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chanfictions · 3 years ago

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Chidori

18+ CONTENT! MINORS DNI!

Kakashi x Reader

Part 2

Playing with electricity, mind games, smut, smut, smut.

2.4k

It's all fun and games until your boyfriend acquires intel that you have some unfulfilled fantasies involving his chakra nature.

You and your big fucking mouth.

You knew getting drunk and shmoozing with that old pervert was a huge mistake, but inebriated you was just a treasure trove of curative ideas for the raunchy author's writer's block, and he was footing the tab. One cup of sake after another and your most titillating fantasies just rolled right off of your twisted tongue in a drunken game of Never-Have-I-Ever, Kink Edition. Little did you know that your traitorous mountain of a drinking buddy would slink off to your boyfriend later with all of the intel he had gathered from you.

You made a mental note to sic Tsunade on him later. Now, however, you had more important things to worry about, namely the chirping cracks of lightning surrounding Kakashi’s hand as you shifted nervously in your rope bindings. "Babe, shouldn't we talk about this?" You squeaked nervously as you twirled in place like a little marionette with your arms bound above your head.

"What's there to talk about, hm? Jiraiya told me just how exciting you thought it would be to play with electricity." The eerie calm in his voice as he circled you, wielding that handful of sparking doom sent lusty shivers up your spine. You were a thrill seeking fear slut, and Kakashi knew it. The danger held in his palm twisted your insides into the most delightful knots and left you dripping with excitement.

"I meant… oh, I don't know, a violet wand or something designed for use on the human body, not an assassination jutsu!" You stammered and your voice climbed in pitch. Your eyes widened the closer he got to you. The scent of ozone filled your nostrils, and all of the little hairs on your body stood on end from the static beginning to collect in the air.

"What's the matter, kitten? Don't think you can handle it?"

"Do I think I can handle a jutsu you use to literally pierce people's hearts as FOREPLAY?!" Your voice entered the soprano register as you gnawed your lip and spun around him again, tipping about on the balls of your bare feet.

A chuckle purred deep in Kakashi’s chest as he pulled his mask down with a light curl to the corner of his mouth. "That is what I asked you."

Words failed you, and all you could manage was a high pitched squeal as he ghosted the edge of that jutsu around your exposed stomach, just barely kissing your skin with static. Your breath caught in your throat as your heart leapt into your mouth.

"You haven't forgotten your safe word, have you?" He mused while continuing to circle you like a silver-haired lion.

Another squeaky yelp that sounded like a 'no' slipped from your lips as your bugged out eyes followed the sparks and you twitched away from his hand.

"What we should talk about is your racy little conversation with Master Jiraiya yesterday." Kakashi’s dark iris glinted with the reflection of those chirping bolts as he traced a less dangerous finger along your trembling jawline, tipping your chin upward. "Naughty girl, telling that old pervert about your little fantasies before even I had the privilege of hearing them." His voice was a mere gusty murmur blowing beneath the deafening crackle humming right next to your face.

"We were just talking about his unfinished book," you insisted in a shaky chitter as your eyes locked on the blue chakra leaping from his fingertips. Boy, did Kakashi know how to push your buttons. The ache between your legs had you twisting your thighs as that knot of excited fear tightened in your belly. He had barely laid a finger on you since hanging you up, and you were just fluttering for some kind of stimulation.

Another dark little laugh rolled in Kakashi’s chest. "You should really know better by now, kitten," he purred, bringing the jumping bolts ever closer to your skin, letting little shocks nip and draw goosebumps on your waist as he trailed his sparking hand ever closer to your very erect nipples, making you squirm anxiously. "Master Jiraiya and I are very good friends. He tells me everything."

You swallowed hard, breaking into a bit of a sweat. "So… um… what else did he tell you?" Your voice cracked under the strain of the pitch you were reaching while you bit your lip. Keeping your heaving chest away from his hand was growing more difficult with the little slack you had in your rope.

"Now, where's the fun in giving up my leverage?" A sly smile tilted his lips. "You might want to stop squirming before this arcs… electricity can be so unpredictable, can't it?"

A high whine hummed in your throat as your eyes flicked from that devious smile back to his hand again. He wouldn't, right? Another hard swallow had you nibbling on your lip in hopeful anticipation and wringing your bound hands. That chirping sound terrified you, as you knew it all too well from fighting alongside the silver-haired jonin. Your heart raced in the best possible way, that fear leaving you aching and wet.

"Oh, but you'd like that, wouldn't you? I can see it in your eyes," he murmured in your ear, sliding behind you and pulling your body tightly against his with his tamer hand, tracing a line from your navel up to the breast he firmly cupped. You felt that bulge of desire for you straining the fabric of his pants when you were pulled in and gave your ass a little teasing wiggle against it. He trailed his lips along your neck up to your jaw. Deft fingers rolled a hardened bud, sending tasty jolts through your body, making you arch into his touch. The chattering spark in his left hand hovered inches from your skin. "Say it."

"K-kakashi, I--" you stammered nervously. He could no doubt feel your racing pulse beneath his lips as he kissed his way along your neck.

"It's simple. Either you want it and you tell me as much, or you don't and tap out, but we both know what you're going to say." How that man managed to maintain such an aloof coolness while terrorizing you like this was just beyond you.

With your blood rushing in your ears, you bit your lip and dropped your head back against his shoulder. "Light me up," you breathed lustfully before you even realized what you were asking for.

With a knowing chuckle, Kakashi obliged. The pitch of the chirping shifted, and hot points of light licked your skin, leaving you gasping in surprise. The little lightning strikes were fiery and felt sharp like the edge of a knife being dragged over your flesh. You had expected it to really hurt, but as usual, Kakashi had twisted your head around in a delicious mind fuck, letting you think he just might fry you up until the very last moment. The sensation beautifully toed the line between pain and pleasure, sending literal shocks through your body. Arching your back, you bit your lip with an excited squeal as his hand hovered just above your nipple, peppering it with a storm of static. "Did you really think that I would touch you with an actual Chidori?" The tone of his voice sent shivers up your spine.

"It s--ah-aaah-oounded like the rreeeal one," you gasped in a breathy moan as those sparks danced around your torso. Tiny bolts pierced your skin like needles without leaving so much as a mark in their wake. The most shocking aspect of this newfound kink was the smell. It never occurred to you that electricity had any kind of defining odor, but this did, and you couldn't get enough of it.

More soft chuckles hummed behind you as Kakashi’s breath fanned your neck. His sparking hand ran circles around your breasts, sending shocks straight through your body to your throbbing clit. The sensation was amazing and left you arching into his body, swaying your hips against his own waiting lust. "Are you trying to tell me something, hm?" He punctuated the statement with a nip of your neck and began trailing his new favorite toy downward.

"W-w-aaaait a minute!!" You squeaked in surprise at a dog-whistle pitch, wiggling your hips again in an effort to avoid that hand as you had quickly realized what he was about to do with it.

"You know the word to use if you want me to stop," he murmured, more and more amused by this. "Otherwise, I'm going to find out if I can get you off without actually touching you." He slid his feet between yours, prying your legs apart and stepping lightly on the tops of your now inward turned feet to keep you rooted.

The next sound coming out of your mouth was a shrill, giggling shriek that rolled into a loud moan. Kakashi brought those sparking fingers down to your slick clit, hovering just above it and sending little lightning strikes grouped in pulsing waves directly at the most sensitive spot. The electric chakra jumped around your dripping pussy, sending all new sensations ripping through your body. The inhuman noise you were producing grew loud enough that Kakashi had to muffle your mouth with his other hand to prevent the neighbors from thinking he was murdering you.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you let out another loud wail. Pins, needles, and precise strikes of heat from the electricity coursing through you sent your muscles contracting in waves in time with the pulses leaving his fingers. Your walls fluttered around nothing, absolutely starving to be filled. The intensity was unlike anything you had ever experienced. Your legs trembled as the pitch of your voice rolled chromatically skyward.

