soiled fabric and stained in red.

It's you.

He could barely breathe as he took in the sight, disbelief warring with hope. Inside, you lay motionless, your body crumpled and cold, pale in the dim light, bruises shadowing your face and arms.

Every inch of you looked fragile, lifeless. Joel’s heart shattered, the pain so raw it made him stagger.

"No... no," he whispered, stumbling forward. "No.” His voice cracked, shattering the silence.

He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching through the bars, hands trembling as he fumbled with the lock.

It wouldn’t budge, metal biting into his hands as he yanked, pulled, and beat at it in fury until finally, with a final, desperate heave, it gave way.

He pulled your body in his arms, a wave of coldness seeping through his skin as he held you close, brushing a shaking hand against your cheek, as if he could will the warmth back into you.

“Baby…I’m here.” His voice was barely a whisper, as fragile as he’d ever been, a man torn open.

He pressed his ear to your chest, desperate for any sign of life, but your skin was cold, your pulse faint to nonexistent, the quiet threatening to consume him.

"I'm here now… open your eyes, babygirl," he whispered, voice raw and trembling, searching for any flicker, any faint sign of life.

He leaned close, brushing his thumb over your bruised skin, trying to will you back to him. "Doll… please… open your eyes. I'm here."

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body trembling with the weight of the moment, and yet—somewhere, deep in his bones—he felt you.

You couldn’t be gone. Not you. This couldn’t be happening.

Desperation clawed at him as he murmured again, “I’m here… please, please… doll…” The sound of his voice, broken and laced with grief, shattered in the silence.

He clutched you tighter, pressing you to his chest, a hollow ache blooming in the very marrow of him. "Please… don't do this to me, baby…"

"Don't do this to me..."

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

He’d long forgotten how to ask for mercy, how to whisper words into the void and hope something beyond him might listen.

But here, in this moment, he found himself clinging to the last, fragile remnants of belief, calling out to a God he’d long turned away from, begging—pleading—that you be spared.

His lips moved in a silent prayer, the words barely more than a broken murmur, all his hope wrapped into each fractured plea. Please… don’t take her. Don’t let her go.

His world collapsed into this single, unbearable moment. Everything—the pain, the emptiness, the years he’d spent buried in his own grief—shrank down to this: holding you, willing you to stay.

A part of him whispered that you were gone, that he’d come too late. It sliced through him, the pain cold and merciless, tearing at him from the inside.

But he couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He held you tighter, as if he could pull you back to life with sheer, desperate force.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispered, his voice a soft plea, thick with tears. "You promised me… remember? You promised."

His tears fell onto your skin, mingling with the blood that marred your face, his grief seeping into every inch of you. He bent his head, pressing his lips against your forehead, his tears hot and relentless.

Every memory, every moment with you flashed through his mind, a lifetime of love condensed into seconds. The laughter you’d shared, the softness in your eyes when you’d look at him—all of it now hung in the balance, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Joel's grip tightened, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you, even now, from everything dark and vile in this world. "Please, come back to me," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath, the words pulled from the deepest part of him.

Come back.

His chest ached, his heart beating against a wall of sorrow so thick it was suffocating. And still, he held you, as though love alone could tether your soul back to him, could fill the silence that had swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, the silence between you shattered as you gasped awake, air flooding into your lungs in a desperate, rattling breath.

Joel’s heart jolted with such force he almost pulled back, but instead, he held you tighter, his relief an overwhelming wave crashing over him.

You thrashed weakly in his arms, vision blurred, disoriented and terrified, your voice breaking in panicked cries. "No! No! Don’t touch me!"

"Hey, hey… it’s me. It’s me," he murmured softly, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he tried to calm you.

His voice was thick, a rough whisper, barely holding back the tears of relief as he drew you closer, feeling the steady warmth of your breath against his chest.

"Joel?" He felt you relax, and slowly, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around you, silently thanking whatever force was left in this world for bringing you back to him.

"Thank you...Thank you God," he whispered to God, to bring you back.

Your blurred vision cleared, and as your gaze fell on his face, the tears came, spilling over in a torrent of relief, of exhaustion, of love.

You clung to him, like a child, letting out every fear, every longing, until the weight of his presence seemed to ground you, to make you feel safe again.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking.

He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your head, his words soft and steady. "I got you. You’re safe now… I’m here now." His heart clenched as he felt you collapse against him, trusting him to carry the weight of this moment.

The horror of everything he’d witnessed, everything he’d feared, lingered on the edges of his mind, but with you here in his arms, he could finally breathe.

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

The warmth of Joel's embrace, that kiss—long, desperate, everything unspoken between you poured into it—all of it felt like salvation, like drowning in relief only to be pulled into air and held there, safe.

Your lips pressed together in a fierce, shared need to feel every ache, every moment of fear, longing, and love—the kiss deepening as if it could carry every bit of pain you’d endured and let it dissolve in his arms.

For a moment, it was just the two of you against the horror, the emptiness that had swallowed you whole.

Here, with him, you are finally feel alive again.

But then, the moment split open. A shadow loomed behind him, and a chill ran down your spine, the dread slithering into your heart before you even turned.

You pulled back, eyes wide, breath catching as you saw Negan standing there, his mouth twisted in a cruel, dark smirk.

In his hands was that familiar bat, glinting under the dim light, raised with lethal intent.

"NO, JOEL—" you managed, your voice breaking as terror surged through you, but it was already too late.

The bat crashed down with a sickening, brutal force, and Joel’s body crumpled beneath the blow.

“Joel!” Your scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. His form lay motionless, blood slowly trickling from the wound on his head, staining his face as his eyes fell shut.

The sight shattered you.

Negan grabbed you, yanking you away with unyielding strength. You kicked, you clawed, but it was no use. “NO! Don’t do anything to him! Please, don’t hurt him, don’t—” But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

He threw you back into the cold, unforgiving cage, the door slamming shut with a merciless clang.

"NEGAN, NO!" You pounded against the bars, fists slamming as you screamed. He only watched, amused, as though your desperation was an orchestra he enjoyed conducting.

Across the room, Negan dragged Joel’s limp body to a chair, binding his hands and legs with thick, rough ropes. He worked meticulously, each knot tight, his gaze never leaving Joel's battered face.

Blood dripped from the wound on Joel’s head, trailing slowly down his neck, and you felt a crushing helplessness as you watched him, your voice cracking as you screamed.

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

You clawed at the bars until your nails split, your hands bloody, but the steel held fast.

The reality of the moment sank into your bones like ice, each second stretching with dread. "NEGAN, PLEASE!" you begged, your voice breaking, but he only turned toward you with a mocking, cold look.

"That’s the last time he’ll get to touch you," Negan sneered, disgust twisting in his voice as he gestured back at the spot where you’d kissed Joel, where you’d clung to him like he was your last hope. “Disgusting.”

***

Joel’s world flickered back to life in fragments, his mind swimming as he fought the waves of blackness pressing against him.

His head throbbed with a searing pain, and his vision blurred as he forced his eyes open, seeing only flashes of movement and shapes at first.

Then, bit by bit, his sight cleared, and he could see you through the haze, slumped against the bars of a cage, tears streaming down your face as you called his name, desperate and broken.

His heart twisted at the sight, fear tearing through him as he tried to reach for you, only to feel the bite of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

He was bound to the chair, unable to move. Panic settled into his chest, sharp and unforgiving. “Doll…” he managed, his voice hoarse and shaky as he struggled against the restraints, the blood from his wound still warm, trickling down his neck.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade scraping against bone. "Well, look who’s finally awake,"he jeered, stepping into Joel’s view, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted pleasure.

Every word that left Negan’s lips felt like an assault, each syllable laced with venom.

The sight of him, standing there so casually, was enough to stir something inside Joel that was deeper than fury—it was primal, raw, a burning hatred that ignited within him.

Every muscle in his body screamed to break free, to get to you, to tear Negan apart. He pulled at the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin, but they held fast, as immovable as the horror that had unfolded.

"I'm going to kill you," Joel growled, the words thick with rage and the promise of retribution. The air around him seemed to crackle with violence, his every word a threat, his every breath heavy with hatred.

Negan’s laugh was low and cruel, a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without warning, he drove his fist into Joel's stomach, and the sound of it—the sickening thud—echoed in the room, a sharp crack of pain that sent a wave of terror through you.

“No!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands reaching helplessly through the bars, as if you could stop the onslaught with your mere presence.

Negan wiped the blood from his knuckles and smiled. "You think you can save her, huh? Think you can play hero, Miller?" he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn.

