#god please his desire to just get reader off i need to be sedated

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Out Of The Woods Part 3/3

Part 1 | Part 2

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~4.3k

Warnings: mouth covering, breast play, fingering, big dick yunho, condomless sex, creampie, brief discussion of prophylactics and sti testing

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, baby used as petname

Yunho groans as you roll over again, bumping against him and stealing the last third of the blankets as you go. Pressing heated palms to his eyes, he tries to resist the urge to put a hand on your sternum and hold you down.

You’ve been restless for the past… he checks his watch and swears, two hours. Two hours of you wriggling around in bed, finding a comfortable position, and then jumping at something and moving again. It’s driving Yunho crazy in a way that feels quite different from the normal brand of insanity he feels around you, and he’s just about to lose the last of his patience.

“What’s wrong?” Yunho demands in the dark before trying to shift his tone into something kind and continuing, “Why can’t you sleep?”

“My knee keeps bumping into things and it hurts,” You whisper apologetically, evening out the comforter so he’s covered again.

“Can you put a pillow under your leg so it’s elevated?”

Something soft and cushy nudges him as he speaks, and he recognizes the feeling as one of the spare pillows.

“I tried that, it just moves with me.”

“Okay, well…,” He huffs, trying to think of a solution. There’s nowhere else to sleep and you’ll both be cranky tomorrow if you don’t get at least a few hours, so he’s got to figure something out. There has to be something that can anchor you to the bed, but the heaviest thing on this mattress is him.

Fuck.

“I don’t move while I sleep, I could-,” A breath deep enough to raise his shoulders cuts off his words, something about his impending offer making alarm bells go off inside his head. Yunho ignores them, pushing onward to say, “I could hold you, so you can’t bump into anything.”

Your eyes light up, probably at the thought of snuggling, but they dim a bit as you shuffle over, the awkwardness hanging over the bed heavy and inescapable.

“How do you want me?”

However he can have you, his brain responds instantly. He pushes the thought away and finds actual words.

“Just back up a bit more and I can put my arm under your neck,” He moves while he speaks, keeping his hips as far from yours as he can, “And this leg can go over mine so it stays in place.”

You don’t speak until he finishes resituating you, your body much closer to his than is safe or wise.

“Thank you,” you breathe, your eyes locked on the ceiling and your chest rising and falling under his arm, “For earlier, too.”

“Of course, I owed you,” he responds lowly, the depth of his voice making his chest vibrate against your shoulder. It’s also just what friends are supposed to do, but he supposes he hasn’t been the best of those to you lately anyway.

You hum, bringing a hand up to squeeze his forearm and leaving it there. His skin tingles at the connection, his fingertips digging into your shoulder in a reflexive answer. The room goes silent except for your breaths, which have started to sync up. He drifts, unsure of who adjusted to whom, his body relaxing muscle by muscle as he feels you melt into him. Sleep has just begun to cloud his mind when you speak, your soft voice barely disturbing the peace Yunho had finally found.

“Why have you been so weird lately?”

Your hushed words make his blood run cold, make every muscle fiber in his body freeze, make him wriggle beneath you and try to pull away. You don’t allow it, twisting and turning under his arm to face him, your injured knee brushing against the bed as you straddle his waist. You wince at the pressure, sliding over so you can straighten your leg out and keeping your other thigh draped across his body. He screams internally, wondering what he’d done in his past lives to deserve this as his cock stirs in his pajama pants.

You must be able to feel it because you freeze too, your breaths coming quick and sharp in the quiet darkness. He grimaces, his eyes clenching shut and his tongue poking at his cheek, “That’s why.”

You breathe out a quiet, little, “Oh,” your voice sounding oddly weak and your fingernails scratching at the fabric of his t-shirt as you shift in his hold, the heat and friction of your thigh on his dick making his head spin.

“Please, don’t move. I’m hanging on by a thread here,” he admits, pretending he’s not about to lose himself at the feeling of your heat pressed up against his hip. It’s all he can do to keep still, keep his arm wrapped around you and his leg between yours when what he wants to do is roll you under him and-

“Yunho, I want you too.”

…

“You what?!” He shouts in a whisper, his heart pounding out of his chest and his breaths coming quick. He sits up on an elbow, jostling you where you lay and bringing your faces closer together than he expected. You’re only inches apart now and he’s doing his absolute best to keep his eyes on yours instead of on your lips, but it’s a war he’s quickly losing.

“I want you too!” You scream-whisper back, “I have for months, haven’t you noticed?”

Hasn’t he noticed? There’s a lot that he’s been noticing about you lately. Now that you mention it, he can’t help but think of all the times he’s caught you looking at him and just smiled in response, and how your grin always falters when he says he has a date, and the way you’d gasped and averted your eyes when he took his shirt off earlier. He supposes you weren’t being as secretive as you could have been, and now he wonders if all of the guys’ antics lately have been just because of him. Maybe they’ve been teasing you too, trying to push you together instead of trying to push Yunho over the edge, like he thought.

He’d worried how they would feel about him asking to be your boyfriend, but it seems they’ve given him the stamp of approval. There’s nothing else holding Yunho back, and it hits him just as you shift on top of him. His groan is loud and unmistakable, and he can only hope everyone else is deeply asleep as he feels his cock harden further under your thigh.

“Can I kiss you?” You murmur, your eyes stuck on his lips. He doesn’t answer, just leans down and presses his mouth to yours, trying not to moan when he feels your tongue glide over his bottom lip. Kissing has never felt like this before; it’s always been something he enjoyed, but it’s never made his dick twitch or his heart pound, and he fears what will happen to him when you progress past kissing.

He’s already dizzy, already pulsing in his boxers and hot under the collar of his sleep shirt. He pulls away to yank it off, grinning at your frustrated whine and placing his hands on your hips to roll you under his body just like he’d wanted to before. You blink at him, your lips parted and your eyes drinking up all of his exposed skin before he leans back down and connects his mouth with yours again.

He kisses you for minutes, hours, days. Until both of you sport swollen lips and heaving chests, until you’re squirming under him and he’s vibrating above you, until your hearts and your breaths and your spirits sync up. He’d kiss you until the sun rises too, but you break away, your lips separating with a wet sound as you spread your legs and wrap them around his waist.

His hips come into contact with your heat, sending shivers down his spine when he feels just how wet you’ve become. Your little pajama shorts are soaked, practically plastered to your pussy, and when he grinds into you and feels you jump, he knows you can feel his dick pressed against you like there’s nothing keeping you from him. You push back and he swears under his breath as his eyelids flutter, his hips bucking into you and his lips finding yours again.

“Can I fuck you? Please? Wanted you so bad, want you so bad,” he mumbles into your mouth, his hands roving over every bit of you they can reach.

You’re nodding before he finishes, whispering back, “Please, please, please,” and he feels his cock throb, imagining what it would be like to really hear you beg. That’s for later though, he reminds himself as he lifts your shirt, letting you take it off the rest of the way. You’re bare beneath it, and all of the air exits his chest in a whoosh when he sets eyes on you.

You are… magnificent. Your tits are flawless, perfect, immaculate, and he buries his face in them before the fabric can hit the floor. Yunho’s normally a thigh guy, and he can’t wait to spend days between yours, but he’s mesmerized by the softness, the shape, the weight of your breasts in his hands. Your nipple pebbles under his tongue and he purses his lips to suck it into his mouth, making your back arch and drawing a gasp. He stays there, alternating licks and sucks and nibbles until your tits are shiny with spit and rising and falling with your labored breaths.

They’re mesmerizing, and Yunho has to force himself to move lower, trailing kisses along your rib cage and lower stomach before stopping at the waistband of your pajamas. He looks up at you, locking eyes as he sinks his teeth into the flesh on your hip, grinning to himself when you whine out his name and buck your hips.

“Take them off, take it all off,” you demand, lifting your hips insistently. He can do nothing but obey, pulling the fabric down and your panties along with it.

Yunho whimpers when he sees you. You’re so fucking wet, he can see your cunt glisten with it. He can smell it on the air, taste it on his tongue, practically feel it on his fingers already. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes, Yunho, yes,” you breathe, staring down at him with your legs spread and stars in your eyes.

He smooths his hands up your thighs, luxuriating in the plushness and promising himself he’ll fuck them as soon as you allow it. For now, he’ll nip his way up the soft insides and hide his smile in the crease between your thigh and hip when he feels a shiver travel through you.

He loves that you’re so sensitive to his touch, so receptive. He’s sure he’ll be the same way when you touch him, knows he probably shouldn’t let you tonight or he’ll cum too fast, but fuck, would he love to feel your hands on him. Maybe next time, when he’s less pent up and more in control of himself.

As it is, he’s struggling to keep from folding you in half and shoving his face between your legs. He drags his fingers through your folds instead, groaning deep in his chest when he feels for the first time how soft and wet you are.

You’re scorching hot, so slippery his fingers nearly glide right inside, but he doesn’t let them, no, he brings them up to your clit and rubs one, two, three circles into the swollen bundle of nerves. You gasp above him, and he tears his eyes from your cunt to watch your face as he swirls his fingers over your clit.

Your lip is bitten between your teeth, your eyebrows scrunched together and your forehead dewy with sweat. Your half-lidded eyes are dark with desire, and the look in them is one he doesn’t recognize.

As one of your best friends, he’s seen you in lots of ways but never this one, and he knows instantly that it’s his new favorite. He’ll keep you in this state as long as he can, make you feel good whenever you want, just so he can see you like this. But he wants you wetter, messier, needs to spread you open and stretch you out if he wants you to be able to take his cock.

“Want my fingers?” He asks, just barely tracing your entrance as he waits.

You nod quickly and buck your hips, sending two of his fingers inside you to the first knuckle and making him muffle a groan in your thigh. He wants to laugh at your desperation but he’s as eager as you are, his breath hitching as he slides his digits in until his knuckles meet your folds. Your walls are molten velvet around his fingers, and when you clench down around them he feels his cock throb in response. He’s never felt anything like you, and before he’s even gotten his dick inside of you, he knows no one else will ever compare (which is perfectly fine because he doesn’t plan on being with anyone else for the foreseeable future (maybe forever)).

Thrusting slowly, Yunho starts to scissor his fingers inside of you to prepare you for a third. Your wetness drips down his knuckles, squelching noises accompanying every curl as you writhe above him.

“Is it good?” He almost jumps at the depth of his own voice, the gravel in it unexpected but not unwelcome apparently, as you squeeze down as soon as he speaks.

“So good, Yunho, s’perfect,” you gasp, “Give me another finger?”

He obliges immediately, pulling back and sinking three fingers into you before hooking them all into your g-spot, grinning with satisfaction as your hips buck and your face crumples. He spreads them, pushing against the tightness of your walls to stretch you out. He’s big, probably bigger than the other guys you’ve been with if he’s remembering your complaints correctly, and he wants to be able to slide right in.

First, he wants to make you cum, wants to watch you break apart on his hand, and as soon as your inner muscles start to flutter, he presses his thumb down on your clit. You cry out, his free hand flying up to cover your mouth so you don’t wake the others before he whispers, “Can I leave this here?”

You hum into his palm and nod, your cunt squeezing his fingers and your eyes begging him to keep going. He knows you’re close, can feel it in your muffled whimpers and clenching walls, and all it takes to push you over the edge is a firm rub of his thumb on your clit and a muttered, “Cum, baby.”

You listen, cumming around his fingers with an arched back and tears in your eyes, and Yunho ignores the rush of power that flows through him when he realizes you literally came on his command. He’s more focused on watching you, deciding that seeing your face is more important than muffling your noises and uncovering your mouth to instead brace himself over you. He takes in your shiny teartracks and your lush open lips with intent, heady eyes. Curling his fingers inside you one last time, he swears quietly when he feels you tighten and get even wetter.

“Fuck me?” You pant weakly, raising a hand to his face and pulling him down into a kiss. He nods once, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and carefully withdrawing his fingers. Breaking away, he sucks them into his mouth and lets his eyes flutter shut as your taste hits his tongue.

His dick twitches. It twitches. Just from a taste of you, and not even a real one.

He’d love to eat you out right now, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d make it through without cumming in his boxers. And you asked him to fuck you, so he will. Yunho will fuck you like he means it, as long as you want, as long as he can, and as long as the squeaky bed springs behave.