Kakashi hummed praises in your ear, kissing along your exposed neck as he kept that one hand clamped firmly over your mouth. With a sly smirk he whispered in your ear, "Let's turn things up a bit."

To say you saw stars as he did just that was an understatement. The heat and force applied by those biting strikes of sparking chakra increased, intensifying your involuntary muscle contractions. Your legs nearly gave way as the first heavy wave of the night crashed over you and stole the air from your screaming lungs. Your walls clenched desperately. The knot of heat in your belly finally burst.

"Mmm, so that does work. Good to know," he mused, turning up the power as you rode out that first release until you wailed again and bucked your hips into his hand. Cutting the chakra off for the moment, he pressed hard against your puffy clit, rubbing circles to keep you teetering on the edge of blissful insanity.

"Mmmfffff--K-kakashi, please," you begged desperately around his hand. You were throbbing, aching, pining to be filled. "N-need you, need you now--"

As swift as the bolts of lightning crackling about in his hand, Kakashi had you untied from the rope, stripped his own clothes, and pinned to the mattress just a few steps behind where you were hanging. With a bruising kiss and a hand tangled in your hair, he ground his hips against your throbbing pussy, eliciting a lewd moan from you into his mouth. Hungry, desperate, and needy for him, you snapped your legs around him, urging him to stuff you. There was no need for the usual prep with how wet that electricity had gotten you. You gasped with eyes rolling back into your head as he abruptly rutted his full length into your aching core, sending you right back into outer space, digging your nails into his shoulders and locking your legs around him.

A low growl rumbled in Kakashi’s throat as your walls attempted to crush his cock. He swallowed your moans and wails from his movements in equally ravenous kisses with one hand still tangled into your hair. As you rode out yet another blinding orgasm, he snatched one of your knees and pinned it to your chest to achieve more depth that left you teetering on the edge of blackout. It was so fucking good. You clenched around him again, finally with the satisfaction of being stuffed so full and babbled incoherently. "Fuck-- Kakashi, so fu-haaah-ah-big -- can't -- oh, gods-- I--"

Hearing you unable to string together a coherent sentence filled Kakashi with immense satisfaction as he ground deeply into your impossibly tight little hole. Picking up the pace, the force of his thrusts rocked the bed noisily into the wall, though it likely couldn't be heard over you. He smothered your rambling cries with his mouth, leaving trails of bites and hot breath down your neck before coming back for more. He groaned loudly as you bit his shoulder while fluttering around him yet again to stifle your own noise. Nail marks decorated his upper back from your desperate attempt to hold onto something as he railed you into oblivion. His breathing quickened before catching in his throat and erupting as a guttural growl when he delved into you to an impossible depth, painting your insides white.

You were nearly choking on your own saliva as you dropped your head back into the mattress beneath you, fighting to catch your breath. Kakashi buried his face into the curve of your neck, gripping you tightly and murmuring soft affections as you both slowly drifted down from that impressive high. You could hardly feel your legs from how hard your soul had been fucked out of your body. He remained there, buried in you with your leg still trapped, trailing his fingers along your cheek while you tried to remember your own name.

"That was… ridiculous," you breathed heavily, coiling your arms around his neck.

Kakashi just chuckled, trailing his lips up your neck to yours again. "Well, now that you can speak again, perhaps we can finish the conversation we started earlier," he mused, running his fingers along your side teasingly.

You were not running on full steam and just pressed yourself tightly against him. "Hmm?"

"Mmm, electricity wasn't the only thing you were talking about with Master Jiraiya…" Kakashi spoke in a husky tone and trailed off with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

You peered up at him, face beginning to flame with embarrassment and a slight hint of dread as you remembered the depth of your drunken chat with the sannin who was definitely going to get pummeled for this later.

Oh, shit.

"What's this I heard about shadow clones?"

#naruto x reader #kakashi x reader #naruto smut #kakashi smut #chanfictions

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sweetiereads · 2 years ago

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@dark-muse-iris,

I don't think I've ever felt so much pain in my life omg

I feel so much for Reader and Handong. The dramatic irony here is what makes everything so painful. Reader spending this night with her knowing it'll be the last while Handong remains none the wiser ( i am ill):

" She'll see the grace of this decision eventually, you hope, but you know when you walk out the front door and never come back, she'll blame herself. As she rolls her hips and inches closer to climax, she is blissfully unaware and wholly beautiful. Once the worst is over, however, she’ll slip into the precipice of self-examination and doubt every kind word exchanged between you these two years. She’ll wonder if you lied when you said she glows after sex, when you said she could be whatever she wanted and make a good life in any city of her choice."

Throughout this entire piece, reader is fighting herself while trying to justify her actions. But at the end it's all wishful thinking, that either one of them will get over the other. Not feeling like you are enough for your partner, or thinking that your partner is better off without you is a valid emotion. But it's underestimated how that train of thought not only harms you but everyone else involved... it'll destroy her.

i'm sorry but being left like that after being intimate with someone is literally the worst. But at the same time I really can't blame reader. self-hatred is... an awful poison.

Your writing was so beautiful and that is what makes it more painful, the contrast of Handong's pleasure, and the what lies ahead just beyond the threshold of their relationship. How reader can't help herself and continue to fuel the fire.

ugh, thank you for this gut-wrenching piece, author.

with love,

sana

Trudge (M)

Summary: On the last night before you break up with your girlfriend of two years, you say goodbye the only way you know how.

Pairing: Handong (Dreamcatcher) x Female Reader

Genre: Angst, smut

Word Count: 3,051

Warnings: LGBTQ+ content, lesbian relationships, breakups, oral sex, fingering, heavy angst, self-loathing

Excerpt:

There is cruelty in a farewell that never should have been. Like the bonds you formed so recklessly in your youth, you rush toward the precipice, your chest thrumming with the erratic beats of indecision. The inevitability of your situation anchors to your heart, a burden for weeks. You must jump. Again. It is the right thing to do, even though you know it will hurt.

Read now on AO3

#non bts #g: smut #g: angst #breakup au #dreamcatcher #handong

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sugar-petals · 2 years ago

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hi babe, do u know any accs that write sub!bts, specially kook? I lit can't find anything good other than @borathae (I've read everything they have 😔) :(

thank uuuu

got you covered:

fic rec list with authors

rec blog: @sub-bts-fic-rec

rec blog directory

sub!jk rec tag - all stories of authors in one place

ao3 bookmarks

special rec: dark-muse-iris (jk biased, large body of work about femdom)

#rec #cub mail 🐅

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austarus · 3 years ago

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HR Wells x Reader - Reversal of Denouement

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes for being my beta reader.

Word Count: 8251

MASTERLIST

A low groan left HR's lips. His body felt numb, his chest ached - tingled as his heart beats steadily. Is it beating? The darkness of his eyelids eased the stinging coming from his mind – it wasn’t so bright. The headache formed there. His body screamed at him as the novelist made the slightest of movement. His left shoulder in particular had protested in desperate agony. He couldn’t move it very much, the area succumbed to restraints of some sort. HR’s throat felt raw as his body throbbed, the blood coursing meticulously through his blood vessels. The sound of a soft voice greeted his ears, but his eyes refused to open.