"C’mon, you can’t be that stupid. You really think I’d kill her? Please… she’s way too much fun to kill." He sneered, another brutal punch landing on Joel’s face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

Joel’s eyes were darkened with pain, his mouth now filled with blood, but the fire in him didn’t waver. "I’m gonna fucking kill you," Joel spat, the blood dribbling from his lips, his voice hoarse with fury.

Negan tilted his head, studying Joel with a twisted grin. "Tough guy, huh?" he said, mocking the very idea of Joel’s strength. "Well, let’s see how tough you are when you can’t do a damn thing about it."

Joel’s heart was thundering in his chest, the pulse of his veins matching the brutal rhythm of the punches he endured.

But his spirit didn’t falter; it only burned brighter with every insult, with every blow that landed on his battered body.

Negan circled him, like a predator sizing up its prey, leaning in close, his voice thick with venom as he whispered into Joel’s ear. "What were you thinking, huh? That you could just walk in here and stop me?" He chuckled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with mocking pity.

"We were fine without you. Hell, we were thriving without you." His eyes flicked over to you in the cage, a dark glimmer in them. "She was happy, you know. Didn’t need you to be in her head. But here you are, playing the white knight, trying to save the girl you don’t even fucking deserve."

Negan's voice was like poison, dripping from his lips with a slow, deliberate cruelty, each word laced with venom meant to tear Joel down, to twist the knife deeper.

He knew the weight of Joel's guilt, the shadows of his past, and now, he was going to use it against him.

"You think you deserve her?" Negan’s tone was mocking, cruel, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "You? You think you can be her hero, Miller? You’ve known her since she was a little girl, right? Since she was three? And now you’re fucking her?" His voice rose with each word, the venom thickening, as if he could make Joel choke on the very idea.

"Disgusting."

Joel’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t respond—not yet. Not when Negan was playing with fire, fanning the flames of his mind, trying to ignite a spark of doubt in his heart.

Joel remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his gaze burning holes into the floor beneath him.

Negan was trying to gaslight him, make him feel like the monster, make him believe the lies about his relationship with you.

Negan leaned in, his breath hot against Joel's ear, like a shadow whispering sweet poison into his soul. "You really think you’re a hero, huh?" He chuckled darkly.

"You think you’re saving her? You’re just like them, Miller. Just like Ben. Just like that goddamn pedophile you killed. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it—taking matters into your own hands, playing God, playing judge, jury, and executioner. You’re the same fucking monster they were. You’re just too stupid to see it."

The words sent a cold shiver through Joel’s veins, like ice water splashing against his skin.

The ghosts of his past clawed at him, the blood-stained memories that had been haunting him for years now bubbling up to the surface. He had killed Ben and Jamie. Killed them to protect her.

"You killed them because you want her to be all yours. Not because you want to protect her,"

Joel’s jaw clenched, but his mind started to churn with the doubt Negan planted, each word a tiny crack in the wall Joel had built around himself.

He had been justifying everything, hadn’t he? His actions… the things he did for you. It was all for you, wasn’t it? To protect you.

But Negan was playing with fire, and his words were like gasoline—burning through the edges of Joel’s sanity, forcing him to look at the truth through a new, ugly lens.

“God,” Negan’s voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conversational, “I watched her for a long time. Long before you even fucking noticed her.”

He stepped closer, his breath sour, smelling of something rotten, something foul. “The first time I met her father… I was going to repent. I was going to change. Hell, Naomi told me to visit Reverend Gibson, to clean up my act, to find some peace. I was gonna find salvation. All those other girls—bored me. But then… I saw her."

"She was in that white sundress, innocent, pure. I thought—" He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head. “I thought God wanted me to have her, Miller. Maybe she was my redemption. To have a pure, sweet, innocent soul to redeem my sins."

"But then you showed up. Like a fucking rat you have to showed up for God's sake!"

Joel felt his breath catch, like he was drowning in the weight of Negan’s words, each one pressing down on him, pushing him deeper into a pit of guilt and self-loathing.

Negan’s laughter was sickening. It clawed at Joel’s chest, and the air felt thick, choking. “You… you played the fucking hero, huh? You couldn’t leave well enough alone."

Negan walking circled him, "You thought you could save her from her misery just because her father disciplined her. So what, Joel? Girls need to be fucking taught!"

"I agree with her father on that one. She was a brat! and oh she still is!"

The silence was deafening after those words. They hung in the air like smoke, choking the life out of Joel, filling him with a slow, creeping dread.

His mind spun, the thought of you, so innocent, so pure, now tangled in his web. Negan was poisoning everything, every memory of you, twisting it into something ugly, something perverse.

Negan didn’t stop, his words like chains tightening around Joel’s neck, dragging him deeper into the muck. "You led her to you, Joel. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t."

"You acted like you could protect her. But you can’t even protect yourself from your own past, can you? You’re so goddamn broken, so messed up. And now you’re just taking advantage of her.

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a storm of guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. Was he—had he really led you here? Was he really just as bad as Negan said?

Negan’s voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dragging the words through Joel's mind like claws on glass. “She was your daughter’s friend, Joel. Ellie’s friend.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Joel’s ear.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? You’ve fucked your daughter’s friend. That’s how far you’ve fallen.”

Joel’s head swam, the weight of the words crashing over him, drowning him in a sea of doubt and self-loathing.

His grip tightened on the ropes, his knuckles white, but there was something else now—a spark of something dark, something cold in his chest.

"What do you think Jane would say, huh?" with the mention of his late wife, Joel's body tighten up.

"You think she’d be proud of you, molesting Evelyn’s daughter? Evelyn, Jane’s best friend. You’re disgusting, Joel. All of this? It’s on you."

Negan continued, his voice a low, mocking growl, pushing Joel to the edge. “You’re no better than any of us. Look at you, Miller."

"You took advantage of her. She was just a little girl who needed someone to teach her. And you? You saw an opportunity, didn’t you?”

"You are pathetic," Negan's word hit like a snake's fangs, stung through Joel's heart.

Joel clenched his fists harder, his body trembling with rage, fear, and a deep sense of self-loathing. His throat burned as he fought to keep the tears back, to keep from choking on the agony of his own thoughts. The floodgates were closing, but they were trembling, about to burst.

What has he done?

Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom now. He couldn’t focus. His mind was torn between the images of you—so sweet, so innocent—and the cruel words that Negan kept throwing at him, one after another.

But then, through the haze of doubt, through the suffocating weight of Negan’s venom, Joel heard your voice.

“No!” You screamed, your voice breaking through the madness, a raw, desperate plea.

“Joel, don’t listen to him!” The words trembled on your lips, an echo of everything you needed to say, everything you wanted Joel to hear.

"Don't listen to him!" you screamed again, your breath ragged, your throat burning from the effort. The sound of Negan’s poison lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and thick, but you couldn’t let it smother the truth.

You needed him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

"Joel, look at me!" you pleaded, your hands gripping the bars of the cage so tightly your fingers turned white.

Every word Negan had said felt like a bullet to your heart, but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t—let Joel fall into the same trap. He was better than this.

He is better than them.

"You’re not like them, Joel. You never were!" The words spilled from your mouth, raw and desperate, desperate to break through the fog that was clouding his mind.

You needed him to see the truth—the truth that was you and him, the life you shared, the love you both fought for in the darkest corners.

"You love me. In your own way, but you love me, Joel! You saved me! You gave me a life I never thought I deserved." Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you were feeling, the deep well of emotion that surged between you both.

"Joel, I love you."

"I love you, Joel. and you love me, you are my savior, you saved me."

"Look at me! Look at me, Joel! Don't let him under your skin, please,"

Negan, on the other side of this fragile moment, stood grinning, eyes glinting with amusement, as if watching a puppet fight its strings.

He saw Joel waver, saw the flicker of doubt and fear, and he thrived on it. His smile was nothing short of wicked, enjoying the chaos he had stirred.

He had set his trap, and now he watched, savoring the confusion that was slowly chipping away at Joel’s resolve.

You could see Joel, fighting against the chaos in his own mind, the weight of Negan’s twisted words pulling at him like a chain.

His eyes flickered, lost, haunted, caught between his past and the present, between the lies and the truth. But then—then—he looked at you.

For a moment, it was like time stopped. The world held its breath, and all that existed was you and him.

His gaze locked on yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the raw, unspoken love, the pain, the guilt, the shame, but also the fight.

The fight to break free, the fight to protect you, the fight to keep you safe.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft but steady now, as if you were trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.

"You are so much better than this. You’re not like them, Joel. You’re not a monster. You are the best father Ellie and Sarah could ever want, Joel. They will be proud of you, she would have. The best man I have ever wanted, you're my protecter, the love of my life, you are my soul, Joel."