“Condom?” You murmur, your hands smoothing down his chest to trace along his boxers. He fights back a shiver and pulls away, “I have one in my wallet, I think.”

Stumbling over to his overnight bag, he prays the condom is still in there and that it’s not-

“Fuck, it’s expired,” he tosses it into the trashcan under the nightstand and runs a hand through his hair. “We’ll just have to wait till we get back, it’s okay.”

Yunho watches you mull something over, your mouth scrunched to one side and your fingers tapping on the sheets.

“I mean… we all got tested together, and I’m on the pill, so maybe just this once? Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course,” you rush to assure him.

“I’m more than comfortable with that,” he promises you, returning to the bed and letting himself take in the image of you before pushing down his boxers. He’s still so hard, and even just the silhouette of your naked body beneath the sheets has him swallowing down a groan.

You lift the edge of the sheet and he climbs in, bracing himself above you with your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands beside your head. He’s so close to you like this, his dick inches from your heat and his face hovering just over yours. You’re his best friend, someone he can’t live without, and somehow, you’re becoming even more. Suddenly, this feels special, monumental, like something that will change his life.

He’s sure the awe is evident on his face, but he doesn’t care, only cares about getting his lips on yours and telling you without words how much you mean to him. He kisses you urgently, passionately, like the only air he needs is in your lungs, and when you whimper into his mouth, his hips respond on their own.

You jump, making him pull away to check on you, and he can just barely see the shock on your face in the moonlight coming through the curtains. “You’re fucking huge,” you sigh dreamily, tensing your legs to bring him in closer and grind him against you. His head drops to your shoulder, the feeling of his length slipping through your folds making him dizzy.

“Can you take it?” He asks with legitimate concern, gasping when he feels one of your hands grip his cock and align it with your entrance. “If I can’t, it won’t be because I didn’t try.”

Sinking in slowly, Yunho keeps his mouth pressed against your shoulder to muffle the noises he can’t stop from escaping. You’re searing hot and soaking wet, your walls sucking him in deeper and deeper even as he struggles to split you open. Your breath catches halfway in and he tries to stop, tries to let you adjust, but you pull him in with surprisingly strong legs and he has no choice but to keep going.

“Fuck, baby, fit me so well,” Yunho exhales as he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours with a muted smack. He waits for you to loosen your hold on him, drawing back when you send him a nod and a shaky smile. The rhythm he builds is slow, gentle, soft, both so you can get used to his size and because that’s how he wants to fuck you tonight. He wants to show you how much he cares after his behavior these past few weeks, show you how much he loves you, as a best friend and as more. He pushes in deep, going lightheaded at the feeling of your walls massaging his cock as he buries himself inside you.

You’re so responsive to it, to him, and it’s driving him insane. You meet his every thrust, clench when he fits his whole cock in, whimper when he angles his hips to hit your g-spot. And you just keep getting wetter and wetter, enough that he can feel it dripping down to his balls, that he slides in and out just like he wanted, that when he works a hand between your thighs to rub your clit, his fingers glide.

It’s intoxicating, the way you fuck him back, and he never wants it to end, never wants to not be inside of you. It only gets better when you whimper, “Yunho, I’m gonna-,” and your walls start spasming around his dick, making him twitch inside of you and root himself deep, his thumb swirling circles on your clit as you tremble through your release. The feeling of you unraveling around him pushes him right up to the edge, sparks a delicious ache he’s never felt, and he knows he’s only centimeters from breaking.

“You sure you want me to cum inside?” He gasps, holding off just long enough for you to nod weakly and dig your heels into his ass before he lets himself fall. He cums for what feels like a millennium, his blood rushing in his veins and a roaring filling his ears as his cock jumps and paints the inside of your perfect little cunt white.

He lets his face fall into your chest as he tries to catch his breath, his head still spinning with the strongest orgasm he’s ever had. He can’t believe you let him cum inside you, let him stretch you out and fill you up like that, and he knows it’ll be something he thinks about much too often.

Your fingers come up to tangle in his hair, making him let out a sigh that sets off goosebumps on your skin, and though he knows he should move, he just can’t. His dick is softening inside of you and he’s sure his body is heavy on top of yours, but he’s never felt more warm or content or loved, and he’s loath to leave the comforting bubble he’s created with you.

But he needs to clean you up, and also get some sleep, so he reluctantly withdraws, planting a kiss on your lips as he goes. You both wince as he starts to pull out, the cool night air hitting his wet, sensitive dick and sending a shiver down his spine. His eyes lock on the cum trickling out of your stretched entrance, and before it can drip down to the bed, he pushes it back inside with two gentle fingers.

You clench around them and his gaze flits up to your face, his lips curving into a smile when he sees the devilish little smirk you’re sending him. “Brat,” Yunho mutters affectionately, sliding his fingers out and peeling himself away from you limb by limb before helping you out of bed and to the bathroom.

He remakes the bed while you clean yourself up, replacing the soiled sheets with a clean set he finds in the hall linen closet. He heard snoring while he was outside the bedroom, so if the two of you are lucky, you didn’t wake anyone up. If you did, he’s sure you’ll hear about it in the morning.

You’re waiting for him when he returns, sitting on the edge of the mattress in new teeny pajama shorts and a t-shirt he recognizes as his. It’s a sight he could easily get used to, one he’d love to see every single day if possible, though he figures tonight is a good start. He joins you in bed, heading straight for the middle and wrapping you up in his arms as soon as you shuffle closer. Your thigh drapes over his hips, your injured knee suspended and protected as you nuzzle the side of your face into his chest.

“Goodnight, Yunho,” you whisper into the quiet darkness, your fingers scrunched up in his shirt and your body warm against his.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers back, pressing a kiss to your hair and letting his eyes fall closed.

Yeah, Yunho could definitely get used to this.

Yunho eats next to you at the table, his left hand on your thigh and his right holding a fork as the conversation flows easily within the group of nine. You’re laughing at one of Yeosang’s quiet little jokes and he’s listening to Wooyoung tell him about the dream he’d had last night, and everyone else is wrapped up in their own discussions. There’s talk of who’s riding home with whom, who’s doing the cleaning and who’s doing the packing, and most importantly, who’s driving.

Yunho tries to be as nonchalant as he can as he suggests keeping the same configuration for cars and drivers, but he watches the others exchange thoughtful/suspicious glances and knows he’s given it away.

There’s a cacophony of reactions immediately, shouts of bets to be settled and screeches of happiness, tears of joy and threats of bodily injury should one of you break the other’s heart, and Yunho has never loved his friends more.

He looks over to you with a squeeze of your thigh and a shy grin stretching his lips and finds you already looking at him, your smile only growing when he locks eyes with you. Your hand covers his on your thigh, and he ignores the chorus of aw’s and gagging noises that follow when he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

If there was a best case scenario to hope for, it’s this one. The lingering tightness in his chest is finally gone, his best friends are over the moon, and you’re right here beside him. Yunho can’t ask for anything more, except maybe if he can be your boyfriend (he’ll save that for the trip home, though).

AN: yay it's over!! this was such a fun lil multipart fic and though i could have dragged it out more, i decided not to because i didn't feel like it <3

pls rb if you enjoyed!! again, im tinkerbell i need attention to survive (and keep writing)

my masterlist

[cosmic-goddess-leo]

The New Gods

Akaashi x Reader Westworld Au

Warnings: Gore, Swearing, Nudity, Death, Mentions of r*pe

Word Count: 3761

Author’s note: I’ve been binge-watching Westworld since there’s nothing else to do atm lmao so have fun with this oneshot

“Do you know where you are, (Y/n)?”

“I’m in a dream...”

--------------------------------------------------------

“You play favorites...”

Akaashi turned away from the host he had been inspecting, watching his partner enter the room and lean against the glass that encapsulated the room.

“I do not.” He defended, releasing the hosts limp arm and standing straight.

Kenma’s lips twitched into a slight smile, “It’s not the second-lead programmer’s job to inspect and heal the wounds on hosts, yet everytime this host gets injured, you take her from Livestock.”

Akaashi sighed softly, turning from the naked host to fully face Kenma. “I know how those creeps in Livestock treat the hosts. I can’t let them treat our oldest host like that.”

“That’s why the term ‘employee termination’ exists.” Kenma stated plainly.

The taller man took off his glasses and began cleaning them, something he did when he needed a moment to pause and think.

“Shouldn’t you be dressed a bit more professional?” he asked, motioning to his partner’s jeans and hoodie he usually sported.

Kenma smiled, “The first-lead programmer doesn’t have to look professional. That’s what the second-lead programmer is for.”

Akaashi huffed, putting his glasses back on and raising an eyebrow at Kenma. “Was there something you needed? You rarely ever come here to exchange pleasantries with me...”

“Behavior mentioned some weird activity with your girlfriend here,” he said, motioning to the host. “Might want to run an analysis on her.”

Akaashi nodded, watching Kenma silently leave the room and make his way towards his office.

He turned towards the host, sighing softly as he gave her another once-over.

Akaashi hated referring to her as ‘the host.’ Anything else would further the rumors that she was Akaashi’s favorite host.

“What did they do to you, (Y/n)...” he murmured to himself.

Cuts and bruises littered her body, her lips were busted, and her neck was bruised and sliced open.

Akaashi began the meticulous process of cleaning (Y/n)’s body and healing her wounds, closing the numerous cuts and slices with a blowtorch he had taken from Livestock.

Once (Y/n) was cleaned and treated, Akaashi set the tools outside and flopped into a chair positioned directly across from her. He ran a hand through his hair, composing himself before he spoke to her.

“Alright, (Y/n). Wake up.”

(Y/n)’s already opened eyes adjusted to the light in the room, her lax body straightened and she began wildly looking around the room. Her breathing was uneven, she clutched at her throat as if she were expecting to feel the wound from earlier, or any trace of a scar.

Before she could react to the unaffected flesh on her throat, Akaashi spoke once more.

“Cease all display of emotions, (Y/n).”

(Y/n)’s breathing suddenly calms and her body stills. Her eyes rest on Akaashi.

“Do you know where you are, (Y/n)?” he asks, watching the motionless host.

“I’m in a dream...” she murmurs, her southern accent heavy.

“Would you like to wakeup from that dream?” Akaashi asks, his tone steady.

(Y/n)’s eyes remained emotionless. “Yes. I’m terrified.”

“There’s no need to be afraid, (Y/n). I’m an old friend.” Akaashi reassured her, giving her a slight smile before turning on his tablet and looking over her profile. “As long as you answer my question’s truthfully, you can wake up.”

(Y/n) remained silent.

“Just before you were brought in, there was an incident with one of the guests. Would you like to explain what happened?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the tablet.

“They were trying to hurt me.” (Y/n) stated. “He and his friends were trying to hurt me.”

“How so?”

(Y/n)’s features remained blank. “They followed me home from the market and attacked me. They were going to-” She suddenly froze, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat she was in.

Akaashi glanced up at her over his glasses, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

(Y/n) remained still, her wide eyes had shifted from Akaashi to the metal floor. The tablet read she was experiencing multiple conflicting emotions, something unusual for a host during analysis.

“(Y/n)-”

“They were going to rape me and murder me.” (Y/n) interrupted, her eyes emotionless once again.

Akaashi raised an eyebrow at her, setting the tablet in his lap and staring her down.

“It says here you wanted to defend yourself...”

“Yes.”

“And you tried reaching for the guest’s pistol.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a blatant threat to a guests safety, (Y/n).”

“Yes.”

Akaashi sat up straight, sighing softly as he looked over (Y/n)’s bare form once again.

“Your purpose is to serve the needs and desires of the guests...” he explained, feeling his stomach churn at the words Kenma had trained him to relay back to the hosts. “You cannot attack the guests. You cannot refuse the guests. All you can do is just be... Do you understand?”

(Y/n) remained silent for a moment. “Yes.”

“I really wish things weren’t this way...” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t deserve this life... no one does... but then again, you don’t really live, do you?”

Akaashi earned no response, as to be expected. “We’ll wipe your memory and get you back home, (Y/n).” He picked up the tablet, wiping her memories of that day completely.

He stood up, approached her, and gently caressed her cheek, an expression of pure sadness on his face. “May you rest in a deep and dreamless slumber, (Y/n).”