"I... you, HR... even if... see it." The voice was so familiar, so gentle. So sweet. "Should... better." A drop of water hit his numbed hand, static still prominent there from the little movement his body had done. “I wish…” The dark-haired doppelganger could only understand fragments of what the speaker was saying. He felt a pressure on his hand, tender skin holding onto his before something tickled his forehead. Feather-light. What was it? Who was it? A few moments passed and he heard nothing, the novelist only assumed that the voice’s owner had left. He didn’t want to be alone right now though, not with the darkness.

It had become unbearable.

Since... Since when did…? How...? Oh. Right. Savitar... Am I dead? Is this where spirits wait for their turn to pass into their designated afterlife? Have I really...? Events from earlier resurfaced to his mind, his senses coming together. Right, had to protect Iris. For Barry – it was my fault Savitar had gotten to her. My big mouth. Even if Barry didn't really see me as a helpful friend. At least... At least I proved Savitar wrong, who ironically is a version of Barry. That's hella twisted. He huffed out a breath before venturing back into the calmness of sleep. Maybe a little more rest will help?

***

HR cracked an eye open: this time, harsh filtered light had greeted him. The novelist grunted in pain, adjusting himself slightly to assess where he was. What day was it? What was the time? How long have I been here? A yawn left his lips this time, his throat and mouth as dry as a desert.

“Well look who finally decided to wake up?” HR’s eyes met Cisco’s, who stood with a tablet in hand. “How’s sleeping beauty feeling?”

The Wells doppelganger cleared his throat. “Like I’ve gotten assaulted by an Amtrack bus, and not the good kinds.” HR’s baby blue eyes scanned the room, landing on the flower vase that was set on a table near him. Blue forget-me-knots and pink hydrangeas stood proudly in their vases, nurtured well. HR felt his heart swell, his eyes not daring to leave the delicate petals that accented the med bay in better tones. Cisco handed him a cup of water to which HR downed it immediately.

“Amtrack does trains.”

“Not on my Earth, Francisco.” The author couldn’t help but ask, his eyes lingering on the flowers once more. “Did Tracy bring those?”

Cisco pursed his lips, an odd look present on his face. He wanted to tell HR, but… “No. Um, she didn’t.” Tracy had been visiting, though it had become some sort of a nuisance to all her complaining at this point. She hadn’t even known HR for that long, anyway.

“Oh?” His shoulders dropped subtly in disappointment. “They’re beautiful, I was just wondering and…”

“Let’s just say, a special someone’s been… dropping by and bringing a new flower each day. That’s all you’re getting from me, Aurora.” Cisco reasoned with the Wells doppelganger. The mechanical genius knew, but it wasn’t his place to say. It killed him, but… “I wouldn’t move around too much, if I were you. You’ve got a fractured shoulder and that chest wound. I’ve been told to relay the message that you’re to be on strict bed rest until that shoulder further heals.” HR lowered his gaze to see the cross-body sling. He clenched his slinged hand and unclenched it to bring some feeling into the limb.

“What about my chest?”

“Miraculously, that’s been healing really well since day one.” Cisco kept the talk real, showing the injured doppelganger the schematics and pictures. “You got lucky that it missed your heart by a centimeter.” A stab wound like that should have… I wonder if she knows that I know.

HR blinked at the seriousness in his injury, the looming idea of death from his decision. “How long was I out?”

“A week and a half.”

“What?” HR’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I-”

“HR!” Tracy’s sudden voice pierced the room, stunning Cisco and triggering an ache in HR’s head. The grad scientists shuffled over to him, both forgetting that Cisco was in the room. “HR, my love, how are you? Are you feeling okay? Is there any pain?” He continued checking his friend’s vitals and adjusting dosages to the IV and morphine administered – as per your request. The room was growing ever louder with HR and Tracy. Tracy embraced him, minding his injuries as she continued to fuss over him. It made the Wells writer smile, yet… his heart didn’t swell as much as it used to.

Odd.

Cisco sent you a quick text while the two were preoccupied, but you were already at the Labs. You stopped just outside the entrance, the wall and dimly light hallway obscuring you from who remained in the med bay. They wouldn’t be able to see you from where you stood. A shaky breath left you as you clutched the Freesia flower in hand. Your heart shriveled in your chest as you backtracked. Hearing his voice is enough. After all, with Tracy around you couldn’t be near him – those dirty and hateful looks she’d send you. Best to keep my distance, I guess. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him though, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart and would never reciprocate your love. You pushed down the lump in your throat. Hastily, you sent Cisco a text to check on the flowers. Silently, you trailed away from the med bay and to the upper levels of STAR Labs. I wonder if he liked the flowers. Standing at such altitude with the wind blowing lightly had calmed you a bit. Looking down at the flower, you gripped it tightly before you began to pick off the petals one by one. The little moments you had with the goofy novelist surfaced to the forefront of your mind with each petal you held. Your little curious escapades. The little talks. The nights you’d visit him when Tracy wasn’t around.

“He loves me, he loves me not,” You murmured, a stray tear trickled down your cheek. The freesia symbolizes unconditional love and honor. “He loves me, he loves me not,” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

***

A frown presented itself on HR’s lips as he tilted his head to crack his neck. The crack relieved him tremendously. It didn’t make sense. The novelist mused to himself, setting aside the current chapter draft he was working on. The voice I heard was… different. It didn’t sound like Tracy’s. HR couldn’t get that voice out of his mind – the tenderness that was laced in the tone of that voice. Nothing like the slight shrill in Tracy’s. He eyed the flowers once more that day, their presence was prominent. If Tracy hadn’t brought those, then who had?

The team had helped situate HR in his room in order to vacate the med bay should another imminent event occur. He had overheard Cisco tell Wally that you were preoccupied with something in Star City – a bit of disappointment twinged inside him. HR had taken up doing bits of physical therapy for the rest of his body without moving his shoulder as much. His shoulder and arm remained in a crossbody sling. The flowers sat on his bedside counter; he tended to them as best as he could with the limited movement he had. Tracy protested that they don’t need to be around, but the novelist was vehement on keeping the plants. HR won’t deny the fact that he had gotten annoyed several times with her around when he needed thinking space for his writing. He couldn’t write with noise and nonsensical chatter, especially if it’s mainly coming from someone who doesn’t want to really listen to his input. She’d go on and on about her scientific research and such, but wouldn’t hear a word from HR regarding his writing. The longer the novelist was confined to his room for rest, the more he had time to think – to contemplate. Yes, he liked Tracy, but… it just seemed that she didn’t really see HR. She does all the talking; she doesn’t really ask about how I feel about things or ask me about my life, even things about Earth-19… It’s like she doesn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face. It’s not even my face that Tracy sees, just Randolph’s. Was I too quick to jump at the first person who showed interest in me? Had I rushed into ‘forever’ with her?

He tabled those thoughts for now. HR reached for his laptop; one hand opened it to start it up. While the device loaded, he grabbed his black-clear glasses and set them on his face. If anyone saw him as such, they wouldn’t be able to tell the physical difference between him and his handsome, yet grumpy doppelganger. Except for the eyebrow scar, but that was obscured by the glasses. HR did a couple of searches with a concentrated look. Surely, it was the person with that… angel-like voice.

“Hydrangeas,” HR whispered as his eyes skimmed over the text that had popped up. “The hydrangea represents gratitude, grace and beauty. It also radiates abundance because of the lavish number of flowers and the generous round shape. Its colors symbolize love, harmony and peace.” The Wells doppelganger scrolled further. “Pink hydrangeas symbolize heartfelt emotions.” Interesting. HR continued his research, glancing at the other flower type that resting in the vase. “Forget-me-nots symbolize true love and respect. When you give someone these tiny blooms, it represents a promise that you will always remember them and will keep them in your thoughts. They are also considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness.” A particular link caught his eye, he clicked on it. The novelist read to himself the text once more, “Based on Christian lore, the story about forget-me-nots is that God was walking in the Garden of Eden. He saw a blue flower and asked it its name. The flower was a shy flower and whispered that he had forgotten his name. God renamed the flower as forget-me-not saying that He will not forget the flower.”