But as you cried out to him, Negan’s smile twisted into a sneer, his patience running thin. "Enough with your fucking mouth!" he growled, turning to you with fury, his hands reaching for the cage, yanking the door open with a violence that made you flinch.

"Shut up already."

Before you could react, Negan was on you, his hand slapping across your face with a sickening force, sending your head whipping to the side.

The sound of the slap echoed in the room, louder than your scream. The sting spread like fire across your cheek, your eyes filling with tears that blurred your vision.

For a moment, the world spun—his presence, his cruelty, all of it was too much to bear.

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

In that instant, the haze lifted from his eyes. The fury, the protectiveness, everything that made Joel Joel came rushing back.

His muscles strained against the ropes, his eyes flashing with an intensity that would have burned holes in the walls if he could.

He was no longer the broken man Negan had manipulated, no longer the victim of his words.

He was the man who had fought for you, the man who had saved you.

"You son of a bitch!" Joel roared, the raw anger in his voice like a clap of thunder. His body surged forward, every instinct screaming to protect you, to break free from his restraints.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" He screamed, his hands were shaking with rage, but that was the only thing that kept him grounded—the unrelenting need to destroy the man who had dared to lay a finger on you.

The rope binding Joel's wrists strained as he twisted, trying to force the knot loose, his mind ablaze with fury. Every word Negan spoke chipped away at his restraint, his heart hammering with hatred.

The sight of you in Negan's hold—his arm around your neck, the gleaming knife pressed to your throat—made Joel’s blood boil.

But he knew he had to keep his wits; one wrong move, and you’d be lost.

Negan grinned, tightening his grip around your neck. His voice was dripping with mockery as he taunted, "What’s the matter, honey? Scared now?" He leaned closer, his sneer twisted with sadistic pleasure.

"Oh, Joel, why’d you have to ruin everything? If it wasn’t for you, she and I—" he paused, savoring each word, "we’d have lived happily ever after."

Joel’s hands shook as he worked against the restraints, his heart pounding. Negan’s twisted words were knives slicing into him, each one crueler than the last.

"She’s delicious, Joel," Negan sneered, his voice sickly sweet as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "The way she tastes... can’t get enough of her." He licked his lips exaggeratedly, taunting Joel, mocking him with every vile syllable.

"You should’ve known," Negan laughed, pressing the blade closer to your skin, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Stop it, Negan, please," you whimpered, tears spilling from your eyes, the despair twisting in your voice.

Negan only tightened his hold, his voice low and cruel. "What’s the matter, honey? You were enjoying it too, right?" The words crushed you, and you turned your face away, unable to look at Joel, a sense of shame sinking into your soul.

Joel's fingers scraped against the ropes with renewed desperation, his fury almost blinding.

Negan’s voice slithered through the silence, every word laced with cruelty. "You know," he continued, "I thought of sharing her around with the others. She made me good money, after all. She knows how to entertain… they paid well. Maybe you’d want a turn, too, Joel. She’s… profitable." He laughed, a dark, rasping sound that reverberated in the room, tightening the coil of hatred in Joel’s chest.

"I’m gonna kill you," Joel growled through gritted teeth, his voice a low, venomous promise.

"Ah, ah," Negan teased, pressing the blade harder against your skin, making you wince. "I’m not finished yet."

Negan’s voice softened, a calculated cruelty in every word as he continued. "But I started thinking... she can’t stay young forever. Thought maybe… it’d be a shame not to pass on those… charming qualities of hers."

"And wouldn’t you know it, Joel, she was carrying a piece of me inside her. That's right, My child!"

"She didn’t agree, of course… but a little force never hurt, right?"

Joel’s heart froze at Negan’s taunts, every word tearing open old wounds he’d buried deep.

Each sentence was a twisted knife, slashing at the walls Joel had built to keep the pain, guilt, and memories at bay. Negan’s voice was venomous, slithering around the broken dreams Joel had long since given up on.

He felt the darkness creeping back—the part of him that, years ago, had once loved fiercely, only to lose everything in one brutal instant.

But pregnant? His mind reeled, the word pounding in his skull like a drum. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, carrying his child—his child—pierced through the numbness in his heart.

He could barely breathe, the thought of you enduring such horror while he was oblivious igniting a fury so primal, so fierce, it nearly drowned him.

Rage tangled with a crushing sense of failure. He wanted to rip Negan apart with his bare hands, make him pay for every ounce of pain he’d inflicted.

Negan’s twisted laughter cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, she wanted a family, Joel,” he sneered, lips curling in a malicious grin.

“She had this fucking unrealistic idea, delusional bitch. You. Her. Playing house. Kids. The whole perfect life fantasy. But she knew, didn’t she?” Negan’s gaze pierced Joel, mocking him with each word.

“You were scared of it, scared of screwing it up like you did the last time. I mean, how could she not know? You’ve got ‘haunted’ written all over you. Lost control, didn't you? When you killed your own family,” Negan laughed, as if savoring each jab.

Inside, Joel’s heart twisted. He remembered the night like yesterday. Now he was left with nothing but ashes and guilt that hollowed him out from the inside.

Every part of him was screaming to shut Negan up, to wipe that smug look off his face. But it was true, wasn’t it? Deep down, he was scared—scared of losing again, scared of failing you the way he’d failed before.

But you, you were different. Despite everything, you stayed.

Despite the darkness he carried, the broken parts he tried to hide, you’d somehow found something worth holding onto.

That fierce loyalty of yours was like a light in the pitch-black cave of his heart, something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

You were stupid, he told himself, but the truth was you were braver than he ever could be.

You had this impossible, relentless hope—the dream of a life together, a family, even though he’d told himself it could never be.

You had loved him, flaws and all, even when he couldn’t love himself. And now, the thought of what Negan had done, the way he’d shattered that hope, drove him to the edge.

"But this stupid bitch killed my baby before they could feel their daddy's voice,"

Negan's words echoed in the dim room, each one twisting deeper into Joel's heart. The pain surged through him like wildfire. You'd done the unimaginable for him, sacrificing more than he could comprehend, and now here you were, your hope and loyalty used against you like weapons.

It was more than he could take—Negan was tearing away the last pieces of himself, bit by bit. Joel's fists clenched tight, knuckles white, straining against the binds holding him back, desperate to shut Negan up, to take back what had been lost.

Negan’s voice grew sharper, each taunt slicing like a blade. "You see, Joel? this bitch is loyal and fucking crazy, she killed her own child for you! just to make a new baby for you!"

"She killed her own kid—for you. All that love, all that loyalty, wasted on you."

"But it’s over, you hear me? You and her? Done. I’ll make sure she forgets you. And when I’m finished with you, there’ll be nothing left."

The world narrowed to this single moment. Negan, too consumed with his taunts to notice, didn’t see you move.

In a swift, silent motion, you grabbed a jagged tool from the ground behind him, the weight of it heavy in your hand. You swung it, heart pounding, and plunged it into Negan's chest with everything you had.

Negan gasped, staggering back, his eyes flashing with fury and shock. In an instant, he retaliated, plunging his knife into your side.

The pain ripped through you, a white-hot flash as you felt the blade sink in, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Joel..."

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the throbbing ache and the look on Joel's face—his eyes wide, pure horror carved into every line, as he screamed for you, voice raw and desperate.

"NO!"

Your name fell from his lips, a broken prayer, just as you stumbled back, collapsing onto the cold ground. Negan kicked you aside with brutal force, your body sliding across the floor as you fought to keep your vision steady.

You could barely hear Joel’s cries over the rushing in your ears, his desperate shout, the anguish that filled every word, but you felt his presence as if he were right there, holding you.

The sound of wood splintering filled the room as Joel threw his weight against the chair, shattering the binds that held him. In one furious motion, he was on his feet, lunging at Negan with a force that seemed to shake the air.

They collided in a storm of fists and fury, each punch landing like thunder. Blood smeared the floor, echoing the carnage that seethed within Joel’s heart, his fists fueled by a rage that seemed boundless.

Every blow was a release, a reckoning for the agony and fear Negan had unleashed.

Through your blurred vision, you saw them—Joel, relentless and unyielding, his fists raining down on Negan, every punch charged with a love he’d never put into words, a love you could feel, pulsing through every beat of your wounded heart.

The scene before you felt like a twisted nightmare, each moment a struggle to stay present, to push through the pain as blood seeped from your wounds.

You clutched your side, feeling the warmth slip between your fingers as you pressed down, refusing to give in. You had to stay awake. You had to stay with him.