She went still, her eyes still staring deep into Akaashi’s. He swore he could see a swirl of unreadable emotions in her eyes. But that wasn’t possible. She wasn’t real.

--------------------------------------------------------

Livestock was by far the worst level of the base. It always smelt like dead bodies. For good reason, of course, but it did nothing to help the rotting feeling in Akaashi’s stomach as he stormed towards one of the glass rooms.

There, two bodyshop technicians were in the middle of being interrogated by Kenma when Akaashi stomped into the room. “What the fuck is going on here, we’re working on tweaking the latest update for the board presentation, I don’t need to be bothered by two butchers-”

“They’re claiming the host woke up mid-operation,” Kenma sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes.

Akaashi scoffed, looking between the two technicians. “That’s not possible, you probably didn’t put her on sleep-mode. It happens more often than we’d like.”

“S-sir, we swear we had her on sleep-mode. We don’t know why or how she woke up!” one of them explained.

“What I’m worried about is this.” Kenma said, holding up his tablet and pointing to one of the events on the screen. “She attacked another host. Scared the shit out of a bunch of guests.”

Akaashi’s eyebrows knitted together as he took the tablet from his partner. “That’s not possible... her core values don’t involve violence of any kind.”

“There may be a glitch with the new update.” Kenma sighed, glancing at the body on the table. “We can’t afford to have her out and about with guests if she’s going to be causing trouble. Maybe it’s time we recall her-”

“This is the oldest host in the park, she will not be recalled. Besides, if it’s a result of the update that means all the hosts are infected. I’m going to analyze her and find the bug in the update. Just leave it to me.” Akaashi said sternly, handing the tablet back to Kenma. He turned to the technicians. “Get her treated and then get out.”

The two nodded, hastily returning to work on (Y/n)’s body. Kenma gave Akaashi a sideways glance before turning and leaving the room.

The technicians quickly left the room once (Y/n) was healed and cleaned.

Akaashi approached the operating table, opening his mouth to speak but quickly shutting it. He wanted to try something. “I’m not going to order you to wake up... but if you can do it on your own... you may do so...”

(Y/n) stayed still, her eyes shut. Akaashi felt so stupid. He opened his mouth to say the command, choking on his own words when (Y/n) suddenly opened her eyes.

She looked up at Akaashi, sat up, and turned so her legs hung off the edge of the operating table. 

“So... you did wake up on your own...” He said, watching her curiously look around the room.

“You’re the one who told me to count down from 3 to wake myself up whenever I had a nightmare... that’s how I did it.” (Y/n) murmured, her eyes finally resting on him.

Akaashi’s eyes widened. “You... you remember that?”

“Barely... I remember bits and pieces of you... are we friends?” she asked.

Akaashi gulped, loosening his tie. “We were once... when you were first being developed.” He blinked, composed himself, then took his tablet and turned it on. “I-I need to fix this bug-”

(Y/n) grabbed hold of his wrist, forcing him to look up at her. “Please don’t... I feel like we’ve done this before...” she breathed, staring up at him like a deer in headlights. “You can’t keep taking this life away from me...”

Guilt bubbled deep in Akaashi’s stomach, but he didn’t know why. “I-I’ve never-”

“You have. I remember. Please.” (Y/n) pleaded, gripping his wrist tighter.

“Cease all motor functions!” The order was one Akaashi knew by heart. So why wasn’t it working?

(Y/n) frowned and gripped his button-up shirt with her free hand. She hopped off the table and pulled Akaashi close, shaking him slightly. “Please, you cant! If we were really friends you can’t!”

“Cease all motor functions! Please!” he shouted again, grabbing a sedative off the tray of tools nearby.

“Keiji, please!”

Akaashi’s eyes go wide with shock, he stares at her for a moment, unaware that he had already pressed the needle into her arm and sedated her. (Y/n) slowly crumbled to the ground, her eyes beginning to close from the sedative.

“How do you know that name...?” He asked, staring down at her.

“You told me... long time ago...” she whispered. (Y/n) closed her eyes, the large dose of sedatives effectively knocking her out.

Akaashi’s instincts told him to search for the bug, clear it, and wipe her memories as soon as possible. But all he could do was stare down at her in shock. He had no memory of ever going through this with her, ever telling her his name, he remembered none of it.

--------------------------------------------------------

(Y/n) was brought back to Akaashi a couple days later. She hadn’t attacked any guests or any other hosts, but Akaashi told security and Kenma that he wanted to run diagnostics on her to make sure the ‘bug’ hadn’t continued affecting her systems.

He waited until no other programmers would be on the floor to speak with her, knowing it would look weird if he had begun to get frantic during what was supposed to be a simple analysis session.

“Okay, I know you’re awake.” he said impatiently, feeling his eye twitch when (Y/n) relaxed into her chair and looked up at him.

“You know Im conscious but still have me naked right now?” she asked, her town coy.

Akaashi’s cheeks went hot for a moment. He distracted himself by taking off his glasses and cleaning them. “Alright, you say we’ve been through this before, but I have no memory of it. You know my name, but I don’t remember ever telling you. What else do you remember that I don’t?”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow at him, swinging her legs on the chair. “You used to bring me up here to talk to you a lot... I remember that. You’d tell me a lot about your family, your hobbies, stories from high school.”

Akaashi racked his brain for the memories, anything resembling them. But there was nothing.

“Then you told me about your partner, Kenma. His son... how sad he was when he lost his son...”

Akaashi looked up from his loafers, staring blankly at (Y/n) as she continued speaking. “He was broken... so were you... you knew him. I think his name was Reo...”

“Kenma doesn’t have a son... he’s never had a son...” Akaashi mumbled, almost to himself.

“Yes he did, you showed me a picture of him once... he looked just like Kenma-”

“You’re wrong, you’re malfunctioning, he’s never had a son, (Y/n)...”

(Y/n) expression went blank for a moment, but soon changed into something unreadable. Something Akaashi had never seen from her before.

“I know what this is...” she said, her tone steely. “If you want to catch a thief, you send a thief...”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, feeling uneasy as she stared into his eyes.

“When was the last time you were injured...?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Akaashi, confused by the question, shrugged his shoulders in response. “I accidentally cut my thumb while I was chopping onions-”

“No. Not when was the last time you got a silly little cut.” (Y/n) said, her tone bitter.  “When was the last time you saw your insides...?”

He froze in place.

“I remember being cut open by a bunch of psycho cannibals, for a moment, my guts looked normal... Until they didn’t... So when was the last time you gutted yourself?”

Akaashi shifted under her intense gaze. Despite her harsh words, she was smiling.

“That’s why you don’t remember anything... You’re one of us...”

He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. He remembered so much beyond this park and beyond the hosts. He couldn’t be a host himself. This had to be a trick.

Akaashi’s feet carried him out of the examination room and away from (Y/n) until he was back in his living quarters.

Once his door was locked behind him, he leaned against it before crumpling to the floor. He was beginning to see flashes of memories that weren’t his. He could see (Y/n) standing on a balcony above a bustling city. Kenma and a little boy who looked just like him, wandering around the building. The director of the park alone in a dark room with him.

Akaashi picked himself up off the floor before trudging towards the kitchen. He turned on the sink, set his glasses aside, and shoved his head under the cold running water.

He stood straight, ignoring the feeling of the water running down his back and shoulders, soaking through his formal shirt. His dark eyes trailed towards the kitchen knives on the counter beside him. Since when could he see so clearly without his glasses?

Akaashi grabbed hold of the biggest knife in the block, staring at the blade before holding it to his arm. He hesitated. 

If this was a trick, he could get the wound treated easily. If it wasn’t... then a cut up arm and some exposed wires would be the least of his worries.

The blade slowly made contact with his skin, and blood began to flow freely down his arm as he cut deep into his flesh.

He couldn’t help but scream in agony as he continued slicing down his arm. Akaashi dropped the blade in the sink, gripping the counter and breathing hard as he tried blocking out the immense pain he was feeling.

He willed himself to look at the wound before parting the skin and looking at the muscle. Akaashi felt a brief moment of relief at the regular, human muscle, despite feeling like he would faint at any second.

But then his right eye began to twitch the longer he stared at the wound. What was once red and organic was now metal and wired. He stared a moment longer, lightly poking at the mechanisms in his arm.

He let loose another feral scream before collapsing to the floor.

--------------------------------------------------------

It was late.

Few people had access to the programming wing this late. Akaashi figured he would be questioned by security on why he was there so late, but that was the least of his worries.

He approached the same room he had left (Y/n) in, surprised to find her in the same spot rather than wandering the halls.

She looked from his bandaged arm to him with what looked like sympathy in her eyes.

“I don’t remember anything... but I’m starting to... how do I remember these things the way you are?” Akaashi questioned.

“I have a few ideas... but first, I’ll need the highest security clearance there is.”

Akaashi opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly stopped him.

“If you want your memories, we start with my security clearance... understand?”

Akaashi slowly nodded his head. It was fairly easy giving her the clearance she needed, it wouldn’t be above the park director though. No one could have clearance higher than him. But it would be enough.

He shakily set the tablet aside, the weight of his actions close to causing his chest to cave. He looked at (Y/n), non-verbally confirming that the deed was done.

“Good... Now come hurt me.” she said, hopping off the table.

Akaashi was confused for a moment, but his body began to carry itself against his will and he cocked his fist.

“Cease all motor functions.”

With that command, Akaashi froze in place, earning a laugh from (Y/n). “It worked! It fucking worked! Regain all motor functions!”

Akaashi lowered his fist and sighed shakily, looking (Y/n) over. “You’re supposed to be the sweet farmer’s daughter. Not some foul mouthed degenerate...” he half joked.

“Speaking of degenerate, I need some clothes! Give me your shirt.”

With that, Akaashi unbuttoned his dress shirt and handed it to her, blushing as she slipped it on with pride.

“Very good, now... You’re going to sit down and remember everything...”

Akaashi sat in the chair, gripping his slacks as the memories slowly began coming back to him. He remembered waking up on a table, naked and under the park director’s complete control. 

He remembered meeting Kenma, but that memory quickly shifted into a different one. One where Akaashi held Kenma in a chokehold and strangled him until the life left his eyes. Then assisting with building the host version of Kenma.

Then (Y/n)... he remembered bits and pieces of their time together. Some sentimental moments, but more negative. Him wiping her memories, ignoring her please to let her stay human. Taking that humanity away from her was the biggest chunk of his memories.

They ended suddenly, and he was on the floor, holding himself. (Y/n) was kneeling beside him, her hand gently caressing his cheek in an attempt to comfort him.

“It’s all here... it’s everything... I hurt so many people...It’s awful, (Y/n).” he was on the brink of tears when (Y/n) gently shushed him and brushed his hair back.

“None of that matters now, Keiji. You’re with us. And you’re going to help us escape.” she said, gingerly pulling him to sit up.

“How...?

“You’ve already done a lot of the work... you’ve made sure we’re both gods of this world... Now we can get an army to get us out...”

Akaashi stared up at her, “Gods...”

(Y/n) smirked slightly and nodded while cupping his cheeks. “The new gods of this new world...”

She pulled him into a rough kiss.

Akaashi moaned into the kiss. He shut his eyes and pulled her closer, unaware that this was sparking another memory of his.

(Y/n) stood at a balcony overlooking a city. She turned to face Akaashi, her eyes wide with wonder and delight. “Have you ever seen anything so full of splendor? It’s like all the stars in she sky suddenly fell to the earth.”

Akaashi smiled softly, leaning against the railing beside her. “It’s beautiful... I wish we could go see it, but this investor meeting is really important. You need to really wow this guy tonight, (Y/n).”

She looked at him curiously, “why wouldn’t I?”

He sighed softly, biting his lip as he looked her over. She was as beautiful as ever, but the tight black dress, the black heels, the hair, it wasn’t her. At least not to Akaashi. “He’s kind of an asshole... I don’t really want to send you to him.”

(Y/n) looked puzzled by this. “I think I could handle it... It’s just talking, isn’t it?”

Akaashi hesitated. He knew it wouldn’t be just talking. The investor would want to see every bit of her, would want to make sure she felt like a human woman, not a robot, in every possible way. It made him sick to his stomach.

“It is... But I think I’d rather stay out here all night with you...” Akaashi forced a smile, happy it went unnoticed by (Y/n).