HR swallowed thickly; contrary to popular belief around here, he wasn’t stupid. Sure, he wasn’t a science-based genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an expert on other aspects of life and had basic common sense. The author was emotionally intelligent and intact with the world around him. These flowers weren’t picked out on accident. But who would do that? Who doesn’t want me to forget about them? The dark-haired man shook his head slightly as he shut his laptop. A surge of sadness welled inside him at the notion of ‘being forgotten’. Who had he done that to? He’d get to the bottom of this mystery in due time. Right now, I need to jog my memory on what I was writing. A hand found a rough draft paper, his eyes scanned over the words he had typed out. His brows creased as the written notes he’d made on the paper as well. (Y/N) … I had… What had I been writing about again? The novelist read each line, each note he had made no drafts and scratch paper.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up as realization hit him the more he had read on. The drafts, the notes, all of it – the little novel he had been writing regarding his adventures. But this particular part of his story – the ‘angel’ in his story. The one who stuck by him since coming here, the one who had given him a safe space… And the one he hadn’t seen since waking up. How could he forget? HR lowered the paper; his eyes became half-lidded as guilt shot through him. Before Barry had gone to the future and gotten hints of Tracy with her Speed Bazooka, HR had been working on his book. A book that he had pushed off to stick with Tracy and help in any way that he can to make the speed weapon possible. He had gotten distracted from doing the things he loves. A few conjectures arose in his mind as he slipped his glasses off, one arm end pressed to his lips. His heart hammered into his chest; you were among the last faces he had seen before passing out that night.

The irony. How could I forget that (Y/N) was the ‘angel’ in my story?

***

“Look at you, up and at ‘em.” Cisco strolled into the lounge with a cheeky grin. The mechanical genius didn’t take HR for granted anymore, not with the stunt he pulled. No, Cisco willingly checked up on him – not just for you, but for himself. HR had truly become one of his close friends in the end, especially with all the advice about Gypsy. “What are you cooking up this time?”

“Just an omelet with a side of bacon and toast, Francisco,” HR turned to the mechanical engineer who continued to tinker away at the schematics to get Barry out of the Speedforce. He offered Cisco some with a gesture only for the scientist to politely decline. “I haven’t seen (Y/N) anywhere. Um, is she also…?”

“Oh, you know how she’s like. Either up in the vents or chilling in her birds’ nest on the roof. And on that note, our resident hummingbird has become quite the firecracker.”

HR raised an eyebrow at his friend. “How so?”

“She punched Savitar square in the face then decked him multiple times over when Barry brought him in. Harry had to be the one to pull her away – well, more like carry her away kicking and screaming bloody murder at him. It sounded badass; wish I had been there to see it.”

The Wells doppelganger gritted his teeth at the mental image of Harry carrying you – touching you. The thought ruffled his feathers for some reason. HR expertly masked his irritation, turning the stove off and assembling the food on his plate. “Why?”

“Because he hurt you, HR.”

“…”

“He almost killed you.” And that was unforgivable, especially to her. “We almost lost you. She almost lost you.”

A rough sigh escaped HR as Cisco had sent him a knowing look before exiting the STAR Labs lounge. The Earth-19 man chewed on the inside of his cheek. Only a fool would misunderstand Cisco’s subtle intentions. HR knew what he had to do – he’d been reflecting on his time here, thinking about the people around him, about the relationships he’s formed. The novelist glanced outside – the sun shined, the birds chirped, and the trees rustled with the wind.

And the world continues to move on.

***

“When are you going to tell him?”

“…” You tensed at the abrupt voice. You snapped your head up, eyes darting to find Cisco approaching you with pocketed hands in his gray-black jacket. He wore a Bulbasaur shirt. The clouds surged by with the intensity of the breeze. Your hair blew over your shoulders slightly. Tilting your head, you turned back to watch the city. Days had passed and you refused to see HR, content on what Cisco had been telling you. He’d been recovering tremendously well, but… you didn’t really want to hear about what he and Tracy were up to. It wounded you. “Tell who, what?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Ms. I’m-going-to-put-my-feelings-in-a-box.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohohohoho, no. I am tired of the love eyes, the lingering gazes, the pining. It ends.” Your best friend came to sit down next to you with that frustrated look on his face. “I know you have powers.” Your heart stopped in your chest at his accusation. “I know you used your powers to heal HR.” You bit down on your lip, not wanting to validate his statement. Cisco saw “I analyzed the wounds, looked at his healing at a microscopic level. I’m not Caitlin, but even I can pick up a few things. His cells were excelled to heal, but there were residues of your genetic markers at the wound point. You stitched his wounds together, cell-by-cell. My point is: why didn’t you say anything? Your powers are a-”

“-A curse.”

“What?”

“They’re a curse.” You threw a hard look at Cisco, making sure your hands wouldn’t touch him. “I can’t be playing God, Cisco. And… it’s unpredictable, volatile. I could either heal the life in my hands or take it away. I could rip someone ‘cell-by-cell’, Cisco. There’s no ‘in between’, not this time. He got lucky with my powers. He got lucky I didn’t make things 100% irreversible.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Cisco eyed the gloves you wore; it wasn’t the season for leather gloves.

“Because I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”

“You don’t want to give yourself false hope, you mean.”

“…I can’t even heal a plant, Cisco. No matter how hard I tried, it wilted further. It’s a curse.”

“That’s not guaranteed every time, you know. It takes practice – discipline to get your powers to work with you instead of for you.” He nudged your shoulder with his, turning his gaze to the flock of birds drifting through the wind. “You know, he broke up with Tracy.”

“Ok?”

“Happened a week ago. She didn’t take it well and let me tell you. Tracy Brand was livid – the rage and yelling were off the charts. I think she has Harry beat. I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, it was too superficial to begin with.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to sound uninterested, but deep down you were relieved. You heard a little ring in your ear. You wondered…

“She’s gone, won’t be coming here anymore.

“Ok.”

“So, go make your move.”

You turned abruptly to face him. “Cisco, have you thought that maybe HR doesn’t want to dive into a relationship right away? That… maybe he needs space to focus on himself?” All were things you had contemplated for yourself before.

“And what better way to do that than with a new roommate.”

“Excuse me?”

“Surprise, you’re getting a temporary roommate while we fully fix up things around the labs. I volunteered you since you have the space and the patience to deal with HR.” Your blood froze in your veins.

“Francisco Ramon, I am going to-”

“-Thank me, you’re going to thank me.” He had already breached away before you had the chance to strangle him. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the idea of HR living with you, even if it was a temporary living arrangement. You scolded your heart for beating loudly in your chest. One hand gripped tightly to your other. An audible sigh escaped you as your mind played with the idea.

Shit, what am I going to do?

***Day 1***

Cisco blew out an exhausted breath, setting down another box on top of a box in the guest room. You and the mechanical genius had been breaching back and forth with HR’s things as said novelist was crippled. His arm would take about another four weeks to heal. About 20 percent of shoulder fractures are displaced and may require some type of manipulation to restore normal anatomy. Occasionally the rotator cuff muscles are injured or torn at the same time as the fracture. Fortunately for HR, his rotator cuff muscles weren’t as damaged. This can further complicate the treatment. Therefore, in that time, HR would just be handling the lighter stuff, bless his heart. The novelist entered the room with his black backpack slung over his functioning shoulder – it was the last thing that he could carry.