Joel was still fighting, his fists relentless, fueled by desperation and a love that spoke louder than words. But Negan’s laugh rang out, mocking, dark.

“Tough guy, Miller? Is that all you got?” Negan’s face was bruised, bloodied, but he still smirked through it, as if even this pain was just another game to him.

"Bring it on!" Negan said. Joel didn’t let up, his fists a storm of anger, of love, of every unspoken promise he’d made. He was protecting you with everything he had.

But in a flash, Negan’s hand found his bat, and with a brutal swing, he sent Joel flying backward, his head colliding with the floor.

As Joel’s head slammed against the cold ground, a sickening thud reverberated through the room, a sound that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

But Negan loomed over him now, his eyes alight with a sadistic joy. “My turn,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again and again, each blow ringing out, a sickening thud that filled the room.

"NO!"

Joel tried to stand, tried to fight, but he was slowing, his strength waning. Blood pooled around him, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were glazed, his face pale.

Blood ran from his temple in a dark, winding river, and you could see the light beginning to fade in his eyes, the haze of consciousness slipping further with each ragged breath.

His gaze found yours, as he tried to smile, to offer you one last reassurance. You felt a surge of panic rise in you, raw and consuming, as you screamed, “NO! STOP IT!" you saw Negan bash his bat to Joel over and over again.

But Negan laughed, a deep, sinister sound that filled every corner of the room. “Look at you, Miller,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again, the force of it making Joel’s body jerk, each strike ripping pieces from your soul.

“You really thought you could win?”

Your vision blurred as hot tears slipped down your cheeks. The pain in your side was blinding, your own blood pooling beneath you, but nothing compared to the sight of Joel—your Joel—bruised, broken, and bleeding, his life slipping away with each heartbeat.

“Wake up, Joel,” you whispered, a plea laced with desperation, but your voice cracked as you saw him begin to fade.

"WAKE UP!" you screamed, “Please, Joel. Wake up!” You tried to rise, but agony shot through you, your body weakening under the weight of your injuries.

All you could do was lie there, helpless, watching as the man you loved was torn apart before your eyes.

Negan paused, his cruel smile widening as he noticed Joel’s lips moving, a faint whisper escaping.

“What’s that, tough guy? what did you say? oh my God! tough son of a bitch! look! he tried to speak to you!” He laughed looking at you as Negan point to Joel laying in the ground blood all over him, mocking, stepping back just enough to give Joel room to speak.

Joel’s head lifted, his bloodied face turned to you, his voice broken but determined.

“C-close… your eyes, doll…” His words were barely audible, each syllable a struggle, blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to form the words.

He lifted a hand, reaching out to you, trembling, his fingers stretching to bridge the aching space between you.

You shake your head crying, "No...Joel...", The world closed in around you, the weight of your love for him too heavy, too fierce, to bear the thought of letting go.

Tears blurred your vision, and you choked back a sob, heart shattering as you whispered back, “You can’t… I can’t lose you.”

"J-just, c-close your eyes, you're gonna be okay," he said again, blood now coming out from his mouth again.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with tears. No, you thought, this can’t be it.

The man who’d become everything to you—the man who’d fought against his own darkness just to hold onto yours—was fading. You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t lose him.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your gaze fell to the floor.

It's your gun. Your bible and your gun you hadn't see in a long time.

The gun and the Bible Frank had given you, lying just within reach beneath the table. A fire rekindled within you.

A fury as deep and fierce as your love for Joel, you need to save him. This man would fight to his last breath for you, and you'd do the same for him.

Then you began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward the weapon. Negan, too caught up in his victory, hadn’t noticed, his laughter grating on your raw nerves.

“Oh, don’t worry, Joel,” Negan sneered, leaning over him with twisted delight. “I’m gonna take real good care of your girl here. Good night.”

But before he could swing, before he could deliver that final, sickening blow, you rose to your knees, aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound shattered the silence. Negan froze, the shock evident in his wide, stunned eyes as he stumbled, blood blooming across his chest. You fired again.

You didn’t stop. Y

He looked at you, eyes narrowing, but you held your ground, staring into him with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Again and again and again, you pressed the trigger, feeling your breath hitch with each pull, each impact sinking deeper, as if each shot was tearing away the chains he had wrapped around you.

You are screaming as the fury poured from you, pouring all the agony into each pull of the trigger, trying to emptying every last round into him, watching him fall, watching his face twist in horror as his strength faded.

Finally, the gun clicked, empty, but you weren’t finished. Dropping the weapon, you stepped forward, picking up his bat.

The weight felt righteous in your hands. Standing over him, you paused, staring down into his eyes, watching the realization settle—he knew he’d lost.

Negan’s bloodied mouth twisted into a smile, his laughter hoarse and fading. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice broken, taunting to the very end. “All grown up now.”

Those were his last words.

You raised it high and swung the bat with everything you had, unleashing everything he’d taken from you, every wound he had caused, every hope he’d tried to crush.

The sound of cracking bone echoing in the room, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat as you brought it down again and again and the bone shattered beneath you.

The world faded, reduced to the rhythmic, furious release of pain, until nothing was left but silence, his broken body beneath you.

You dropped the bat, chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

And then you heard it—Joel’s voice, barely a whisper, calling your name, grounding you, reminding you of who you were beyond the fury.

You turned toward him, your body swaying with the weight of pain and exhaustion. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself wanted to hold you back, to stop you from reaching him.

But you pushed forward, collapsing beside him, your trembling hands finding his blood-streaked face, brushing against his stubbled cheek with a gentleness that defied the violence you’d just endured.

"Joel… hang on," you whispered, but the words barely escaped your lips, thick with tears.

His head lolled against you, his brown eyes finding yours, and the blood pooled in his hair shimmered like some tragic halo.

You could feel the strength slipping from his body, a slow ebbing tide that pulled him further away with every heartbeat.

"Look at me, doll," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper, his hand lifting with a tremor to brush your cheek, his thumb sweeping away the tears that blurred your vision.

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

You shook your head, gathering him closer, your blood mingling with his as you pressed his head to your lap, cradling him as though you could shelter him from the world that had dealt you both such cruelty.

"No, we’re gonna be okay," you insisted, your voice breaking under the weight of it, a plea wrapped in promise.

"Don’t leave me… please, Joel. I can’t do this without you."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his bruised face as he tried to smile, each line etched into his skin telling stories of a life spent fighting—and now, his final fight slipping through his grasp.

He lifted a hand, pressing against the wound on your side even as his own blood stained your fingers. Every breath was shallow, every word a strain.

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes barely focusing but still on you, clinging to this moment, to you.

"I’m sorry, babygirl," he whispered, as if the words themselves could bind you together just a little longer.

“No. Don’t… don’t do this to me, Joel,” you begged, pressing your hand harder to his wound too, as if the pressure alone could stop the flow of time, of everything that was slipping away.

You cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood that soaked you both. "We’re gonna be okay. We have to be."

But even as you spoke, darkness edged into your vision too, the room narrowing to the beat of your shared breaths, slow and unsteady.

His fingers held yours, entwined in a desperate grip that softened as his strength faded, his pulse a faint echo in your hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words raw and cracked, filling the hollow spaces between you, the ache and loss that could never be spoken. “I’ll always be with you.”

The world blurred, the pain and fear blending into a strange calm as you traced your fingers over his face, memorizing every line, every scar.

"I love you so much, Joel," you whispered, voice barely a breath, pressing your lips to his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the man who had become your salvation, your strength.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, his hand falling to rest against your cheek one last time. "I found you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the darkness began to claim him.

In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a wail of sirens, voices muffled and faint, calling yours and Joel's name.

You heard your own name echoed, felt the vibration of the world rushing toward you, but it felt so far away, unreachable.

“Joel?” you whispered, weak and fading, your vision blurring as exhaustion pulled you under. Joel didn’t respond, his head resting still against your lap, his breathing shallow, slipping away from you.

Your name rang out again, closer now, a voice that you knew—a voice that felt like home.

"Tommy," you managed, a faint smile softening your lips as your gaze lifted, catching sight of his familiar face before the darkness claimed you.

“He found us.”

And then, like the soft closing of a book, everything faded into black.

HANG ON PEOPLE, WE STILL GOT ONE MORE FINAL CHAPTER!

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vivid-ink · 2 years ago

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Hey folks! Annalise here. 😄 Welcome to my blog where I compose works of fiction based on whatever fancies my brain fixates on.

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HUNGER GAMES: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes MASTERLIST

A TURN OF TABLES - Coriolanus Snow x Lucy Gray (oneshot)

AVATAR MASTERLIST

- SHOW ME & TEACH ME - {Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya Reader} 18+ MDNI (Complete)

Summary:

You were an inconsequential member of the Omatikaya clan who had failed your rites of passage once already. You were born to heal, not hunt or fight. So, why had the tsahìk designated Neteyam of all people to take over your training?