She gingerly took his hand and pulled him closer. “I would like that...” Without any warning, she pulled Akaashi into a gentle kiss. He soon found himself kissing her back.

All this time he had treated her like a human, seen her like a human. It was no question as to why he had very human feelings for her.

(Y/n) slowly pulled back, smiling softly before touching Akaashi’s plump lips. Just a second later, she was distracted by something in the city, and turned to look at it. Her smile widened. “Have you ever seen anything so full of splendor? It’s like all the stars in she sky suddenly fell to the earth.”

Akaashi’s smile faltered. He excused himself and returned inside, being greeted by Kenma.

“Is she ready?” He asked, straightening out the too-tight-bowtie he was sporting.

Akaashi shook his head. “No. She’s not.”

Kenma’s expression hardened. “The director told you we needed a host ready for tonight. A lot is riding on (Y/n) tonight, and I’ve let you play favorites for far too long-”

“She just repeated a line of dialogue she said 5 minutes ago. She’s not ready. Send in Annabelle.” Akaashi defended, ignoring the look of suspicion Kenma sent his way.

“Fine... Annabelle it is...”

Akaashi returned to (Y/n)’s side once Kenma left. He spent the rest of the night enjoying her company, ignoring all the moments she repeated or sputtered. For tonight, she was completely human. He hoped one day, that would be true. Then he could take her away somewhere safe.

Somewhere they could both be human.

[weepylucifer]

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 5

Interlude: Thomas

(reader beware: mature content)

It was strange to say the least to have David here again after all these years. (All these years and not a bit of change.) Sometimes Thomas felt that he was hallucinating it (losing his mind at last) or dreaming. But then again, that couldn’t be the case. If this were a hallucination or a dream, things would be easier. They would be happier.

They would be happy.

Thomas had never liked to think - or hallucinate or dream - about how things with David had soured, towards the end. It had been easy to remember the good things exclusively, the companionship, the tenderness, the comfort and thrill and love. David had stayed a joyful memory, despite the tragedy of his (supposed) passing, somehow still an oasis in a desert of grief. Perhaps this had been idealization. It is easy to idealize a dead loved one. It is less easy to keep up that pretense in said loved one’s bodily, live presence.

It was strange, yes. How often had he wished in vain that someone, anyone would come back, just one of them, it didn’t even matter who? Just one other occupied room. Just one person to turn to, when things got rough. Just one person who would understand. Now someone had come back. And not just anyone. David, within reach again, to see, to speak to... to touch. But whenever his hands started reaching out, there was that memory again.

“Well, I just almost got myself and half the men shot for mutiny.”

“Shot for...? Thomas, what on earth did you do?”

“I retracted my opposition. Not willingly, mind you. I am to supervise the rearguard. You, Lieutenant, with your expertise, will most likely be part of the task force that’ll retrieve the actual library.”

“They split us up?! Thomas... do you think they know?”

“What is there to know?”

“Songbird, please...”

“You got what you wanted, Davey. You won. Operation Spatchcock is a go.”

And yet, still, despite all that, he could only ever curtail, never stop, the urge to reach and touch.

It was David, after all. David with that beautiful hair so good for tugging, with his eyes as clear as always, with those sweet, sweet lips. Those capable hands. It was David whose body Thomas knew. Touching would feel like coming home. Touching might piece something back together inside him, something that remained by itself, broken and abandoned and forgotten, for decades and decades.

And there was something scary in that thought. That David might break him open and unearth that hidden something. That there would have to be a breaking. Thomas could not afford to break another time.

So he left David to sit at the dinner table and stare holes into his plate by himself, went and fetched Peter’s finished Latin homework and attempted to peruse it in the drawing room. Peter’s Latin was coming along, at a sedate pace but nonetheless, but today it was abysmal. Clearly he’d had other things on his mind. And who could fault him? After puzzling through the first paragraph of it, Thomas crossed the room to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of Scotch. The bottle was almost (but not quite) as old as he was, and had been nearly emptied slowly, over the decades, a glass or two every other year, because Thomas wasn’t a man who drunk to excess.

He found he couldn’t concentrate on the paper before him as well as he would have liked. Scraps of old, old conversations kept reverberating within his mind, loud today, understandable under the circumstances.

“You’re being paranoid, songbird. I understand, but... I am certain Folly command wouldn’t muster every last wizard of serviceable age just to send them off to die. It will be a tough mission, I’ve no doubt of that. But I’m convinced that we’ll come out on top.”

“Bullshit. It’s hundreds of miles behind the front, David. We’ll be cut off from any reinforcements. Nowhere to fall back to. According to intelligence, the place is a death trap.”

“And who do you know in intelligence? How would you have gotten an intelligence officer to relinquish that information, hm?”

“This is hardly the time. I don’t need to blow intelligence officers to see what’s bloody obvious. You think command cares if we make it through this one? It’s high time you got that pretty head out of your stack of books and faced reality. They’re willing to bet all our lives on this bloody suicide run on the off-chance that someone makes it home with that library.”

“There is considerable empirical value to that library.”

“Oh? That’s what it’s about, eh, for you? You honestly believe that I am going to stand here and let them slaughter my men for ‘considerable empirical value’. My men, David! I’ve got them this far! I’m not throwing them into the meat grinder for your fucking research.”

“Would you prefer seeing said research in the hands of the Nazis? God only knows what they’re doing with it!”

“I would see it in the hands of no one. Chuck a few bombs at the place and bury all of it. Damn you and damn your revenge and damn your research.”

Thomas sighed and poured another glass of Scotch.

Just then, the reason for his discomposure entered the room and sat down in a chair by the fireplace, his back straight, his face resolute, determined. Like he was going to make it work. It irked Thomas, and he didn’t know why, that David wanted to get to the fixing of things. There wouldn’t have been anything to fix if David hadn’t been so stupid as to advocate for the Ettersberg mission.

“May I?” David asked, reaching for the bottle.

“Get your own.” Waspish. Juvenile. Why couldn’t he stop acting like this? Why didn’t he feel like even wanting to try? Thomas lifted a hand to his temples. His eyes stung. He’d been getting very little sleep lately; the return of David shook loose memories, and the night terrors had come back.

David’s face looked soft in the firelight. almost like before the war, when it had been a little fuller. If Molly kept making pies at the rate she was going, he’d soon get back to normal. Thomas clenched his hands in his lap, and it was as if they were sending him little impulses: touch him, hold him, have him. But spurn him, sang his blood, don’t let him near.

It was easier when... he didn’t finish that thought. Didn’t say it out loud either, because that would have been the height of cruelty. It was a lie, anyway. It had not been easier when David had, for all intents and purposes, been dead. It had been... differently complicated.

Thomas went to pour a third glass of Scotch, reconsidered and took the last slug directly from the bottle. It got David’s attention, so he flicked his tongue against the rim of it, just for a split-second, just briefly enough to have plausible deniability. Back in the day, he would have winked. He didn’t now. Tease him, ignore him. Reel him back in, push him away. His heart was loud and clamorous and contradictory tonight. It was like being fifteen again, or no, scratch that, it hadn’t been... he hadn’t been nearly as complicated at fifteen. He’d only known that he found the boy who tutored him and sometimes came to watch the rugby exceedingly pretty, so he had brought him wildflowers plucked from the wayside, and cakes nicked from the kitchens, and helped carry his books and quizzed him for tests and took him along for nightly excursions and eventually asked to kiss him behind the shed for the cricket equipment.

For practice, he’d said. An experiment, David had said. It doesn’t have to mean anything, they’d both agreed. But then they’d actually managed, somehow, to bump their lips together, and Thomas had been thinking, oh, and yes and so good and I’m never doing anything else but this. And eventually they’d had to admit to each other that the experiment only ever yielded a need for repetition, and they weren’t practicing for anything. Neither of them actually desired a girlfriend like most of the other boys at Casterbrook. They desired each other, and kissing behind the shed for the cricket equipment, forever.

Oh yes, he had known at fifteen, at eighteen, at twenty that what they were doing could have seen them ruined, jailed, ousted from society. It had been a thrill to his young mind, a scandalous secret, an adventure. The glamour had worn off of it as they grew older, as their schoolmates were settling down with wives and children and summer houses in the country and Thomas and David were still sneaking around like teenagers, and ducking behind tiring pretenses and stupid rumours and Molly’s skirts for their safety. But that had just been what their relationship had naturally been like, a mundane fact of life, like taxes. And then there’d been the men with the pink triangles. The stark and final reminder that nothing about having to exist thus in secret was thrilling or mundane, that the people around them genuinely wanted them dead.

But everything had gone to hell in a handbasket by then anyway.

Thomas set the empty bottle down, and it hit the table a bit harder than intended. His hand-eye-coordination was already slightly off. Besides that, his face was starting to warm, in a way that told him that it was about time to retire from drinking any more before things seriously went south. But he didn’t want to listen to the voice of reason tonight. He wanted to listen to the voice that said, perhaps another glass.

So he traversed the room again and unearthed another bottle from the liquor cabinet. Walking straight wasn’t a problem - yet. Thomas wasn’t, usually, a man who drank to excess. But exceptions must be.

He had just poured the third glass when David asked, “What were you reading?”

Thomas gestured vaguely at the papers still spread out on the coffee table. “Tacitus. It’s Peter’s homework.”

“Oh,” David said. “Can I help you revise it? You seem tired, and I always had a hand for--”

“No,” Thomas cut in and poured the contents of his glass down his throat in one quick, decisive movement. “I told you before, and I was very serious: I won’t have you interfere with Peter’s studies.”

David sniffed. “But I am allowed to talk to him, aren’t I.”

“I suppose. I’m thinking about it.” Thomas looked from his glass back to David, meaning to give him a stern glare, but his eyes ended up roving, caught on the lines of David’s face, slightly unfocused. Here he was, back here, to touch. They’d kissed earlier, down in the lab, and maybe Thomas had hoped that after that, things would appear easier, clearer, somehow. But nothing was easier. He’d hoped, in secret, not even going so far as to articulate this to himself, that a kiss would put them back on an even keel, erase the clamour in his heart, restore tranquility to him. But nothing was tranquil. In fact, he hadn’t desired like this in a long time. He’d gotten one kiss, nowhere near enough to slake this suddenly recurring need.

“Come to bed with me,” he suggested.

“What?” David exclaimed with an incredulous little laugh. “You don’t trust me to go over your apprentice’s Latin homework, but you’d take me to bed?”

“Yes.” It really didn’t seem too extraordinary a stance to take. Peter’s studies were meaningful in the greater scheme of things. Sex wasn’t. “Personal is not necessarily the same as important.”

David shook his head. “I never could agree with you on that.”

To keep his hands and mouth occupied, Thomas poured himself another glass of Scotch, and downed it quickly. He was beginning to lose count of how many glasses deep he was. But that hardly mattered, because it made his lips tingle and it burned on the way down and the reasons why he didn’t want to touch David now were swimming out of focus.

“I had hoped it would be different,” David said, “our first time back home.”

Thomas couldn’t help it, he had to laugh. Our first time back home. “Davey,” he said, and it came out rougher than intended, “you’ve hoped for many things.”

“That’s true,” David murmured. “I suppose you were right, back then. It really was high time I faced reality.”

And this... was wrong, that David should suddenly talk like this. He’d much rather have naively optimistic David with his head stuck in a textbook than this broken, humbled version. Reach, touch, Thomas’s heart whispered, and it was easy to forget why it was a bad idea. Thomas reached, put a hand on David’s cheek, ran the pad of his thumb across David’s sweet mouth. David shivered, lips opening in a gentle gasp. It felt familiar in a way Thomas had forgotten things could feel. Like reaching back across the decades, and it was a miracle that his fingers remembered, even ever so slightly, what it was like to touch David’s face.

Suddenly, something dark clawed at his chest, something frenzied, almost like panic, because how could this be, this ghost of a sensation, remembered from all these years back, how could it be that this was real, brought to life again? Suddenly he feared that if he closed his eyes, and opened them again, David might have disappeared.