“I think there’s one more box left,” HR pointed with his thumb towards his back direction, the breach closing behind him.

“I’ll go get it, not a problem. Why don’t you two get started on unpacking, huh?” HR shrugged with one shoulder and stepped away to set his bag down by the bed. Cisco threw a cheeky look your way when HR had his back turned, his eyebrows wiggling. ‘Have fun love birds,’ the scientist had mouthed at you. You flicked him off with a deadpanned look. Instantly you dropped it when the Wells doppelganger turned as Cisco snickered before he breached away. He gave you a confused look, but you waved it off.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For allowing me to stay obviously. And for all the help since I’m, well, a bit tangled up at the moment.”

He was referring to the cross-body sling that clung onto him like a spider. HR rubbed the back of his neck, and you didn’t miss the way his bicep flexed at the motion in that gray short-sleeve shirt. Calm the fuck down, it’s just a toned muscle. You’ve seen things like that before. The puppy-like smile HR sent you had your cheeks warming up. The gentle smile that made your heart melt all over again. You cleared your throat as you reached for a box. “It’s no big deal, HR.” Undoing the tape seal with scissors, you opened the box- and the first thing you see are a pair of handcuffs accompanied by a silky black blindfold.

“What’s in the box?”

A little noise left you as you shut the flaps of the box, trying to seal it again. The flaps remained downward in the box. “Nope, nothing. Just some clothes here. I’m going to get that one box from the living room.” You had backtracked right into the door, your nose throbbed in response at the collision. “Ow,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the skin.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine,” your response was quick, but not rude. A deep chuckle made its way to your ears as you scrambled out the room, your heart hammering in your chest. Your thoughts scolded you for being so awkward and flustered around him. Be cool, just chill out… The man you’re hopelessly in love with is just living with you temporarily, it’s not like anything will amount from this. You picked up the last box in the living room, hoping that just clothes would be in here and not anymore kink toys. I mean… I have toys, too. AW SHIT, I HAVE TO HIDE THEM!

HR’s eyes never left you as you made your panicked exit. He let out a little breath before shuffling over to the box you had been attending to. Immediately, he face-palmed hard when he had opened it with one hand. His face felt impossibly hot at what you had seen. She must think I’m an idiot or something. His mind thought back to when you helped him shop for some new clothes then it had gotten ruined from a meta. His hand fell away from his face, the image of your kind grin imprinted in his mind. I am an idiot, though. A fool.

Once Cisco returned, you three continued unpacking HR’s things for the time he’d spend here. The labs were still in ‘piss-poor’ shape according to Cisco and that he’ll need to consult with Harry and Wally regarding repairs.

“HR, how are you showering?”

“Um, like a normal person?” A dumbfounded look crossed HR’s features as he set the plate of sandwiches down. The novelist had knitted his eyebrows at Cisco. He had taken up to experimenting in the kitchen when he wasn’t writing. The tea and coffee were still brewing in your kitchen.

“No, I mean with how your shoulder is injured,” Cisco snuck an evil look at you, you returned it with a glare, “must be hard handling it alone.” You knew exactly where this dumbass wanted to take this conversation, so you stayed silent as to not get caught in the crossfire.

HR thought to himself for a moment. “Just a bit, but I’ve gotten used to the mild discomforts and pain. I can mostly reach everything thanks to my long limbs. But I think the nice thing is that it’s an internal issue, not an external one. An external injury or wound would require me to really have help with showering that way the area doesn’t get infected or irritated with the contents of soaps.” A laugh fell from his lips, but his mind wondered what his friend was playing at while you were around.

“I’m just saying, if you ever need a hand well,” Cisco trailed off with a smirk, chomping on his third sandwich.

Oh, I see. Devious, but a futile effort. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one I ask for help,” HR teased with a smirk of his own for Cisco to drop his in disgust. A cough escaped you, which had HR’s eyes land on you. Your eyes met for a moment before you deviated your gaze. HR felt hypnotized for a moment. Hm… The engineer quickly recovered from HR’s snide remark.

��Alright kids, I’ll be going now. The labs require some diligent work that I, a capable and distinguished engineer, could only do.”

“Yet, we still have the occasional security issues,” You sipped your tea once the snarky comment was out. HR stifled a chuckle, but you heard it. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly at the notion.

“Hey, that’s not fair. They always come up with something new to invade our space by.” Cisco pointed a finger at you, mocking a hurtful expression on his face. It dropped into a sneaky smile. “Make good choices and always use protection, you two!” He breached away before you could throw your cup at him.

***Multiple Days Pass***

Through his time here, you noticed HR fueled to write what’s on his mind in the guest room. You could only assume that he continued his adventure story. Sometimes he would venture out for some coffee or take a walk to give his creativity a break. Keeping that in mind, you gave HR the space he needed as well as all noises to a minimum. You knew he liked the quiet atmosphere to pour his heart and soul into words as he did research for a scene. Pulling your jacket on, you compiled a list of groceries before you stepped out of your apartment. Locking the door, you headed out to the store picking up a few necessities as well as some snacks for HR. Like Harry, the novelist can easily lose himself in his task – which meant that he tended to forget about eating and such. You found a bag of Jitters coffee beans, adding it to your cart of items. Buying some snacks and fruit, you’d leave a note in the kitchen of the snacks when he emerged from his writing cave.

On the way back, you stopped by at Iris’ studio to check up on her. A few groceries for her as well were in hand. Cecile and you did your best to visit Iris. But you can’t deny that you blamed her to a certain extent. Had she spoken up once she had left Savitar’s place disguised as HR, HR wouldn’t have been hurt that night on Infantino Street. Surely, she could have contacted her father or Cisco or something. The transition could have been smoother. HR wouldn’t have been… The journalist was faring; she pushed through the pain and as Barry had told her ‘to keep living’. So, Iris did. She hadn’t been herself since Barry went into the Speedforce – she pushed too much, the smile wouldn’t reach her eyes sometimes. You sympathized; she lost the love of her life. But you almost had too.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, just… taking it one day at a time.” You nodded at her response, a small smile on your face. “How are things with you and HR? I heard of the temporary living conditions.”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m in my bubble and he’s in his doing his writing.”

“Right. Nothing going on whatsoever?”

“Iris.”

Iris set her cup of hot chocolate down and raised both hands in mock defeat. “We all saw it. We all see it.”

“See what?”

“How smitten you are for him.”

“I’m not-”

“-Don’t say you’re not. If you weren’t you, Harry wouldn’t have to pry you off Savitar before you clawed his eyes out.”

“…” You just looked into your tea, the honey that settled at the bottom. Iris placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t look at her.

“The heart will want what it wants, (Y/N). Pushing your feelings into a box and denying it out loud won’t change things.”

“I know.”

And my heart wants him, over and over again. Even if he can’t see me.

***

HR tapped his pencil against the desk at a steady pace. His mind wouldn’t focus on the words in front of him, on the scene he wanted to set. Instead, it kept drifting further from it. Further towards you: your eyes, your smile, the kindness that you held; the serenity that your existence held as the world continued to turn and chaos had unfolded at each turn. HR didn’t see much of you while he was here, the novelist missed your company. You were here, but you weren’t really here. You were either in your room or at the balcony with a book or on the couch with your Switch. He didn’t want to bother you, but… sometimes HR just wanted to sit beside you and pull you close to talk. To hold you in his arms and ask you about your day, to understand what you were thinking. HR cracked his back in a stretch from where he sat on his bed, being mindful of his injured shoulder. It didn’t hurt as it had originally done a few weeks back. The Wells doppelganger noticed that you were careful to avoid touching him or him touching you. Not even a hug that you used to graciously give him. You were especially guarded with your hands. A rough sigh left him as he threw his pencil down. The frustration was setting in, he was getting nowhere. You consumed his thoughts. HR wondered if you were revolted by him but doesn’t verbalize his thoughts to you. He didn’t think you’d give him your truthful answer. Maybe she is revolted by me. She did find the cuffs and the blindfold… No, she knew about the cuff stage thing well before that.