What business did the future olo’eyktan have mentoring you? But it was too late now. You should have known better than to fall in love with your mentor. You had known this day would come; the day when your success would mean losing his company. You should have clung on tighter to your heart while you still had it…

- TO KNOW YOU AGAIN - {Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya OC} 18+ MDNI (Complete)

Summary:

“Do you remember our last night here? The night before my family left?” The warm, rumbling timbre of Neteyam’s voice washed over her.

“Yes,” Naia whispered. How could she forget?... She had replayed the memory of his lips over and over numerous times.

One corner of Neteyam’s mouth lifted in a small smile as his eyes tracked over the delicate bridge of her nose and over her steadily flushing cheeks. His gaze stopped to rest on her lips, “You gave me something that night. I think it's time I returned it."

Set 7 years after TWoW: An exploration of what if Neteyam had to leave a girl he was close to behind when his family fled to the reefs to seek refuge.

-THE LOVE SHACK - {Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya Reader(21) x Lo'ak(22)} 18+ MDNI (Complete)

Summary:

You’d heard the whispered speculations and stifled giggles during the daytimes. You’d seen the furtive glances that the other women cast at Neteyam and Lo’ak through coquettish eyes, cheeks stained a blushing mauve as they exchanged coy smiles with the two brothers.

And during the nights? Hell, you’d heard the moans and wanton cries for yourself… You were definitely curious, but did you have it in you to go through with their proposition?...

ONESHOTS & DRABBLES

Your Best Friend's Brother - {Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya Reader} Mission Accomplished - {fem!HumanReader x Neteyam OR Lo'ak} 18+ MDNI - Kinktober 01 - 'Handjob' prompt I See You - [fem!OmatikayaReader x dom!Alpha!Neteyam} 18+ MDNI - Kinktober 31 - 'A/B/O' prompt

***~ VividInk AO3 ~***

Want a novel-length adventure with a strong narrative? This one is 20 chapters (152k words) & too long to put on Tumblr, but I'm most proud of it! It's a real rollercoaster with a completely original plot!

- VIOLET EYES - {Neteyam x fem!Avatar OC} *Complete* 18+ MDNI

Also on Wattpad HERE

Violet Eyes Summary:

Ria’s gaze paused at his handsome face. Good God, he had grown… She remembered his striking face from years ago in a time of battle at sea, it had been softer with youth then. He had barely been taller than her. Now, he towered over her...

Neteyam lifted his gaze to hers; green-gold clashed with striking violet. Yes, he remembered those eyes. Even the years that had passed in-between had not made him forget.

He lowered his face, his lips curling in a snarl, “I should kill you.” The English words were stilted as he spoke, “But I will not. A life for a life.”

AU where Neteyam lives - set many years after The Way of Water, after the defeat of the humans.

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kiame-sama · 4 months ago

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If Epel is of legal age, my maximum flirt with him is literally.

Reader: know any additional ways to propagate plants without penetration?

Epel: hmm?

Reader: cuttings and grafting!

Epel: that's not what I was counting on.

Epel is 23 in my AU. He is a few years over the age most Nymphs are considered adults (20-21) because of how often he fought and the fact his grandmother felt it best to keep him away from NRC for a few more years to hopefully calm him down from his scrappy nature. It didn't really help his proclivity to fight those around him, but it did help add a few more years of maturing to his roster.

He can technically use a strand of the Human's hair to make plant Nymph seeds with their DNA, but he is not willing to do that while actual mating is still an option on the table. He will exhaust all other avenues first.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #humans are extinct twst au

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theyellowhedgehog · 5 months ago

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Candy Cigarettes

Ripple Effect Au

An AU of reverse robin where Damian is the oldest, and became a hero Gotham need. Tim is the second oldest that became the Grandmaster of Court of Owl. Jason in the middle and Dick the youngest. None of them became robin, except for Dick.This is the a parallel universe of reverse robin.

Timeline Setting :

After the joker incident, where Tim came back and had became the Grandmaster of Court of Owl. Tim is 21, Damian is 23.

Character description :

#reverse robin #damian is the oldest #Tim is the second #Dick is the only robin #Jason todd #parallel universe #complicate feelings #Bruce never adopted Tim

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6 Years ago, April

Damian entered the furnished penthouse on the 32 floor building. Damian was 23. He walked into the messy penthouse, all the spreadsheet, everywhere, disorganised on the desk, the floor, the coffee table and the kitchen island.

"Tim?" He called out to his best friend. Damian walked over to the balcony to see the younger man taking a smoke break. Tim turned around as acknowledge and went back to smoking.

Tim's hair was starting to grow back black, it no longer grew the toxic green, and the color of his skin returned as well.

Damian walked over to his younger brother/ best friend, plucked out the cigarette from his mouth and replaced it with something else.

Tim's eyebrows went up in surprised, "Strawberry milk flavour?"

"Yeah," Damian took out two more packet of candy cigarettes. "Sour apple and yoghurt. Take two each day, once in the morning and once in night. They could ease the pain like nicotine but just less deadly."

"You know," Tim leaned on the balcony railing as he chewed on the strawberry flavoured candy. "Shouldn't you be doing something more important than making candy cigarettes for me?"

"You are something important to me, Tim." Damian didn't miss a beat in answering.

Tim's thin lips wobble, and turned his head to the view, "Well, your other siblings didn't think that at all."

"Tim, look at me." Damian seriously looked into his brother's eyes.

"When I first arrived at Gotham, I had no one. My father observed me with doubt in his eyes as if I was a ticking time bomb. The society treated me as I was a trail of gunpowder waiting to go off. The school treated me as I was a freak. It was because of you that make everything much bearable."

Damian went silent as he watches Tim eyes, sincerely he said, "So, I would rather you live and make my world bearable than died from lung cancer in 20 years or so."

Tim just huffed a laugh, "You just don't want the children (Jason, Dick and Barbara) to get second smoking."

Damian smirked, "That too."

----

6 Years ago, July

"This has to be a joke..." Damian slowly sat on a lonely patch of land. It had no grass, no mourning bouquet nor a gravestone to identify which dead person laid here.

"Tim." He crouched down, hands white from fisting the dirt, and mourned--with a shaking voice, "I rather you lived 20 years and died of lung cancer!"

"Fucking come back to me Tim!"

----

Now , July 19th

"Please," A man with a lab coat and beard whispered into his hands.

The digital clock read 5:00, 19 July

The scientist bloodshot eyes looked at the clock, "I will make sure you live a life you deserved Tim." He pressed the button.

In front of him, the experiment capsure lit up. The capsule was filled with green fluid as the bubbles raised to the tops. Amidst all the fluid was a boy, he was bare of clothes. The skin was pale from long exposure without sunlight, his hair as dark as the night.

The green eyes' of the scientist observed the reaction of the boy closely, not daring to take his eyes off even for a second. However, the boy never opened his eyes.

Damian Wayne is accomplished in many fields. He created vaccines against fear gas and joker venom. However, he struggle to create a boy.

No, that was wrong. Creating a human is easy.

Damian approached the capsule, put his hands on the cool glass. He is now 29. It had been 6 years since that day.

"Cloning experiment, 06 Failed." His crisp voice cut through the quiet lab. The man fell to his knee, hands balled his dark hair tightly. "Why won't it work!" The back of his head bang against the glass in frustration as he looked up the white fluorescent light.

"All the previous five experiments failed because recreating a clone from the original DNA was not possible. This time I made him just like the league had made me," His fist banged the cold metal flooring.

"Why hasn't he woken up!"

"Tim!" Damian called to the clone in despair, "Please, I cannot do this, you need to wake up!" a grown up man curled up under the foot of the capsule, "Brother, please wake up for me."

Damian shut his eyes in resignment--leaning against the capsule, facing away from it. He looked at his messy laboratory. Damian's lab was never messy. It used to be always clean and neat, every research and test tubes were organised. But for the last 6 years, papers and spreadsheets are everywhere, broken pile of glass on the floor still not cleaned up, some unknown substances spilled on the desk, on his coat. But the mourning man couldn't care for it.

"You know," He talked to the unconscious boy, " The reason you are experiment 06 is because, I have only tried cloning you six times. Each experiment for each year, with a hope that you would wake up on your birthday. Just like a rebirth."

"One day, I will perfect you, Tim. So don't you worry." The scientist turned to face two bright blue eyes staring at him.