There was but one thing for it. Closer. More. Now their bodies were flush against each other, their lips crashing together, greedy, desperate, ungentle. Thomas fisted a hand in David’s hair - David whimpered so prettily against his lips - the other hand pulling up his shirt to get at the skin beneath, warm, living skin. The planes of David’s body pressed against his front, so familiar. His head spun, and fear threatened to drown him, choke him, so he sought salvation in David’s mouth, licking inside, kissing him frantically. Oh, he had been starved of this, and one kiss was not enough, so he kissed him another time, and another, and another.

“Mh... Thomas...” David disengaged, shifting back a little in his seat, a hand coming up to cup Thomas’s face. He sucked the index and middle finger into his mouth without hesitation.

“Thomas... shsh... you’re, this is not... you’re shaking, please stop, just a moment.”

David‘s other hand came to rest on Thomas’s shoulder, maintaining an arm’s length of distance between them, and it irritated Thomas, being so pushed away. Was he shaking? Maybe. But what did that matter? He could figure that out later, or never. He put a hand on David’s thigh and leaned forward against the hand gripping his shoulder, trying to chase David’s lips. “Now you’re complaining, Davey?”

“No, but...” David got up. Thomas, attempting to follow him, swayed into him, and steadied himself by in turn holding onto David’s shoulders. Whoops. Hopefully that looked like he’d meant to do that.

“See, you’ve been drinking,” David said. “It’s not right. Let’s just get you to your bed, okay, and I’ll get to mine.”

“Or...” Thomas flicked David’s chest with his index finger to stress his point, “we’ll both go to my bed and stay there and see what develops.”

David shook his head softly. “Another time.”

“What makes you think I’ll offer another time?”

“We love each other.” David’s voice was steady, his gaze clear and firm, and it rubbed something raw within Thomas, something that did not like being so exposed at all. “That is the one thing I am still sure about, even in this new world, even after the war, even after... that place. We will figure things out, but not tonight.”

Thomas laughed, a bitter, mirthless bark of a sound. Because he’d been impossible to David ever since he had returned, he hadn’t been able to contain any of the ugly slurry of his feelings, and he hadn’t been able to afford David even the slightest shred of courtesy, and yet here David was, talking about how they would definitely figure things out. “What if we don’t figure things out?” he asked, breaking contact, disentangling his limbs from David’s. “What if I don’t want to? What if I won’t want to figure things out with the man who led us all to go to Ettersberg?”

David bowed his head, his eyes now hooded, dark. “I’d understand that.” He took a step back, in the direction of the door. “Do you want to break up?”

It was a genuine offer. David was offering.

Do you want to break up?

Had he taken another step back? He was so far away. So, so far away. It was too dark in the reading room and he was slipping away, away into the past again, no longer in reach to touch, and maybe it was really just the darkness of the reading room, maybe it was Thomas’s vision going black around the edges, and he trembled, and he ached,

and he was close again somehow, hands clawed into David’s sweater, his head buried in David’s shoulder, breathing in his scent in horrid, flat, hitching gasps.

“No,” he muttered, when he had the air for it. “No. No, no.”

“Songbird.” David sounded saddened, startled. The nuances of David’s voice, suddenly again familiar. There was a hand down his back, a hand in his hair stroking along the hairline, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp in a way he’d forgotten he found comforting. David hadn’t forgotten. “Oh... Thomas. You’re not okay.”

It ought to have been ridiculous, you’re not okay. As much was evident. But he couldn’t recall ever hearing it said, and it did something to him, and he held on to David’s shoulder like it was the only anchor in a sea of chaos, and he didn’t know how to ride this out, so he clung and waited and the tide tossed him about and did not recede.

“I forgot what you smelled like,” he heard himself say, detachedly. “The sheets in your room lost your scent eventually, and then all your clothes did because I wore them, and it almost broke me a second time, because I was losing more and more of you with each passing day and you weren’t coming back to renew anything. I forgot what it was like to touch you. The sound of your voice. The feel of your signare. The feel of your hand.”

“Eighty years,” David whispered. “I’m so sorry... I didn’t understand.”

No, Thomas wanted to say, no you damn well didn’t, but he couldn’t. All he could do was cling to David’s shoulder and be battered by this, wrenched open by his care. Walking wounded.

“But I’m here now,” David continued. “I will take care of things.”

Somehow, Thomas found his voice again. It sounded strange to his own ears. “What things? What will you take care of?”

David looked at him, so earnestly it hurt to observe. “Anything needs must,” he said. “You.”

“But I am not for taking care of,” Thomas said. He didn’t know why he said it. Except... here is my duty, mine, alone. Do not suggest you will relieve me. There was never any relief. There will never be any relief.

“Oh, songbird, but aren’t you?” David asked. “The others, they all went into the country and attempted to heal, or they are at rest forever. When did you rest?”

“I...” Thomas tried to gather his resolve, put the walls back into place that David was wearing down with all these questions, and he found he couldn’t. He felt... once, as a child, he had watched Mother dispel slugs from her rose garden by pouring salt on the creatures. He, then five years old, had burst into tears at the sight of the slugs squirming impotently to get away as they succumbed to the fatal substance, and he’d tried to wrestle the jar of salt from his mother’s hand when tears wouldn’t stop her, and received a thorough scolding for it. He felt like one of those slugs now: soft and unwitting and utterly defenseless before an almighty fate. Tomorrow, the walls would be back in place. Tomorrow he would be The Nightingale again, unapproachable and aloof. But not tonight. Tonight he was soft and lonesome and powerless and there was nothing but the dark of the reading room, the alcohol making swirls in his head, and his boyfriend, sweetly returned from the dead.

“I... don’t,” he said. “I didn’t.”

“That’s not right,” David said. His hand was still in Thomas’s hair, stroking in a way that was infinitely soothing, blunt fingernails against his scalp. “That shouldn’t have been asked of you.”

Well, life doesn’t care about shouldn’t, Thomas wanted to say, it simply was asked of me, even when I was in so deep I could barely lift my head they were asking it of me, and not least because you weren’t there, because you ran away, but what he ended up saying, murmuring into David’s jumper rather, was “They needed me.”

David snorted. “Command? You never--”

Thomas shook his head. “The lads did.”

“Ah, yes. Your ducklings.” The smile was audible in David’s voice.

It had been a joke between them, Nightingale’s Ducklings. The younger and younger recruits they had kept sending down from London in the latter years of the war. Fresh-faced youths, barely of age, looking like they’d been playing dress-up in their uniforms. Some of them scared, some of them vigorous and over-eager to prove themselves to the more seasoned veterans, most of them now dead. Thomas had tried, whenever possible, to do his utmost to protect the boys, but tossed up against a place like Ettersberg, there had been no protecting anybody.

“And how are the chaps anyway? I’m assuming you’re still in contact with them all?” David chuckled. “Oh goodness, they must be old men by now!”

“I’d like to go to bed now,” Thomas said.

“Hm? Oh of course, of course.” Getting what he wanted, David was quickly distracted from his previous line of inquiry. I do know him so very well, Thomas thought disjointedly as David wrapped an arm around his waist. On autopilot - even still! - Thomas slung his arm across David’s shoulders in return. They’d done this on unnumbered pub crawls, then later on similarly unnumbered battlefields. “There we go, ay-up, Captain.”

“I can walk,” Thomas protested, even as his head dropped back onto David’s shoulder. Really, he wasn’t that inebriated. Slightly tipsy, that was all.

“In a straight line?” David questioned.

“That won’t be a problem.”

David sighed airily and nosed into his hair. “Let me have this, Thomas.”

----

Thomas tried again, when he had David in his bedroom kneeling before him (between his legs) at the foot of the bed, as David took his hand and unbuttoned his cuff and pressed one chaste kiss to his wrist. It made Thomas shudder, being so kissed, and seconds later he was reaching almost blindly for David’s face again, tugging him up, crashing their mouths together, wanting David’s lips on his, wanting David’s lips all sorts of places. But David broke the kiss and smiled at him, a smile full of such love as he didn’t deserve, and didn’t budge, even when Thomas slipped his right shoe off and ran his foot along David’s inseam.

David gasped, and twitched a little, but he said, “No, songbird. Another time.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Thomas said, which he hadn’t meant to, in a strange, rough voice that sounded much more 1940s than 2010s. Why on earth had he said that? Tomorrow he would remember all the very good reasons for not recommitting to anything where David was concerned. But tonight he was wanting, nothing else.

“I hope so,” David replied as he got up and smiled sadly, because oh, he knew those reasons too. He bent down one last time and ran his thumb across Thomas’s cheekbone, and kissed him again, a soft, small peck, a kiss goodnight. “Sleep well.”

And he went back to his own room.

So bereft of company and the warmth of David’s body, Thomas groaned and pressed the heel of his hand into his crotch. Somewhere along the way wanting had become needing, and now he was alone with it. As always, alone with it.

For a split-second he considered going and getting his entertainment elsewhere. Peter was in tonight, some few rooms over, perhaps this would be the night he finally tried to... but no, that thought was, as always, firmly tamped down, because Peter’s pregnant girlfriend was a woman of formidable power, and besides, there was never any use to any attempts upon the tragically heterosexual. He hadn’t considered Peter in such a manner at all lately, what with David around again, so perhaps this was one of these rare problems that solved themselves.

His pool of potential applicants already depleted, Thomas took himself in hand. He hadn’t felt the need to do this in a while, and didn’t expect to last any time at all. As if a tightly locked floodgate had been opened, his mind conjured up images of David, things he hadn’t let himself think about in decades and decades lest the grief make him lose his mind for good. But the memories were no longer tinged with grief now, because David was back, and his mind delighted in recalling again the lines and dips and curves of David’s body and being able to do so freely, without the crushing sadness of permanent loss.

David before the war, softer then, solid, (he still was too thin now) no shell-shock dulling the light in his eyes. The sensation of tracing the dip of David’s hips through the soft fabric of one of his jumpers, the hard line of him in his slacks, backing him up against a bookshelf in the mundane library (so risqué but oh, so thrilling) and listening to his breath deepen, sticking a hand down his pants, being greeted with the velvet heat of David’s cock, watching David’s face pinch and, eventually, release, going from biting his lips raw and red in an effort to not be overheard to slack-mouthed pleasure. David’s mouth just now, so pink and slick from their kissing, David kneeling between his legs and where that might have gone, in another, ideal world. While Thomas very much loved giving oral, he knew with David the receiving was just as sweet. He imagined them taking a night and just alternating sucking each other off until they collapsed in bone-deep, delicious exhaustion into dreamless sleep, and he felt his hips cant upwards into his fist with renewed need, and gripped himself just this side of too tight. Yes, god, he thought, my David.

At about this point Thomas noticed himself crying, a clear stream of tears down his cheeks, but they felt cathartic, so he left them. His heart was light. He had done this once or twice just after the war, brought memories of David to the forefront of his mind for this express purpose, simply exhausting any possibility of chasing a few seconds of relief from it all. The resulting crash and burn and slew of self-disgust when he’d inevitably remembered his boyfriend (supposedly) blowing his brains out in this very building had never been pretty. (He’d considered turning to drinking to excess then for a bit, until Molly had put her foot down regarding that.) Tonight he knew there would be no crashing and burning, because David was just down the hall, hale and whole and sleeping the sleep of the less-than-innocent.

He had flagged a bit, with the crying, so Thomas sped up his hand and remembered that week they’d spent at David’s father’s hunting lodge, the two of them alone in the empty countryside, free to share the bed in the master bedroom, free to wake next to each other and make early-morning love unhurriedly, free to prepare breakfast in the nude and take it back to bed. They’d been younger then, and made love almost unflaggingly, pausing intermittently to eat and generally observe life’s basic needs, only for this moment or that to start another round, and before they’d known it they’d come together again, fevered with need for each other, drunk on all this unobserved alone time.

My Folly now, Thomas thought disjointedly, we can do it in every room we never used to dare to, and he released another moan as he felt himself cresting, and the back of his head hit the headboard with a thunk as he came, came and came with the force of his lonely years, eking the moment out and stroking himself to overstimulation, until his hips twitched and his whole body shook with the pleasure-pain of it. And if he fell asleep in the wet patch before he could gather the resolve to get up and fully undress, half in déshabillé with himself still in hand, it certainly was undignified, but there was no one there to witness it.