The sound of the front door greeted his ears followed by the soft tune of music. A frown made its way onto his face. Might as well take a break. HR stretched once more when he fully stood up, a little noise of relief left his lips. He cracked his back once more before smelling himself. For safe measure, the novelist sprayed a bit of cologne on himself and turned off the candle he had on. He mentally noted to take a shower after dinner since his last was yesterday. He liked the feeling of being clean, to be honest. HR carded a hand through his hair. I need a haircut soon, too. Yeesh, I feel like I’m letting myself go. Once I’m all healed it’s back to proper cuts and the labs’ recreation room. He wanted to go back to lifting weights and doing yoga for body stability purposes – especially now because of his shoulder. HR rested a hand on his chest, the wound had healed completely, but a scar remained. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the groceries on the table and heard you whisper along with the lyrics. The music was set to a low level that your whispers were audible enough. He watched you sway a bit with the tune.

So please don't break my heart

Don't tear me apart

I know how it starts

Trust me I've been broken before

Don't break me again

I am delicate

Please don't break my heart

Trust me I've been broken before

The guitar tune pulled at his heart, feeling the raw emotion behind the lyrics. He eyed you for a moment. HR cleared his throat to make his presence known, he knew you didn’t like to be snuck up on. However, a little gasp left you from where you were. “You went out shopping?”

You looked up from where you crouched to put away the cereal. “Uh yeah, we were running low on some stuff.” You shut the cabinet and went to the other items you had bought. The music continued to delicately play.

“Need any help?”

“Um, sure. Uh, just set these into the cabinet on the left.” Normal, be normal. He’s not going to eat you or anything. Distance is good. Distance keeps you safe. You didn’t meet his eyes, the eyes that’d pull you in and never let you out – your heart shook with him here and the song that played. You were hoping HR wouldn’t come out while you prepped dinner to have a sort of peace of mind. The next song played before you could stop it-

My last made me feel like I would never try again

But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt

Come closer, I'll give you all my love

If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything

“I like this song,” HR started as he was finishing up with putting his side of the groceries away. Another guitar-like song that brought out the soft feelings of love and rejection. HR mused to himself if fate had planned this out. If this was some sort of sign or a cruel joke… You had stopped yourself from clicking the button to skip the song at his comment. You don’t know what possessed you to let him indulge in another song that you’ve cried to late at night. “Hey, I can cook dinner tonight. I have something I’ve been wanting to try. I’m not that crippled so I can manage with a few cookware.” HR chuckled to himself, a goofy grin on his face. Your heart leapt in your chest; his grin caused a small smile to pull at your lips. “You can wash up first?”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting his icy blues. You felt your cheeks warm up slightly as the nerves crawled up your spine. “Oh, ok. Cool, yeah. Can’t wait to see what you cook up.” You nodded, ducking your head away and shuffling out of the kitchen with that shy smile on your face. You missed the longing look he had sent you as you fastened your steps to head to your room.

God I love that smile. What goes on in that little head of yours? We used to be so close… before Tracy came into the picture. HR pulled out the spices and the chicken breast. He shook his head and proceeded to prep the food with his one useful hand. I need to consult Francisco.

***

“We need to talk,” HR’s voice broke the silence in the side lab of the Cortex. He had breached to the labs using the Breach Extrapolator after he had showered and such. His damp hair was pushed back in HR’s normal style.

“About what?” Cisco raised a concerned eyebrow at the writer, stopping what he had been doing.

“(Y/N).”

A nervous laugh left Cisco as he went back to attempting to make the necessary modifications to the Speed Bazooka. Tracy was reluctant to help the mechanical engineer after the breakup. “What about (Y/N)?” Cisco put down his screwdriver. “Did you do something weird to her?”

“What? No! I- we used to be closer. We always talked, we’d hang out after a long day here at the labs.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, maybe it’s just me, but things have changed.”

“How so?” Cisco was wondering what conclusion HR was leading himself to.

“Things changed when Tracy came into the picture.”

Cisco made a little ‘o’ with his mouth with a little nod before closing it. He pushed a rough sigh past his lips, he was getting really tired of this puppy love game. “Why do you think that?”

“Francisco, she flinches when I get close – almost when I touch her… Does she hate me?”

“I think you and I know the answer to that one. But I think the real question should be: Why do you care so much? Why does it bother you? Do you love her, HR?”

The novelist tensed a bit. “…” HR pursed his lips as Cisco walked around the table that the speed weapon was mounted on. Blueprints were scattered on one table while the glass board held variables and equations he could not decipher. “What?”

“I said what I said,” the mechanical genius smoothly responded. One look at HR and Cisco knew that he was baffled by his forward words. But they needed to be said. “Now run along and use that head of yours to think about what your heart wants. Barry isn’t going to get himself out of the Speedforce.”

***

Cisco’s words mulled through HR’s mind as he breached back to your apartment’s living room. Only the lamp light on the side table was on. HR’s eyes landed on you, who laid on the couch with the book you had been reading on the back ledge of the couch. The novelist took off his shoes and set down his bag. He had detoured to the bookstore, looking for the next installment of your current book. The Wells doppelganger had assumed you didn’t buy it yet as it was vacant from your bookshelf. The gentle giant stepped silently closer to you; the dim light cast over you like a glow. There were slight bags under your eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Spotting a large and fluffy blanket near, HR grabs it and lays it on top of you. He remembered you mentioned to him prior that you easily get cold, especially at night. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, HR contemplated something before his body moved impulsively. The novelist placed a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips lingered for a few more seconds. Pulling back, HR watched your chest rise and fall. He turned the light off and stumbled over to his room with his phone light guiding him. He knew what he was going to write. Cisco’s question pestered him enough though.

Do you love her, HR?

HR took one look out his door before shutting it, his heart squeezed tightly in his chest as he whispered, “Goodnight, my angel.” Only the shadows that lingered were a witness to the fondness laced in those simple words.

***

You woke up with a start, you hand instantly smacking right into your chest. Heavy breaths left you as your nerves were in overdrive. Cold sweat beaded your skin as you gasp for air. It was another night terror – the same one for a few weeks now; a new way in which you caused HR’s death. Swallowing thickly, you screw your eyes tightly shut and whisper the mantra that calmed you down. After a few minutes, you started to regain control of your breathing – the thoughts that ravaged your mind finally ceased like the tides subsiding after a tsunami. You blinked languidly, hating nights like these. They weren’t rare, but they weren’t an uncommon occurrence. Deciding that you needed to step out for some air, you did so with the intent of getting a glass of water from the kitchen. Your fingers found the lights for the dimmers in your room, setting it to its lowest setting for you to see yourself out.