"Shit!" Damian clutched his chest as he jumped back from the capsule. Inside, the boy was fully conscious--waving at him, with a small smile.

----

It has been 3 days since Tim woke up.

Tim, now all dressed, sat on the couch. It was pretty weird if you asked him because he was 10 years old again.

The young boy watched his older brother busied himself in the kitchen, humming along the tune of the cartoon show Tim had had on the TV. Tim looked down at his real and warm hand.

Yeah, it is pretty weird.

He's still getting used to being alive again. It took time to adjust his new self, he had a head full of black hair on his head and his face, there was no scar.

Tim thought for a moment, "Hey, Damian." Tim continued when Damian replied with a hum, "How did I still have my memories when you don't have Bruce's memories?"

Damian turned around with a grey apron tied around his neck, "That's because I modified the original. While I do not have Father's memories, I do have his muscle memories."

Tim huh-ed at the explanation. "Then I guessed we are now blood related now right? Real brothers?" As he gave a cheesy grin.

Tim pointed at his older brother, "You also have like 94% of Bruce's DNA, and I" He pointed at himself, "You also made me with 5 % of Bruce's DNA."

"5.99%" Damian corrected.

"Well," Damian stalled as he plated their breakfast, "Biologically, yes... Legally?" Damian glanced at Tim, "He didn't give me consent to make you with his DNA."

"WHAT?!"

FINISHED

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Extra : "It's fine, I'll gaslight him into accepting you as his son...somehow." Damian placed the plate to the other corner of the table, "Now, come eat. You body still need food." "Dami-an, " Tim ate the pancake, and tried to talked with a full mouth. "Don't take with your mouth full. It's disgusting." The older brother tsked. Tim swallowed his food aggressively and said with a mischievous grin, "Do you want to play a prank on Bruce?" Tim raised his fork to the middle of the table. Damian smirked at the thought, and raised his own fork and clank it against his younger brother. You better watch out, Bruce. Your oldest children are scheming.

A/N

2024 Fanfic Prompt Bingo : Clone

This is also part of my ripple effect au, killing two birds in one stone.

I don't think I will finish this bingo, but I have a feeling I will carry on to 2025. I have draft up prompts for power rangers and Pacific rim, but I haven't published it because the plot is not to my satisfaction yet. Hopefully, the stories will have a beautiful tied up end.

See 2024 Fanfic Prompt Bingo Post for my other bingo fics.

#reverse robins #damian wayne #tim drake #batfam #batman #fanfic #alternate universe #dc comics #2024 fanfic bingo

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scariusaquarius · 1 month ago

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rehab. 21.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

A/n: OOF SO THINGS GOT SO FUCKED UP AND EVERYTHING LAID OUT. How do you guys think Bucky is gonna deal with this new information now? Also, i'm not really satisfied with this chapter, so I'm so sorry if that reflects in the quality of this chapter. Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 18 / chapter 19 / chapter 20

On the other side of the world in Wakanda and deep within the garden, the woman was starting to become unnerved. The loud man, Thor, had quickly tired of the boy, Peter, she reminded herself, trying to explain 'Midgardian laws of Physics' and had quickly taken to sparring with each other.

Peter had been kind enough to ask if she would be comfortable with them sparring, but (Y/n) was unable to give him a response. She was still struggling with attempting to trust them; trying to figure out what their motives were.

She could not forget the words that came out of the Fist of HYDRA before he left. Was it true that he had found her Handler? If so, what was he going to do? Her mind was racing, heart pounding and muscles taut with the need to run. She knew the men were intentionally staying near the exit as if they knew she wanted to run, and it made her anxiety worse.

What was the Fist of HYDRA going to do? Was he going to hand her over? No matter how much he spoke about being free from HYDRA, the soldier knew that there was no such thing. Every attempt, every careless display, and every thought of escape was met with swift disciplinary action.

She could still feel her Handler's knife slicing her Achilles tendon and severing it so she couldn't run after she foolishly attempted. She could remember the way he laughed and taunted her, forcing her to stand and attempt to run, and when she could not stand upright, the feeling of his cruel fists beating down against her became the only feeling she knew.

Я буду бить, резать и кромсать тебя столько, сколько мне нужно. Ты узнаешь, что семью не оставишь.

The memory of his voice had tears coming to her eyes, but she dared not to cry. She had cried enough, spoken too much, felt too much, remembered too much. To the soldier, it was only a matter of time. Why else would the Fist of HYDRA be seeking her Handler? Why else would the Fist of HYDRA have suddenly left?

He was taking her back. Giving her away for being disobedient. This has all been a test, and she has failed. Despite the begging to repair her, to recalibrate and reprogram, she had given into the thought of maintaining her freewill, and he was reporting it.

How was she to answer for her disobedience? How could she explain that the Fist of HYDRA was tempting her; feeding her lies of safety and freedom when even he knew better? Was it all a cruel joke? If so, then why couldn't she believe that?

"You are not a weapon anymore."

His voice, though low, was firm and insistent as he continued on.

"That's what HYDRA made you believe-what they made me believe...that if we began to remember, to refuse and act out, that we were broken and needed to be repaired. Feeling things that weren't acceptable, remembering who we were before HYDRA, believing in other ideals...it meant that we were malfunctioning because we weren't allowed to be anything but a puppet for their use."

Despite the inability to trust him completely, the woman could tell that he believed what he was saying; that he was sure of himself and was being honest.

She just couldn't understand why. If everything the Fist of HYDRA had said to her, including what Peter had told her, was true...why were they bothering? Why were they trying to help her if not for a test of HYDRA to see if she was still loyal?

For a moment, the woman sat in her corner quietly, listening to the sounds of the men bantering and laughing together, and it was so strange that she couldn't help but to watch them.

When it was time to train, there was never any laughter. There was never banter or friendly jabs. It was either silence or orders; and anything more or less was unacceptable.

Shakily, her fingers uncurled from clutching the picture within her hands as tightly as she could; holding onto the picture as if it was her only lifeline and her only hope. Staring down at the woman, (Y/n) gently caressed the smooth ink that rendered the woman's cheek while her other hand ran along her own scarred cheek.

'You can be the pretty woman again...just different.'

How could she be someone that she never was in the first place? Yes, this woman in the picture wore her face...but the asset had no other connection to her except for snippets of images, of voices...the mannequin family...the woods.

If the asset thought hard enough about the image of the woods, the flowers, and the sunlight...she could envision herself there. She could smell the wood, could smell the earth, the flowers, and she could feel the sunlight on her skin.

At least, what she remembered sunlight to feel like. The soldier hadn't felt the sunlight in a very long time.

When Thor and Peter took a break, the looming question of what the Fist of HYDRA wanted with her Handler was beginning to bubble within the back of her throat. However, she was finding it difficult to speak; the fear and anxiety causing her throat to close up, and she was finding it hard to swallow.

"Do you want some water?"

(Y/n) turned her worried gaze to Peter, who was holding out a water bottle to her, but she made no move to accept it. Instead, she finally asked her looming question, her voice small and afraid.

"Why does the Fist of HYDRA seek out my Handler?"

Peter looked surprised and unsure of how to answer, pursing his lips for a moment before he replied.

"Well, I think Bucky is bringing him in so he can pay for what he did to you."

His answer confused her, her capacity to understand limited due to her anxious state of mind, and she whispered.

"How do you know?"

"I don't really know for sure, honestly."

That wasn't the right answer, Peter quickly realized as the woman began to panic, her breathing quickening and heart racing loudly. Her nails dug into her skin hard enough to cut and draw blood, and her eyes became unfocused. She began to whisper in Russian, trembling as she began to breakdown.

"Это был вызов… он просто хотел посмотреть, буду ли я лоялен… а теперь он знает, что у меня есть недостатки. Мой проводник накажет меня…"

Thor became concerned, and he stood up, his looming figure standing over the woman as he attempted to comfort her.

"My lady, nobody is giving you back to that horrible man."

The second Thor laid his hand upon her shoulder, (Y/n) finally lost it. With a terrified yell, she attacked Thor, punching him in the gut and making him let out a surprised 'oof!' as he was forcefully moved back. Her eyes were wild, like a cornered animal attempting it's last chance for survival as she stood and began to engage Thor. Despite the trepidation of the situation, Thor was excited, exclaiming.

"Finally! Please, allow me to see the full extent of your battle prowess!"

Any attempt from Peter to calm the two down and get them to stop fighting was ignored. The Dora Milaje that was standing guard immediately raised her spear to protect the exit, and Peter ran to her, pleading with her softly as she glared down at him.

"Please don't hurt her. She's just scared! I...I'm gonna go get Mr. Stark!"