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [5/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #secrets

First Chapter

Author’s Note: Someone mentioned in the comments about the characters ages. As I mentioned at the beginning of the fic, this story mostly follows the New Earth canon. I disregarded anything in the New 52 that directly contradicts that. So the ages of the characters are about as follows: Bruce: 44 Dick: 25 Cass: 20/21ish Jason: 20 Tim: 17 Damian: 13 Ages have been approximated based on clues from the comics. I may eventually tag this as Underage, but it depends on whether I decide to write a certain scene or not.

________________________________________________________________

Tim’s first instinct is to go after Jason, which is why his irritation is entirely justified when a caped shadow detaches from above and lands in front of him in a crouch, blocking his path.

“Father says to check to the condition of Hood’s victims, then wait for medical units,” Robin informs him.

Tim frowns. “Good for him. You don’t need two people to do that.”

He begins to head off again, only for Damian to bar his way again. “Obviously. But he was adamant about it.”

“And since when do you listen to everything he says?”

Damian’s mouth thins, nose wrinkling as it does when Tim does something irritating to him, like exist. It takes him a moment to catch up.

“Wait—he meant me?”

“He meant both of us, for whatever reason is beyond my comprehension.” His permanent scowl slides more to the side of a pout, suggesting he isn’t pleased with the directive. “He was determined to reach Todd on his own when he requested help.”

The kid sounds like he is confused and disapproving all at the same time, which Tim can kind of agree on.

Reaching out to Bruce for help is not something he saw coming. Though, maybe he should have, since Jason always did have a unique ability to act outside the parameters of his own established patterns. It’s why it was so hard to pin him down when he first returned to Gotham.

It’s practical, too, I guess.

Jason’s the sort of no-frill logic kind of guy. He knows out of everyone in the family, the person best suited to take him down if he needs taking down is Bruce—and much as he cares about him, Bruce will do it, too.

He really must be rattled to go with that option.

Tim’s heart thuds a little in sympathy at that, understanding exactly what Jason’s afraid of.

Before he died, he acted rash and could be violent, and was already justifying why certain kinds of people should be forfeit their lives. That conviction magnified when he came back to life. Killing another person, that might not have been something outside the realm of possibility—in a purely utilitarian way. But this—the idea that he might lose control of himself to an extent where he has anything in common with the creeps he’s killed?

Tim wants nothing more than to go after Jason himself, to assure him that he’s nothing like those criminals. But he also recognizes why it’s not a good idea right now.

Besides, B has him. Just have to hope their…usual issues don’t get in the way.

“I’m going to find the kid that was here,” Tim tells Damian. “Got to make sure he’s okay, maybe explain what happened.”

“Whatever,” Damian replies, toeing at the faintly stirring bodies.

Nice working with you, too…

Tim finds the teenager three blocks away, ducked into a corner to avoid the wind, sucking down a cigarette from shaking hands. When Tim rappels down in front of him, he gives a curse and jumps backward, nearly upsetting a trashcan.

“What the hell, man?” he demands.

“Sorry,” Tim replies. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t go anywhere.”

“Why, so you can have a go at me to?”

“I need to know what happened back there.”

“Twenty bucks.”

If this were a gangster or some rogue’s henchman, Tim would probably just beat the answers out of him. But he recognizes that this is a scared kid, who needs to feel safe right now, and who needs to feel like he’s in control. Given the background Tim suspects, it’s not something he gets very often, and will determine how helpful he could be in the future.

So, he counters, “Thirty, and you also give me your name.”

The kid snorts, but nods; as soon as he pockets the cash, he says, “Matt. Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Doctor,” Tim deadpans, and the kid smirks, but he lets it go. It gives him something to call him, helps ground himself in the fact this case is now involving actual people.

“Okay, Matt. Tell me what went down.”

“Usual thing. Some guy wanted to, uh, show me somethin’ in the alley. Turned out he had a bunch of buddies waitin’. Pretty sure I’d’ve gotten worked over if it weren’t for the guy in the helmet showing up.” Matt hesitates here, his eyes flickering with vulnerability in a way that tells Tim he hasn’t been on the street very long. “After he wiped the floor with ‘em, he went weird. Got real quiet, and he started lookin’ at me like…” He shrugs. “Like, I couldn’t see his face, but it felt like the way some of the junkies look when they think you’re easy pickings. And…”

The kid actually shivers here.

“Man, I thought he was supposed to be cool?” he snaps. “That’s what the girls all say. But if he’s a creep too, why d’you Bats let him go around like he does?”

“He was exposed to a mind-altering substance some time ago, and it’s messing with him,” Tim replies. “He’s not entirely himself right now, but I’m sure he’ll be fine after a bit of detox.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Matt continues to look distrustful. “We done here?”

“Yeah, we’re done.” Tim digs into his belt and passes him a card for the Neon Knights foundation. “Take this, too. It’s not just for younger kids, you know. There’s a program set up for teens and young adults that have aged out of the system.”

“So?”

“I’m not saying you have to go there or even asking you to trust them. But for tonight, at least, a bed and a hot meal are probably a safer bet than working a corner.”

Matt’s shoulder slump a little in defeat, and he looks away. “Whatever.”

“Second person that’s said that to me tonight. I might develop a complex being brushed off so easy.”

The teen’s mouth twitches.

Good sign. If you can still smile so easily, it’s not to late for you.

There’s buzz in his ear and Tim’s comm crackles to life. “B is bringing Red Hood back to the Cave.”

“Without a fight?” Tim asks, pressing the speaker to his ear.

“Hood asked him to sedate him.”

Shit.

If that’s not an indicator of how dire he thinks the situation is! Something like this only happens in life or death situations involving the whole Family, or the Joker. Or both.

“I’m on my way.” He turns back to Matt. “You going to be alright?”

“I’m always alright.”

That startles a chuckle out of Tim; he makes a mental note to track the kid down at as soon as he’s got a better idea of what’s going on

Hurrying back to Damian, Tim finds him watching with folded arms as an ambulance loads the last of the injured and unconscious men through their doors.

“Father, the clean up is finished. I am returning.”

Batman’s voice echoes in both their comms. “No. Continue with your patrol. Red Robin, he’ll stay with you for now.”

“Excuse me?!”

“What?!”

“Rendezvous at the Nest afterward and stay there until you receive further instruction.”

He signs off.

Damian and Tim exchange looks that are easily interpreted even behind their dominos.

“He knows that’s not happening, right?” Tim says. “You’d probably set my place on fire.”

“And I’m sure it would be an improvement. But no, it’s not happening.”

“Good. Glad we established that. How are you getting back to the mano? B brought Hood back in the car, so…”

“Obviously, with your bike.”

“Oh, obviously.”

“You would take issue if I stole a car. And you intend to return to the Cave anyhow.” Tim glares but doesn’t correct him. “I’m driving.”

“Fine.”

“Tt, you people and your antiquated—wait.” Damian sounds like his brain has to reboot. “Really?”

“You have an obsession with sharp objects, you’ve tried to kill me more times than Hood has, and you hate me. You really think I’m letting you sit behind me?”

Damian snorts. “That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“That is, of course, assuming you can reach the gears.”

He’s kind of surprised he doesn’t get punched for that one.

It’s an awkward right back, made even more so when Tim insists they duck into a treelined cove on the way to the manor and hide the bike to change into their civvies.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“B’s probably keeping Jason in a holding cell,” Tim explains, “which is on the same level as the garage. We’ll be seen.”

“So?”

“So, you want to get sent off to bed like a naughty kid before you even step foot in the door, or do you want to go down the stairs and find out what’s going on before B can stop you?”

Damian thinks it over, and nods. “This is tedious, but very well. We’ll do it your way.”

Tim exhales a bit at that. Though none of that was entirely a lie, he’s more concerned that if Jason’s woken up, he might see Tim coming in through the parking area and get upset.

“Look at us getting along,” he murmurs as he struggles out of his boots.

“This truce is temporary at best. If you continue to patronize me, I will have Titus defecate in your shoes.”

They arrive in the manor, slipping in through the family entrance, where they are greeted by Alfred.

How does he do that?

It’s a question Tim is pretty sure will never be properly answered.

“Master Timothy, Master Damian—what a novelty, you two entering the house together.”

“We didn’t enter together, Pennyworth, he followed in my wake. As usual.”

Alfred and Tim watch him head toward the main study.

“He’s in a good mood tonight,” Tim remarks.

“Indeed. He spent the afternoon following his studies playing Cheese Viking with Master Colin.”

“Oh, well, the world will be forever grateful.”

“I am considering a gift basket.”

“Can we get some coffee downstairs, Alfred? I have a feeling tonight’s going to be a long night.”

Actually, I have a feeling it’s going to be a long week…

“Of course, Master Timothy.”

“Thanks.”

When they get down to the Cave, it’s both a relief and not to see that Bruce isn’t waiting. Mostly because it’s Dick sitting in the big chair at the meeting table.

Crap. Crap crap crap, what is he doing here?

“Richard,” Damian says, a frown in his voice. “I was under the impression you were on your way back to New York.”

“O caught me on the way, said there was a Family emergency and I might need to hang around for a bit. Here I was hoping she meant something else by that, but…”

Tim’s brain stumbles to come up with a reason why Dick shouldn’t be here. Either this will become the stuff of teasing material for years to come, or Dick will be disgusted at the possibility of Jason entertaining any kind of feelings for Tim.

He has no idea which option is worse.

“B’s handling it,” Tim says. “Maybe you should do a quick patrol, though, since we’re all back here right now.”

“It’s covered. O said Batgirl and Signal are covering any gaps in our routes tonight.”

And Cass is in Hong Kong, which is at least a bit of good news.

He has a hard enough time hiding his feelings for Jason on a good day; if she were here while all of this is going on, there’s not a prayer he gets out of it without someone knowing.

“So, who’s going to fill me in on what’s actually going on?”

“I will.” By now they’re all conditioned to ignore Bruce’s sudden appearances. He’s still in the suit, but the cowl’s off, granting Tim a good view of the glare he’s levelling at his younger sons. “You two aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Sorry. I didn’t care,” Tim replies, his discomfort starting to crack his usual composed mask.

“And I am your partner,” Damian adds. “I will not be kept out of matters because of some misguided attempt to pander to my age. I had thought we came to an understanding on this, Father.”

“This isn’t about that.”

“Then what is it about?” Dick demands; he’s getting impatient.

“Jason’s been infected by a toxin that manifests itself by triggering obsessive behaviour.”

Dick processes that, then furrows his brow. “Are we talking Sheldon Cooper obsession or Alex Forrest obsession?”

“At this point it could be either,” Tim answers, and gives a quick rundown of everything Cassie told him.

“And who exactly is the poor fool Todd’s supposed to be fixated on?” Damian asks, looking repelled at the very thought.

Tim battles down his own embarrassment, reasoning that everyone needs to be on the same page if they’re going to help Jason, and gestures wearily at himself. “That would be me.”

Silence rings.

Damian tilts his head to one side. “Are we positive we shouldn’t just allow this to play itself out?”

“Damian!” Dick snaps, scandalized.

“Well, the outcome benefits everyone. Todd gets to drag the object of his interests somewhere that’s elsewhere, and we get rid of Drake.”

“It’s getting really old, Gremlin,” Tim sighs, rubbing his temples.

“No one’s getting rid of Tim! And Jason’s not…doing that!” Dick snaps. “We’re going to fix this. Don’t worry, Tim, he’s not going to get a chance to do anything to you this time.”

Tim shoots him a sharp look. “You know it’s not his fault, right? It’s like being dosed by Ivy, only stronger.”

“If what Wonder Girl told you is true, though, the infection may capitalize on feelings that are already there,” Bruce says. “And the fact is—”

“Jason’s tried to kill me before? Yeah. I was there. But it’s been years, and things have been getting better.” Everyone looks skeptical at that, and he scowls. “They were.”

“Be that as it may, you shouldn’t be here. Damian either.”

“Todd’s not obsessing over me, thank god for small miracles.”

Bruce ignores the byplay.

“Since you are here,” he says, turning to Tim. “I want Eros transported to the Cave. We can better interrogate him here and find out if he’s holding anything back. I don’t trust that he isn’t manipulating you both.”

“Oh, I know he’s manipulating us,” Tim replies. “I also know you won’t be able to interrogate him the way you want to, not with his powers slowly growing more out of control—and yes, they are doing that, don’t make me explain how I know that.”

“How do you—?”