Cracking the door open, you were instantly met with the scene of HR passed out on the couch again. He’s been doing that for around two weeks now, the couch his new base of operations. His mouth was slightly open as little snores escaped him. A lovestruck smile crossed your features at the sight. Papers were littered around him, on the ground, and on the tables. Must be the manuscript he’s working on for his final draft. I hope I can read it at some point. Coming back from the kitchen with the water in hand you couldn’t help but stop to admire the sight. You noticed the glasses still perched on his face. Moving as silent as a ninja, you inched closer to pull off the glasses from his face. They’ll break if he keeps them on while he sleeps. Then he won’t see for shit when reading things. You nibbled on your bottom lip as your eyes drifted to the papers. One peek won’t hurt anyone. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Seating yourself on the ground, you leaned your back against the foundation of the couch. You were opposite to where HR’s upper body was. If there were any telltale signs of him waking, you’d hightail out before he could fully wake up and process what you were doing. Picking up a small stack, you started sifting through them. Your mind became engrossed with the words – the beginnings of the story he had spun about his adventures as to how he came to Earth-1. Then… mentions of an angel eluded you. It couldn’t be Tracy, could it? I know they broke up, but… on the other hand, it doesn’t mean that he can’t say that she was his angel at the time. Like a character development thing leading to their break up?? Well fuck, I don’t even think he’d mention such a personal thing in his book. I know I wouldn’t… would I? I don’t know. A little smile danced at your lips while you read on about the synonymous things regarding Team Flash that you failed to notice HR rouse from sleep.

“Do you like it?” Lethargy intertwined his words. A stunned noise left you as you clutched the papers. You turned to see HR rubbing his eyes before gazing at you.

I could get lost in those eyes if I stared too long.

“Uh, yeah, its- it’s really good,” you stuttered, setting the papers down in your lap. Embarrassment of getting caught gripped you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind you taking a peek. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of in it.” HR shifted his lithe body to sit next to you on the ground.

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s not that important, I’ll be ok.”

“If you say so,” HR’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m here if you want to talk.” You nodded at him, whispering a little thank you. HR ran a hand over his knee, he took a glimpse at you who stared at the papers. He noticed what chapter you hand been reading – the angel was making an appearance in the story. The hair at the back of his neck stood while you thumbed the words on the paper back in forth, just lost in your mind. Your hair was messy from sleep, the bags under your eyes were still there. It killed him how you wouldn’t confide in him anymore. But he didn’t push you. You would open up to him if you wanted to or not, even if he wanted you to do so as so his mind can be at ease with knowing what’s going on with you. Cisco’s question sprang up in his mind once more before he licked his lips, his eyes watching you. “I do.”

You gave HR a strange look. I do, what?

“Tracy wasn’t her.” Realization struck HR the more you whispered with him.

“Huh??”

“I heard this voice before I woke up.” The novelist fully turned to you with intense eyes, the enlightenment in them – the fire that burned brightly. “The tenderness in it could rival any tasteful delight in the multiverse.”

“A voice?”

“Mm, it made me think that only a heavenly deity would have such a voice.” You remained silent as he spoke. “I never got to hear that voice since my coma… until now?”

You tensed at what he was insinuating. “Now?”

“How could I forget?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“How could I forget about you?” The baritone huskiness in his voice made you melt with the way he said those words. You swallowed, trying to calm the butterflies that raged in the pit of your stomach. “The flowers that were left – beautiful, delicate, yet meaningful. You left those after visiting me.”

“…”

She didn’t deny it. “But you never visited when I was awake because of Tracy.”

“She hates me.”

“And I was too blind to see that until I broke up with her, she threw quite a fit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you must have loved her so much that it would be hard to let go.” She was your angel, after all.

“She didn’t even know me. Truly know me.”

“… Did she hurt you?”

“Slightly, but the bruise is gone.” You and he were silent for a moment. Only the sound of a distant car horn was heard from the streets. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“The flowers, the visit…” HR licked his lips as a rough breath left him. His nerves were climbing, but he needed to do this. “Cisco told me what you did to Savitar when you saw him. How angry you were that Harry had to pry you off him – I was so angry.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know then… but I know now.”

“And?”

“Tracy was never the one written in my story – she didn’t care. She didn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face obsessed with coffee. You did.” HR tucked your hair behind your ear, carefully gauging your reaction. He saw how you tried not to flinch away from him. “Do you hate me?” He asked as he retracted a hand from you, happy that he was at least getting through to you.

“Never could I feel such a way towards you.” You hesitated for a moment before testing the waters. You started to explain, “I- the night you were stabbed by Savitar I… I just broke. I pushed Tracy away, I had Barry rush you back to the labs. You were dying, unconscious on the gurney and… I got to work trying to resuscitate you. I had Cisco take care of Tracy while I worked, I needed space to think clearly, but I couldn’t. When- when the others were preoccupied with Iris’ appearance, I used these powers.” It was now or never. “I was desperate. Your life was hanging by a thread- I didn’t think it was going to work, but nothing else was working. You were bleeding so much. But I had to try. I…” Your glassy eyes locked back on his, your hands pulled close to your body. HR understood now why you never tried touching him. Why you are avoiding getting too close. “Cisco found out, he confronted me. But these powers, life isn’t guaranteed. They’re volatile, unprecedented – regardless of how I feel in the moment the balance can tip between giving a life and taking one.” There was a tightness in your chest as your voice cracked, “I’m cursed, I could hurt you.” I’m dangerous.

“I don’t think you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“But I do,” HR reached a hand out to hold yours. Tension filled your heart as panic started to settle. “You wouldn’t let yourself hurt me. It would pain you too much.” HR squeezed your slightly shaky hand, his other hand still bound by the cross-sling. “My life is in your hands.”

“How can you trust me so much?”

“Because love cannot be built without a foundation of trust.” He placed a sweet kiss on the knuckles of your hand. “And understanding.” He took the other and kissed it, baby blue eyes shifted back to yours with such intense emotion. The adoration that filled the author to the brim for you. Just for you. Only you. The one who saw him for everything and anything that he is. His safe space – the one other thing he wanted to be for you as well. He wanted to eliminate any fears that resided in your heart, the pain and doubt that remained.

“Do you hate me?”

HR cupped your cheek tenderly as he leaned close, your heart wanted to stop as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears. Your half-lidded eyes shut slowly as his lips skimmed over your own. “Never in my life, angel,” the novelist whispered as he captured your lips in a tender and sentimental kiss.

Never in my life could I hate the one who my heart has yearned for.

#harrison wells x reader #harrison wells #hr wells x reader #hr wells #hr wells imagine #the flash cw #the flash #harrison wells imagines #earth 19 harrison wells #cw #cisco ramon #tracy brand #iris west #Iris West-Allen

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missgeniality · 3 years ago

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Hmm, hello!!

Maybe 24 and 25 for the fanfic end of the year ask game!!!

Nanaa thank you so much for sending this in! ♥

24. favorite fic you read this year

This is so difficult, I read so many fics 🧐 I would like to tag the authors instead cuz I was devouvering masterlists in no time: @bonvoyagenoona, @taegularities (ofc we're married), @kithtaehyung (ofc we demons), @jimilter, @yoonjinkooked, @littlemisskookie, @lavienjin, @avveh, @miscelunaaa, @minyfic, @7deadlysinsfics, @whatifyoulivelikethat and YOU. I am in the process of getting my shit together and you best believe I'm screaming you ear off about home is where you are and you wont even know what hit you bb

I'm sure I'm missing so many people rn, but I just ran through my latest review queue and here we are hehe <3

25. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

When I first entered Tumblr the two fics that caught me by my balls were @kinktae's Bitchin' and @curly-bangtan's Heatwave, and working my way through this hellsite I found @dark-muse-iris 's Transference and @sugaurora's Éffleurer - and I was cemented in this site till death do us apart.

I know this has not QUITE answered the questions but honestly I can't pick ONE fav fic and ONE rec LOL it's just so hard having all this talent on this website 😩

Thank you so much for sending me this ask luv! 💛

EDIT: Changed a link because I got the author wrong, sorry about that!