The woman did not relent, but moved aside so that Peter could retrieve his mentor.

-TONY AND STEVE-

Tony and Steve were standing next to each other quietly as Clint gave them the rundown of the mission. While capturing Rollins' was a success, the revelation of what Project Achilles truly was had both men reeling. Tony was speechless, not sure of what to say, and Steve didn't know what to do that would help; if anything at all.

When Clint informed the two of them that Bucky was 'royally fucked up,' over the situation, as Clint had put it, Steve pursed his lips and crossed his arms. Tony didn't even have the heart to make a remark. Instead, it was Bruce Banner who spoke up, making the two Avengers give him a surprised look as he stated.

"Given the delicate nature of this situation, I think that...it might be best to remove Bucky from the rehabilitation program and off the mission entirely. This has become too personal, and with Bucky's fragile state of mind, there's no telling what could happen. It's too dangerous to keep him around Rollins, and I doubt that he will want to be around (Y/n) due to how guilty and responsible he must feel about all of this."

Steve was reluctant, clenching his jaw slightly before he sighed, his shoulders falling just the slightest. While Steve didn't want to do it, he knew that this was the best thing for both him and (Y/n).

"He's not gonna like it, but I have to agree that this is going to be for the best."

Bruce looked uncomfortable before offering with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Look, I'm not the right kind of doctor to give sound advice on what to do...but it might be good to put Bucky through some extensive therapy until this boils over...and (Y/n)...she's better off here in Wakanda with Shuri and the people."

Clint agreed, stating quietly through the communications line.

"Wanda's still got him and Rollins in some type of catatonic state. So, until we get Rollins to a secure part of the kingdom where Bucky can't get to him, we're thinking it might be best to keep him like this."

While Steve didn't like the idea, he knew that it was the best way to keep the mission from going completely wrong due to Bucky's explosive nature. Saying nothing, Clint took the silence as the 'go-ahead' before he asked.

"Any news about the mole?"

"Shuri and T'Challa are interrogating the scientists that they found. Unfortunately, they're not really talking, so until Wanda gets back, we're not going to know for sure."

Clint's voice took on an air of disapproval, stating firmly.

"Steve, I don't think I like that we're using Wanda in this way. Mind control isn't exactly something she enjoys doing."

Wanda's voice suddenly came through, her tone firm but gentle with her wording.

"No, Clint...it's alright. For (Y/n), this is important. I will do it...but then I cannot do it anymore unless it is an emergency."

Steve nodded before stating softly, his eyes downcast as he thanked Wanda.

"Thank you. I know that I'm asking a lot of you, but I can't thank you enough for the help you've been with all of this."

Wanda just hummed, replying.

"We'll talk about how you'll owe me when we get back."

The line went dead, and Bruce swallowed thickly. Glancing between Tony and Steve, Bruce was unsure of what to say, and chose the silent moment to make a quiet exit. Leaving Steve and Tony alone together, Steve was surprised by Tony's solemn voice.

"You know, if Doris had been able to tell my father about what was going on, I don't think any of this would have happened. And you know, that's what I mean about shit following and your son having to deal with the aftermath."

Steve shook his head, leaning against the railing. After a moment, Steve stated gently.

"Tony, what happened isn't your fault. It wasn't Howard's fault either...I don't think anybody outside of the Project could have possibly known. If it means anything to you...I don't blame you."

Tony huffed, holding his hand to his jaw and clutching tightly, his eyes closing as he tried his hardest not to break down; get angry; cry. There was a flood of emotions that was trying to pour out of his body that Tony wasn't sure what to feel first. He was angry, still, at Bucky, especially at the knowledge that he played a part in the Project as well, but Tony knew he couldn't truly blame the man.

"The problem I'm running into is it's hard to place blame when everyone seems to have played some sort of role. And yes, I get it, Barnes wasn't himself when this happened...when he killed my parents...when he killed Doris and took (Y/n) back to HYDRA...but how do you live with that, Cap? How are you not upset about any of this?"

Although Steve was offended, the man just took a moment to pause before asking Tony carefully.

"Do you think that I'm not? I am upset. I'm furious, even, but not at Bucky. I'm furious at HYDRA; at the people that knew but chose to do nothing about (Y/n). I'm furious at HYDRA for kidnapping people and forcing them to be these...these shells of the people they once were...forcing them to do their dirty work and furthering their agenda."

Tony was quiet, glancing at Steve before he turned away and asked him quietly; his voice almost...small.

"Do you think my dad would have done something if he had known?"

Steve answered quickly, nodding his head.

"He would have. Howard cared a lot more than you think...he just had a really funny way of showing it."

A wistful smile came over his face as Steve leaned his arms against the railing, looking out at Wakanda as the sun slowly began to set; casting a bright orange over the kingdom as night befell.

"Besides, I don't think he would have helped Peggy found SHIELD if he didn't care."

Tony glanced at Steve, observing him for a moment before he looked back out at the sunset.

"It was ultimately his downfall too."

Steve's smile became smaller, nodding his head carefully before he stated softly.

"I think that even if Howard knew how this was all going to end...he would have tried his hardest to fight until the very end...and to set you up for success as well in case he couldn't finish his part of the fight."

Tony stayed quiet, and a knock on the door to the lab sounded. Both men turned to find Peter standing there, panting with his hands on his knees as he panicked. Tony and Steve shared a look as Peter exclaimed.

"I think you guys need to come down to the garden. (Y/n)...(Y/n)'s gone crazy! I don't know what happened. She asked about Bucky and then when we told her he left for Rollins, she just started going insane!"

Steve asked with a frown, his adrenaline beginning to spike.

"I thought (Y/n) was told about the mission?"

Peter gave a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean...well, not exactly?"

Tony gave Steve an annoyed expression, making Steve give him an exasperated shrug before the three of them ran down to the garden. Even just outside of the door, (Y/n)'s panicked yells and Thor's boisterous exclamations could be heard through the door.

Once inside, it was a wreck. Although none of the herbs were disturbed, one of the torches had been ripped off of the wall and there were cracks on the floor. Thor was dancing around the woman, a determined grin on his face as he exclaimed.

"Even in such a desperate state, you are quite the warrior! I must commend-"

He was cut off by (Y/n) tearing up a piece of the cracked flooring and launching it at him, the God ducking and staring at the wall that was shattered; bits and pieces of flooring scattered around. The woman was panting, her face contorted into a strange mix of panicked anger, and the second she charged for the door, she paused at the sight of everyone standing guard.

Steve raised his hands as Tony immediately activated his gauntlets, a stern frown on his face, and Steve coaxed gently.

"(Y/n), it's okay. You don't have to fight."

She hissed out, her words causing Steve to pause as a memory of Bucky went through his mind.

"It will always end in a fight."

Steve shook his head, exclaiming in earnest.

"It doesn't have to. Please, please just hear me out. I can tell you why Bucky left."

Thor was giving Steve a pout, stating with an exasperated tone.

"Aw, but we were just starting to have fun!"

"Thor."

Steve's voice was firm, commanding and sharp, and Thor huffed, crossing his arms. (Y/n) was baring her teeth, sneering at Steve as she hissed.

"Lies. Everything you speak is lies!"

Tony shared a look with Steve before asking the woman, making Steve frown with question as Tony took a few steps forward.

"Does the name Stark mean anything to you?"

(Y/n) was put into a stupor, the defensiveness slowly falling as she blinked in confusion.

"W-What?"

Steve asked, his tone revealing his doubt.

"Tony, what are you doing?"

Tony hissed quickly, not looking at Steve as he replied.

"Shut up, Cap. Redirecting her focus and making her regain control of her thinking is the quickest way to get her to calm down. Just roll with it, would you?"

Tony took another step forward before pausing as (Y/n) immediately took a step back in turn, her eyes revealing her suspicion as she stared the man down.

"The name Stark. Does it mean anything to you or ring any bells?"

The woman was quiet, glancing down at the floor for a moment before looking back to Tony.

"I...I don't know..."

Tony then sighed and brought up a hologram from his watch that showed Howard Stark's face, as well as a picture of Doris, making (Y/n)'s eyes widened and her head to tilt slightly as she stared both pictures down.

"This man...Howard Stark...my father. This woman here is Doris...your mother. She helped my mother, Maria, deliver me. Do you remember this? By the time that I was born, you would have been...hm, 18 years old according to your birthday."

(Y/n) began to look small again, whispering with a confused and broken voice.

"The voices...The woman...she told the pretty woman she delivered...Howard Stark's child."

Tony wasn't sure what she meant by saying 'the pretty woman,' and when Peter noticed his confusion, he spoke up quietly.