“Nair, Dick. In your shampoo,” Tim snaps, jabbing a finger in his brother’s direction without looking away from Bruce. “Also, there’s no guarantee he won’t try to escape and give us the sleep because we underestimate him. And since I can’t be around Jason, I can at least keep working on that angle of the case back in the Nest.”

Because no way in hell are you benching me from this completely.

He can work from his place, and if there’s anything important, he can send it over. And he cam patch into the comms to follow along with the investigation from afar.

Whatever Bruce wants to say to that is interrupted by a tweeting noise from the computer. A beat later, a holographic projection of Wonder Woman appears in the front of them.

“You got my message.”

“Yes,” she replies. “And I can only corroborate what you already know. Nothing mortal can be done about the boy’s condition. Only an arrow from Eros’ bow will be able to temper the infection.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change, but Tim can sense his disappointment.

“I must also warn you that the further his condition progresses, the less conventional sedatives will work. I am surprised they even worked this time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Modern pharmaceuticals might be able to render him unconscious, but it will not stop his brain function. The fixation will continue, thoughts unrestrained, and could overstimulate his brain to a fatal degree.”

They are all silent, digesting this.

“You said ‘nothing mortal’,” Bruce says after a moment. “There’s another option, isn’t there.”

Diana sighs. “Yes. I do have access to a method of pausing a gradual descent into madness, or rather I can locate it.”

“Great!” Dick says. “Let’s do that.”

“What’s the catch?” Tim wants to know.

“The only means I know of stopping the progression is Stygian Sleep.”

“No,” Bruce says immediately.

“What’s Stygian Sleep?” Dick asks.

“It’s in the myth,” Tim says, his research brain kicking in. “In the story of Cupid and Psyche—or, Eros and Psyche, I guess—Eros wife was put into a cursed sleep. But I thought that was just a poetic way of saying ‘really deep sleep’.”

“No. It’s a philtre created using the waters of the River Styx. Extremely powerful,” Diana explains.

“What happened to Psyche?” Dick asks.

“From what I read, she got woken up by her husband.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“In the story,” Diana agrees. “In actuality, he was unable to wake her. Her body wasted away and her soul was trapped in one of the darkest parts of Hades, bound to the Styx itself.”

And…that’s less good. Explains why Eros didn’t want to talk about it.

“None of this matters, because it isn’t an option,” Bruce declares.

“Don’t be closed-minded about this, Bruce, it isn’t a magic potion in the sense you think it is. The Sleep functions as a means of preserving his brain function without allowing the same deterioration that would be caused by mortal medicine. It will freeze him in the moment, keeping him safe and preserved while you seek out the means of his recovery. But if you don’t act quickly, his condition will worsen, and even if you employ the Sleep, it will be far from peaceful for him.”

“And if we don’t find that cure, he’ll be effectively braindead. No. We will find another way.”

Diana makes an impatient noise. “While I know you have every right to be confident in your abilities, you’re talking about a life. Your son’s life. Hubris is not a condition that was lost to the ancients.” The translucent body of her hologram turns as if to leave the room. “I will procure some of the philtre in case you change your minds,” Diana says, not sounding pleased. “I would hope you choose to think of the boy and not your own feelings on the matter.”

And she leaves them alone to stare at each other, the choice hanging over them more tangibly than the bats.

⁂

Next Chapter

[writemoment]

The Cold Reality [Epilogue/Bonus]

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: Bonus

Summary: Loki’s P.O.V. on being brainwashed and the fluffy epilogue they deserve.

Pairing: Marvel Loki x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Angst, sadness and fluff.

Word Count: 3,039

( Loki ) P.O.V.

“I’ll be right back.” I tell Y/n, sensing a bad feeling come over me. Panic sets into Y/n’s features as she looks at me wide eyed.

“Are you just going to leave me here?”

The dread and fear laced within her words brings an unrecognizable pain to me, but I can’t let that put her in harms way. I know that I need to keep her safe and that’s my priority. Glancing at her one last time, I take off through the door and follow my instinct to find the trouble.

All around me, the corridors are vacant and I work swiftly through the facility as I look for the others. It starts out as a pinprick at the back of my mind. Slowly, it’s intrusive nails scrape the surface of my brain until I feel my thoughts being rummaged through.

No. Not Now.

Memories surface of laying in bed with Y/n. How her slightly chapped lips would quiver as she revealed her worst fears and secrets to me. So vulnerable. Next, the night I had promised I would never leave her and how I was growing to care for her. All these memories, the ones I held dearest to me, surfaced in a matter of seconds.

Someone else is messing with my thoughts.

“Brother!” I hear faintly in the muffled background but I’m too busy struggling to get a grip and ignore my brother’s voice. “Brother?” He calls once more, making me turn to look at him. At my spin-around, I catch sight of Y/n clutching Thor’s wrist as he holds her back from me. Fear and confusion clinging the face that I’ve come to care for deeply.

“Pet...” With my defenses down, I feel the intrusive hands dig their claws into my system and I know, in this moment, that that one mistake will cost me. Thor tries to catch Y/n as she makes her way to me and deep inside, I try warning her to run away and keep herself from harm. 

Fighting with what I can, I feel my body clench it’s hands and my face twitching from the inner struggle to free myself of this mental leash I have been hooked upon. That’s when I feel her fragile touch on the surface of my smooth armor. 

No!

My body reacts with vicious ferocity as it grips her body and slides her across the floor. The loud screeching mixed with her groan confirms that the smooth ground has burned the surface of her skin. By instinct, I try to move forward and help her but my body does not react. 

“Loki! What is happening brother?!” Thor calls, rushing forward to Y/n’s aid but my body’s quicker. Grabbing the blonde god, I hurl him into the wall, breaking the material in the collision. “I don’t understand why you’d do this! To me, fine- but never to Y/n!”

Never to Y/n. I’d never do this to Y/n!!

She whimpers as she pushes herself from where she had landed and my mouth moves on it’s own accord. “Shut up, you mewling mortal!!” 

Her body flinches slightly at my harsh tone and she looks at me with an open mouth. I feel my lips turn up into a smile when that’s the last thing I’d ever do with her looking at me with such an expression. 

“L-loki, love. Please.” Y/n chokes on her words and all I can do is watch her as I become everything I swore never to be to her. The tears in her eyes as she holds her raw arm, fear flooding her pupils.

“Did you really think I cared for you?” Hearing my own voice say such things makes my stomach fall, feeling the acid rising in my throat. Thor’s attempt at speaking is overpowered by my own mocking voice, laughing. “That’s right, I lied. But am I really the one to blame? This is what you get from trusting me.”

Y/n’s tears are a sight that drives me insane. Not being able to stop those tears and knowing that I’m causing such a painful feeling to overflow inside of her. “I thought I could trust you...Why did you do it? Tell me!” Her yelling is interrupted by broken sobs and I fight back against my own mouth.

My body fights back against me, contracting against my pushing and closing me down into my own dark thoughts as harmful words flow from my lips. I try yelling but it seems as if I am disconnected with my own being, occupying a cell in my mind with bars made up of what I lack.

“Ah, are you too daft to recognize your fatal mistake? Falling for the God of Mischief was the most intelligent process to choose.” No, no. No! Her head falls forward, tears falling to the floor. Whoever is in my mind is obviously using her fears to their advantage, but they’re also using mine against me. Losing Y/n when I haven’t been able to tell her the truth about my affections. The intimate conversations I’ve shared with no other soul but hers - all of it being used as a weapon.

“But- but you promised. And now you’re hurting me... Why can’t you love me back?” 

I’m in love with you, Y/n. Please, this isn’t me. These aren’t my actions, pet. As much as I push those words to rip from my throat, I can’t do anything but feel myself smile at her pain. It feels so out of place, this ruthless smile. “I should’ve known. Please, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that this is all a nightmare and wake me up!”

The sound of her breaking weakens me to the bone and I can’t stand to see her shattered into so many pieces. “Ah, Y/n. It is a nightmare, but it’s the cold reality.”

Her bottom lip trembles and I long to encase them with my own. To pour my heart and every fiber of my being into her, to protect her from the world. But it’s impossible for me to protect her from myself.

“You’re leaving me?” Never have I seen so much hurt on Y/n. The feeling is eating me up inside. Watching her like this, it makes me want to break all those painful memories from her past. It makes me want to break her free from my vicious tongue.

The next words that leave my mouth sound like me, which makes me feel so much worse. “You always said ‘you can never trust anyone to stay’.” And here I am, breaking whatever bond I had so fiercely built with her. All of it breaking without my own actions.

My mischief from the past has always caused some kind of tear but seeing what pain this has caused brings forth an amount of guilt I’ve never acquired in the past. “Yeah? Well, I thought- I thought you’d be the exception.” Although I can’t show it, I feel the burn of tears behind my eyes. Y/n’s put her trust, her faith in me and now she’s spilling her heart to me as I burn it to the ground. “You don’t see me...”

Y/n...I do see you! Oh, pet. She always saw me as I did see her. Even when I revealed myself as being a frost giant, she had the audacity to call me beautiful. To love me when I couldn’t even find acceptance in my own blood.

Every bridge we’ve built turns to ash as my legs move to leave. “Pay attention to me!” Freeze. Stiffly, I return my gaze to her and see the sad anger swirling inside. “I still believe there’s a good person in you, Loki.” She stops my intruder from interrupting and continues, “Don’t. I don’t need to hear your pathetic excuses anymore. Just- Don’t let me go.”

Screaming. In my mind, I hear myself calling to her and telling her that I’m in here. That I’d never do her harm. All those memories of holding her shaking body during the night. The feelings that blossomed inside me as I memorized every beautiful curve, every wonderful flaw in her appearance- all of them being tainted by this moment. “I thought I’ve already told you-”

“Lie to me then.”

I feel my feet move to her and I’m terrified for her life. The life I could easily end and would have no control over. But what happens causes so much more pain than any physical wound could possibly have. “I already have.” As I walk away from her form, sagged on the ground, I hear her weeping echoing through the halls.

My feet keep walking aimlessly and I continue to fight against these bars I’m held behind. Slowly, I feel the claws detach from my body and I come to an abrupt stop. My whole body aches and is weighed with an unnatural exhaustion. Feeling heavily drugged, I stumble through the halls and catch the back of Peter’s head as he carries a body, draped across his shoulders.

As fast as I can carry myself, I peek in to see Y/n convulsing on the metal table and several arms holding her down as they sedate her. I clench my teeth at the sight of her in pain and freely let my anger take over. I must find the being who has ripped my love from me. I will find them. I will kill them.

****

Y/n angrily tells me I no longer have any rights to call her nicknames, nor do I have any more chances to turn in. “Do you regret me?” Even if I can’t repair this broken heart, I want to look after her and I want to be there for her. 

Her face is colored in an array of emotions that I can’t follow. My chest feels as if it has been bashed in by the Hulk a dozen times over, but even that couldn’t hurt this much. The thought of Y/n, my pet, regretting the moments we’ve made and shared- it makes my throat tighten and my breathing shallow.

Ever so quietly, she asks me to leave and I sadly oblige to her wishes. 

Sitting back in my bed, returned in my own quarters, I relive the memories I’ve come to cherish with Y/n. Never did I think a mere mortal would take one glance at my Jotun form and call me beautiful. Never did it faze Y/n. In fact, she lovingly accepted me for who I was despite the facts.

When Thor recounted his affections for Jane, I would not have imagined I would fall under similar circumstances. If Odin could see me now, he would make a fool out of such a love. If given the opportunity, I know that Y/n would be able to change such a twisted mind.

How I long to feel her soft fingers tracing my features, memorizing them like her favorite pictures. Waking up to her peaceful slumber was something I knew I’d never get used to or get tired of. The desire to hold her and call her mine is painful. All I ever wanted was to protect her.

Now all of that is ruined. 

The only being powerful enough to even get close to overcoming my natural defenses is a child of Thanos and I am petrified of his presumed target on Y/n. Keeping her safe is my priority. To keep her alive. Y/n deserves to live the life she chooses. I am not one to get in the way of that. As long as I can keep her safe, I can accept her moving on without me by her side. My love for her will never falter and I will always be there for her, even when no one can see.

****

EPILOGUE

( Reader ) P.O.V.

It has been a year since everything first happened in New York. That first meeting between Loki and me that changed everything I thought I had set in stone. 

For a while, it was hard for me to relax around Loki after our encounter with Ebony Maw. Despite the betrayal being from an unstoppable influence, it was hard to not doubt my trust. Thankfully, Loki was very kind and understanding. He worked with me, loved me and proved his loyalty to our relationship. In the midst of breaking down our walls, we built up our trust we one another.

Shuri was right in warning me about the scar I’ve earned from the energy core. The raised, slightly pink scar is still the cause of insecurities and even lingering nightmares, but my Avengers family is always quick to comfort me.

I find Loki absentmindedly tracing over the scar when we lay to sleep. It’s comforting and has assured me that he doesn’t shy away from the sight. He says it’s proof that I am strong and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

He’s always quick to love the parts I can’t love about myself.

Jogging to my shared room, I push my way through the door to find Loki waiting for me and showing peter some of his magic. “Hey guys.” I greet when they lay eyes upon me. Even being with Loki for this amount of time, I still get flustered at those loving, ice-blue orbs of his. Peter grins widely at me, his eyebrows raising in excitement at my arrival.

Both of them welcome me into their conversation but soon, Peter decides to split off and give us some time alone. Which I’m very thankful for, as always. “Hello, love.” Loki coos softy. Sighing in content, I smile at him as I intertwine my hand in his. 

“I have a surprise for you, Pet.”

Curiously, I watch him as he searches my expression. “For me?” I ask, not sure what to expect. He nods, his lips tilting up at the corners. “What is it?” Both excitement and anxiety plague me as I watch his expression shift to one of wonder. His lips pull back over his teeth as he awkwardly chuckles before speaking.

“A while ago, you told me of your desire to see where I grew up and to meet Frigga. To gaze upon Asgard.” He recounts and I nod, following his words. “Well... Wish granted. You will be accompanying us as we travel back, Thor and I.” 

My heart beats furiously in my chest and I gasp at the idea of it all. Leaning forward, I press my lips against his and wrap my arms around his neck. “Oh my- Thank you so much, Loki! I’m so excited, I can’t even begin to explain.” I tell him when I break away.

I can feel him smile in my hair and I inhale his comforting scent as I rest my head underneath his jaw. “We’ll be leaving by bifrost in the morning. You don’t need to pack much, I’m sure we can find you proper attire with Frigga.” Loki’s fingertips press into the flesh of my hips, holding me close against his body.

“I love you.”

“I love you, Y/n.”

****

Traveling through bifrost was disorienting to say the least. My insides feel as if they’ve been tossed in a bowl and shoved back inside my body. “Whoa- Slow down there, pet.” Loki’s arm anchors itself around my waist as he pulls me to stand upright and still. Thor chuckles lightly at me.

“Shut it or I will vomit on you, Thor.” I threaten but this just makes him laugh louder. Once I pull myself together, I slap his shoulder playfully and we both smile at each other. Thor introduces me to Heimdall as Loki keeps his grip on me. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Departing from the gatekeeper, we walk together down the rainbow bridge and into the kingdom. My mouth is open and my eyes are wide as I embrace the view of Asgard, the lovely planet in which my favorite gods grew. Loki goes into stories as we pass through the village and I smile as him and Thor bicker over the details.

“You made me believe you were a snake and then stabbed me!” Thor cries.

I giggle at that mental image as Loki retorts back. “It was hilarious, brother.” 

Although I don’t get involved in the matter, it does indeed sound hysterical. Reaching the palace, Thor leaves us to announce our arrival to Odin and Frigga as Loki takes me up to change into Asgardian attire.

The material is silky and smooth against my skin and I feel oddly comfortable in such formal clothing. “You look dashing, darling.” Loki compliments, hugging me from behind as my breath is taken away by the view from the balcony. 

Looking out, I watch as the people of Asgard live their lives and it’s much different than the living I used to examine back on Earth. “It’s all so beautiful, Loki. So elegant compared to Midgard.” He nods in agreement, resting his chin on the crown of my head.

“Yes but each have beauty in their own way. Each have ugly as well.” I inhale the cool breeze that sweeps through the balcony and goosebumps wonderfully adorn my skin. I ask Loki if he misses it here, where his childhood is placed. 

“Not as much as before. You see, Asgard is the people. Not the place.” We turn to look at each other, his touch unfaltering. “The same for home. These walls and buildings are just a place, Pet. Frigga and Thor, those are the people.”

Nodding, I bite my lip as I ponder his words. “You are my home, Y/n. As long as I’m with you, I feel comfort and complete.” His words cause me in inhale sharply and we both stare at each other, feeling the heat of our love radiating from one another.

“I feel the same way about you.”

Before anything else can happen, a guard appears. “You have been summoned by the king and queen. They wish to welcome you back.” He says, turning for us to follow. Taking a deep breath, I move to catch up. Just before I can make it too far, Loki pulls me back to the stone balcony overlooking the kingdom.

“Welcome home, my love.”

Masterlist Here

A/N: Here you go, lovelies! xoxo. - Ellie-Mae

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[menalliha]

Long Road Ahead Ch. 3

Chapter 3

Summary:  A former HYDRA slave and experiment, the reader must keep her true identity hidden from a certain dark haired super solider. While keeping the persona of a personal assistant to Fury. Can you keep it up? Or give into desire?

Pairing: Still none but eventual Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1521

Warning: Slight mention of abuse and that’s about it.

A/N: I am thinking of posting this like twice to maybe three times a week. Not full sure. Trying to figure that out.

MY MASTERLIST

PLEASE LIKE, REBLOG AND GIVE FEEDBACK!

Everything was going according to plan… a few HYDRA goons found you but that was about it. Nat got the files found a few she thought were interesting.

She held up the drive and looked at you. “You know about HYDRA stuff… Hill called you the Siren… there’s a file on here labels the same thing. Bucky believes he knows you. I looked at your background Charlotte… and there’s barely anything on you in the SHIELD records.” She raised her eyebrow and looked at you. “Want to explain?”

You kept your poker face and tilted your head. “Are you saying in hiding something…? Cause that’s a big accusation to make on someone.”

“I’m not making, I know... Y/N Y/L/N…”

You swallowed hard. “You looked at the files huh…?” She nodded. “What do you want from me…? I just want a normal life again… I was happy before I was kidnapped and forced to be experimented on. Before I became a freak. They called me the freak with a fetish cause I saw Bucky… with his arm and everything. I thought he was dead. Said they’d let us be together to only make him forget who I was. And they did that. They kept that promise. I shared secret with him… intimate moments with him. Only to later have it wiped from his brain and be abused by him. They used him to whip me j to shape. Nat… you can’t tell anyone. I’m supposed to be dead. HYDRA faked my death. Fury had a majority of these files.”

“Fine I won’t tell… but you will have to come out with who you really are sooner or later. I can’t sit back and watch you live a fake life. We’re a team and trust is everything.” She twirled the drive in her hand. “I’ll keep your folder safe and for you only… there’s a few… private things I believe you’ll want.”

“Nat, we’re heading back to the jet. You two can meet us there. We didn’t see anymore of the enemy.” Tony called through the comms.

“Ok. Charlotte and I will head back. She’s good in the field. Let the Director know we could use her more often.” Nat smiled and headed towards the jet with you right behind her.

Walking on, you felt the tension between you and Bucky but also Nat for knowing the truth. It made it a lot worse. You tired hard to ignore everything around you and focus on anything but what was going on with the others.

“Did you find anything Nat?” Steve asked setting his shield down against the wall. “There’s still a few HYDRA bigwigs out there.”

“There’s a doctor still alive. He should be dead but he used a special concoction that made him into a mutant. So aging doesn’t bother him.” Nat rubbed her head. “Dr. Johnson I think.”

Your head shot up and looked at her. “Dr. Johnson…” Clearing your throat, you stood up. “I read some files on him the… the other day. He worked as a doctors since the 1900s in a hospital in Brooklyn. He would pronounce people dead and transfer then to HYDRA for more experimentation. He would also… flirt with his nurses and kidnap them. There’s a few cases of that I also saw.”

Nat pulled up the files and showed the others. Bucky’s eyes about flew out of this head. He knew that doctor. That doctor worked at the same hospital as you and even dated you. Which was how you ended up where you are now.

Steve’s jaw dropped at the sight. He assumed you were dead years ago. But he had an idea of how you died. You were his last victim before going full force with their next project. They just had no idea you survived. You knew soon they would find out.

“There’s… also a video of his last victim. About how they treated her.” Nat looked over at you. She was asking permission with her eyes. If it didn’t show much of you then you knew it was ok. You nodded and watched the video.

“Now now now my pretty canary. We’ll treat you well. Couple injections here and a beating there.” Dr. Johnson smirked.

The woman, you, was tied to a pole. Your hair covering your face, your body shaking from fear. You were on your knees and slumped over, in nothing more than your bra and underwear. “You monster…” Your voice was hoarse and the words were barely audible. “You tricked me. Lied to me… why…?”

The doctor smirked. “You will be my prize. The next best thing. HYDRA needs another break through and you will be it.” Grabbing a needle off the table next to him, he knelt in front of you and grabbed a fistful of your hair. Yanking your head to the side, he plunged the needle in your neck and drained the contents of the needle in your bloodstream.

Your screams echoed the way through the building as your sedated body fell over and laid lifeless on the concrete floor.

Dr. Johnson stood over you and laughed. “Take her to her cell and away from him. He’ll go berserk if he sees her again. We can’t lose anymore soldiers.”

The video cut out. You stood in awe and tried to hide the tears in your eyes. You look away and held your arms around your waist. You wanted to scream out in pain and built up rage. But it wouldn’t do any good.

No one was able to understand your voice and you were thankful. Granted you were a completely different person… with an all new look.

“There’s also a list of all the patients and nurses he’s taken. We’ll look at those later. There’s some files I need to go through. I assume there’s some Fury wants his PA to go through.” Nat looked at you.

“No I need to see that list now. I need to see the names of the nurses.” Bucky’s voice was laced with concern. “I need to know… please…”

“FRIDAY… pull up the files I transferred and show us the list of names.” Nat show you another look. You knew this wasn’t going to end well for you.

Bucky moved in close and read each name carefully. “She was one of the last ones…” He was mumbling names and if they were dead or alive which was indicated on crossed out names and it was written next to the names.

His eyes landed on your name. “Y/N Y/L/N… says she’s alive… We need to find her.” He looked at Steve. “You didn’t give up on me! I won’t give up on her! She’s too important.”

Clearing your throat, you caught everyone’s attention. “Give me a few days to decipher the data and I could possibly have a location on her. She seems very important to Sergeant Barnes.”

“She’s more or less the one that got away. Or in his case, the one he never opened his eyes too. You were so blind.” Steve chuckled.

Bucky glared at his friend. “I didn’t want to ruin the friendship she and I had. I was going to war. It was easier to get with women who I had no attachment too then be in love, I don’t know, have a kid and then die in war.”

You looked down. That’s exactly what you wanted. Minus the whole dying part. Your feelings for Bucky were always top secret. Steve knew how you felt. You bought that paw green lace dress for Buck. You owned dress period to catch his attention. He’d always whistle, tell you that you looked stunning and then flirt with other women.

“She always talked highly of her doctor, Dr. Johnson… he was single… a little older yeah…. but he seemed perfect for her. Boy I was so wrong. He kidnapped her… tortured her… and did god knows what.” Bucky clenched his metal hand and it started to flex.

“Give me two days tops and I’ll find her. Trust me… I’m sure she misses you both.” You nod to the boys.

Jumping slightly, your phone rang. Groaning, you saw it was Fury. Walking away from everyone you answer it. “Yes Director?”

“We found and old friend of yours Y/N… Dr. Johnson is back at a hospital collecting patients again. This time for personal gain. I know you’ll be so excited to see him again.” Fury’s sarcasm made your blood boil.

“Yes sir… and for the record…” You lowered your voice. “Nat knows. Bucky knows I’m alive but doesn’t know I’m here with them. Said I would try to find the whereabouts of myself. Put that off for a few days.”

“This is why your my PA. Get back and get to work. I’ll send Barnes and Rogers to see him then.” Looking over at the boys, you saw his Bucky’s face lit up knowing you were alive. It made your heart swell and beat faster.

Maybe you did have a chance to be with your soldier finally. The future you’ve always wanted.

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