"She doesn't seem to really understand nor realize that she's the 'pretty woman' in the picture that was in her file."

Steve's shoulders fell slightly before he became melancholic as he watched (Y/n) take the picture out of her pocket and stare down at it with confusion.

"I...I don't understand...the woman...Doris."

The name felt so strange for her to say, her brows furrowing up more as tears began to fill her eyes though she didn't know why. Instead of finishing her thought, (Y/n) instead asked in a broken voice.

"The...pretty woman really is...me?"

Tony didn't know why, but he became sad as well. Her demeanor resonated within him, that familiar uncertainty that Tony knew all too well. Despite this, he slipped on a mask of confidence, nodding to her.

"Yes. The woman in that picture is you from before HYDRA...before all the mumbo jumbo bullshit they put into your head."

Tony paused, sighing slightly as he allowed the words to fumigate through the tension and to prepare himself for what he was about to say.

"As much as it pains me to say this: Barnes wasn't lying to you. The reason Barnes left to retrieve...your handler-"

Saying the words left a sour taste in Tony's mouth, but he continued on as (Y/n) snapped her gaze back up to him; clutching the picture close and becoming guarded even as the tears silently fell down her cheeks.

"-is to make him answer for his crimes. What Rollins' did to you was wrong...what HYDRA did...it was wrong on so many levels. As surprising as it may be, Barnes doesn't want what happened to you and him to ever happen again, and for us all to do that, we have to know where the rest of HYDRA is so that you both can be safe...and never have to worry about them again."

(Y/n) looked lost; her mind wandering as she became unsteady, and she shook her head, clutching it as the picture slowly fell out of her grasp.

"It doesn't make sense...none of this makes sense! Who are you? Who...who am I? I don't understand!"

She collapsed, digging her nails into her head as she sobbed, and Steve sighed heavily before suggesting.

"We should probably give her some space. The Dora Milaje are capable enough to watch her by themselves for a little while."

Peter and Thor agreed, slowly moving out of the garden, and Steve looked back at Tony to see him standing still and watching (Y/n) cry. There was a strange look in his eyes, this strange gleam of dismay and inclination, and Steve urged quietly.

"Tony."

"I got it, Rogers. Just..."

Tony's voice trailed off before he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, I need to confirm my reservations for Pepper and I's vacation."

Tony abruptly left, and Steve was the last one left in the room. Looking back at the weeping woman, Steve was conflicted. Did he stay? Did he leave? Pursing his lips, Steve just sighed and quietly left the room to greet Rollins directly, a new angry and determined gait to his step as Steve's anger finally made an appearance.

STORY NOTES: Back in Wakanda, (Y/n) is having a difficult time as she thinks about Bucky's words about finding Rollins over and over again. Despite Bucky's attempts to show that he is not with HYDRA and wants to help her, (Y/n) believes that he is going to deliver her back to Rollins. She remembers an incident where she had attempted to escape, and an unnamed Handler had severed her Achilles tendon.

At remembering the incident, (Y/n) becomes convinced that Bucky has been lying and is going to give her back to HYDRA. She begins to worry about how she will answer for her disobedience and how Bucky was testing her. She remembers what Bucky said about now being a weapon anymore, and ruminates over the way Bucky was incredibly sure of himself when he said those words to her, and (Y/n) cannot understand why 'these people,' meaning the Avengers and Bucky, were trying to 'help' her. The sounds of Thor and Peter sparring together distracts her, and she becomes unnerved by the unprofessional way they are sparring.

(Y/n) then looks at the picture of herself from before she was HYDRA, and wonders how it's possible to be someone that she never was in the first place. She mentally points out that she has no other connection to the woman in the picture except for small bits of memories, auditorial flashbacks, the mannequin family she saw in a dream-like sequence, and Meltzer Woods. (Y/n) begins to struggle with the question of what Bucky was doing, and when Thor and Peter take a break from sparring, (Y/n) finally asks after some extreme hesitation. Peter does know know the full extent of the mission due to Tony and Steve not giving him deep details, so Peter is unable to tell her anything more than Bucky is capturing Rollins and bringing him back so 'he can pay for what he did to you'.

After asking how Peter knows and Peter being unable to give a straight answer, (Y/n) begins to panic, fully believing that her earlier conclusions were correct and Bucky was, in fact, giving her back to HYDRA. This sends her into a panic attack, and when Thor tries to comfort her, (Y/n) finally lashes out. Although Peter is immediately concerned, Thor is excited to be able to see the way (Y/n) fights. As Thor engages with (Y/n), Peter immediately runs to get Tony and Steve.

Meanwhile, Tony, Steve, and Clint are all speaking about the result of their mission to The Farm. Clint has informed the two men of what Project Achilles truly was and how (Y/n)'s life was completely fabricated by HYDRA and Bucky's brief involvement in the Project. He informs that Bucky is distraught over this revelation, and Bruce suggests taking Bucky off of the rehabilitation program for (Y/n) and sitting out of the mission entirely. He points out that it's too dangerous to keep Bucky around Rollins as well, and though Steve is reluctant to kick Bucky off of the mission and program, he knows it is for the best. Clint then asks about the possible mole in Wakanda, and Steve informs him that Shuri and T'Challa have retrieved the scientists that were involved with (Y/n) in the beginning of her arrival in Wakanda, though none of them are revealing any information. He muses that it will be easier to get answers once Wanda is back, but Clint is upset that Wanda is being used in the way that she is.

Wanda refutes this, telling both Clint and Steve that what she is doing is important, but firmly places a boundary that after this mission, she will not use her mind-controlling ability unless it is for extreme emergencies. After thanking Wanda, Clint exits the call, and Tony begins to question if his father would have done something to stop Project Achilles had he known, and Steve reassures Tony that what happened isn't his nor his fathers fault. Tony isn't completely convinced, and he becomes emotional before he points out that he is unsure of who to fully blame due to so many people being involved. He points out how he can't even blame Bucky for what he did to his parents and (Y/n) due to him being under the influence of HYDRA, but Tony asks Steve how he 'wasn't upset' about the situation.

Steve reveals that he is upset and furious about the situation, but he is not angry at Bucky. Steve points out that he is furious at HYDRA for taking people against their will and turning them into weapons, and Tony deflects, asking about his father again. Steve reassures Tony that if Howard had known, he would have done something to stop the Project. He tells Tony that Howard had a 'funny way' of showing that he cared, and points out that if Howard didn't, he wouldn't have helped Peggy Carter to create SHIELD. Tony points out that SHIELD became his downfall as well, but Steve states that even if Howard knew this fact, he would still try to fight until the very end. This is where Peter comes in to inform Tony and Steve of (Y/n)'s breakdown.

Steve, Tony, and Peter all get to the garden to discover Thor and (Y/n) in the midst of a fight. Thor, however, is not taking it seriously despite (Y/n)'s obvious distress, and when she tries to get to the exit, (Y/n) is stopped by the sight of the three Avengers. Steve tries to mitigate the situation by telling (Y/n) that he can tell her why Bucky left, and when Steve doesn't have any progress this way, Tony speaks up. Using himself as a distraction to force (Y/n) to use her logic and reasoning, Tony begins to describe his father and how her mother, Doris, helped to deliver him when his mother was in labor. This method proves effective as (Y/n) slowly calms down, talking about how she had heard Doris' voice tell 'the pretty woman' about delivering Howard Stark's child. When Tony becomes confused, Peter clarifies that (Y/n) doesn't realize the 'pretty woman' is actually herself.

(Y/n) slowly becomes distraught again, and when she asks if the pretty woman truly is her, Tony confirms it. He informs (Y/n) that Bucky wasn't lying to her about anything and the reason he left to retrieve her Handler was to make him answer for his wrongdoings. Tony states that Bucky doesn't want what happened to her or him to ever happen again, and they needed Rollins to tell them where the rest of HYDRA was to do that. (Y/n) becomes further unsure, questioning who Tony is and who she is, and as she begins to cry, Steve suggests letting her have her space. For a moment, Tony stays behind, just watching as she cried, and once he leaves, Steve stays for a moment longer; unsure of what to do. Instead of attempting to comfort her, Steve decides to leave as well, finally angry. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Я буду бить, резать и кромсать тебя столько, сколько мне нужно. Ты узнаешь, что семью не оставишь. - I will beat, cut and shred you as much as I need. You will learn that you will not leave your family.

Это был вызов… он просто хотел посмотреть, буду ли я лоялен… а теперь он знает, что у меня есть недостатки. Мой проводник накажет меня - It was a challenge… he just wanted to see if I would be loyal… and now he knows I have flaws. My guide {Handler] will punish me

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