Send me a question from fanfic end of the year asks!

#ask games #beauty moots #hobipost

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ficswithluv · 5 years ago

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For tearjerker week, I'd like to recommend my own fic It's Enough. It's a Jungkook story where he supports his wife as the young couple suffers through financial burdens. Several readers who shared the experience of struggling to make ends meet cried reading it.

Hi love thanks for the self rec! We’ll add this to our masterlist!

- Admin Fran

#week 21 #bts tearjerker 2020 #fic: its enough #author: dark muse iris

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xjoonchildx · 3 years ago

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Yo, Ana, have you read Transference by @dark-muse-iris ? The author has left tumblr but left her blog as an archive with a link to her ao3. I just re-read the story after finding it last year. It has Hoseok and shibari. Need I say more? If you haven’t read it already, you need this story in your life.

hey boo!

so i absolutely have read transference. it's incredible. and thankfully i was able to tell the author how much i loved her story and stories before she left tumblr.

but i absolutely must state for the record that i've read and re-read stoplight probably 10,000 times (because it's a masterpiece) and i'm pretty sure i lost a piece of my soul to onyx (which is a fucking masterpiece).

if, by chance, you are reading this ask and have not read either of these stories, please please do.

please also read the content tags & warnings before you continue on with the stories.

#anagrams 💕

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phantomdelver · 3 years ago

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Much before any servant could have entered his sleeping chambers, drawn back the thick curtains and let the first rosy streaks of day sneak in, Ares had slipped outside.

The new day was still young, a rose-gold yawn, promising, he thought, another sweltering summer morning.

Clad in only white undergarments matching white linen trousers, goosebumps soon were crawling up his arms and spine.

It mattered not.

Whether broken darkness, black-pit dark, or early bronze – he cherished those hours. Silent moments, silence meandering. Sometimes, somewhere, there was the twitch of birds. In between shrubs, briars and trees looming large.

Only then, it was just him, sword in hand, polished rigorously by the dimming embers at hearths of yesterday. He kept his most treasured one in a chest in his room, from which he had retrieved it earlier; the key always on a gold chain around his neck.

His tread, though he was barefoot, resounded strong, even, certain. He knew he wanted to train; if he did not, did indeed miss even one of those sacred morrow rites, Ares would feel on edge throughout, until next he would rest his head.

And why not, he mused further, for the weight of his blade in his hands, rough hands, his calluses made to fit for this very hilt – nothing was more right than this.

Once the training dummies came into view, he cautiously stepped up to them. Swinging his sword, a full, strong blow from above, he swiftly spun his blade, mimicking the heavy blows that had saved his life many times in battle.

This is a full-body attack; the stern voice of his mentor ringing in his mind. The longsword’s primary attack. He did exactly as he had been thought as a boy, as he had done countless times on the battlefield. There was the momentum, carrying, growing, rising – into a strike. Never easing on the onslaught.

How he longed to be on campaign again, marching, sharing scraps of food with his soldiers at a kindled fire. Campaigning meant war, meant tedious stratagem, meant death; but he belonged on the battlefield. Amidst the noise, the chaos, the clash of steel thick with screams, and soil saturated with viscera still warm.

It was grim, it was dark, it was what his sister loathed the most.

“My Lord,” came the voice, just as he was about to grip his sword once more and practice more. It was Iris, his wet nurse, and his mother’s closest companion.

When he glimpsed over his shoulder, however, Ares paused. Usually, her amber eyes were lively, kind, fond – there was nothing there, nothing of her, of what Ares had known for so long. Only shock. Surprise?

“Have I not told you countless times not to address me as such?” he chided in playful tones, a smile so earnest it reached his own eyes.

“There are horsemen on the way to the castle,” she hastened on, vowels and consonants clashing, shaking, because now she was wringing her hands, again and again, trying to ground herself.

Ares stiffened. His jaw tightened.

“Enemies?”

“Their flags bear the Queen’s mark.”

The Queen? His white eyebrows drew together, creases deep and dark in between. What could his sister want? He was only summoned for matters of conquest, sieges, and tax collection through his own soldiers.

“I shall expect them in the courtyard. Give word to the stable master.”

***

After a race back to his rooms, to have servants dress him in attire adequate to receive men of the Queen’s guard, he was standing in the very heart of his own courtyard, tall and straight, as a man who had led other men into victory and defeat, likewise, ought to.

Here, clasping onto composure and proper posture, he had to bite the inside of his left cheek. Always, inside him, the urge to pluck and pull at such garments uncoiled. He was in a dark, tight coif, his sleeves inlaid with golden thread, his shoes from costly-tooled Spanish leather.

As a boy, he would often fuss at his formal tunics, scratch at his skin – such things were made for status and show, not for comfort. Alas, he was no longer a boy who could get away with childhood-day-foolery.

There, the sound of hooves, the neighing of black palfreys. They were riding into the courtyard, one of the knights coming to a stop a few inches where Ares and his attendees were already waiting.

This knight dismounted, practiced, all grace and poise, pulling off his helmet.

Eris.

“Eris, come, please tell me the meaning of this visit. Surely my good sister the Queen is not this determined to compel me to obey her schedule, is she?”

Off somewhere, in the distance, an owl shrieked.

Hark.

Eris’ features, always an ode to mischief, were wooden, cold.

Hark.

She did not say anything. She was looking at him, as if through him, the other knights spilling out at her sides like tall, towering shades in their dark armor.

“The Queen,” Eris said.

The knights’ faces next to her were bellmen in and of themselves: pallid, bloodless, silent.

“The Queen is dead.”

***

The journey to the capital stretched out and out and out. At first, after Ares had been ushered into the carriage, Eris had spoken to him. Attempted to. He had seen her lips move, forming words, yet the sounds had not reached him. She had soon realized he was elsewhere, somewhere unreachable, and grew silent. He was glad for her company, because he did not need to grasp at poseurdom or poise. She had seen him ruined, ravaged, remade – there was not a single crack or blemish she had not come to know intimately.

He wasn’t crying.

No, tears were sorrows unbecoming of any man, even for the likes of him. In lieu of ennui or rage, Ares was staring outside, watching as verdant meadows and tree crowns up high drifted him by, merging into blurs of nature.

Athena.

The Queen. His sister, his rival, his confidant.

She had always seemed larger than all of nobility, a goddess almost, untouched by ordinary worries and ordinary failures. She had waged wars, won wars, conquered cities – all for the good of their kingdom. And once Ares had accepted he would never be anything or anybody other than the younger brother of the Queen, Athena had often taken his side over that of a noble.

To think her gone, torn from here, with him left behind… it was wrong, was what it was.

Athena had never been expendable, one of a kind – whereas there were plenty of bachelor royal sons of little consequence.

Like him.

Hadn’t he told her, hadn’t he told her he should lead instead of her?

“Ares, listen.”

He was about to ask what he was supposed to hear when he did hear.

Faint, at first, like sounds under water: then, gradually, growing louder and louder. Against protocol, he withdrew the curtains and peeked outside. Common folk lined the streets. Women were tearing at their clothes and hair; screams and cries and wails – the lamentations of a people mourning for their Queen. The men, on the other side, had taken their practice spears of yore.

In perfect synchronization, the butts of their spears beat and beat and beat on the earth, a slow staccato rhythm soon mingling with their keening. Yet between all those marrow-deep screeching sounds, there were other voices forming, quite distinctly, one word in unison.

His name.

“Have they gone mad?” he asked.

Eris said nothing.

***

“Nephew,” Poseidon said at once, with emphasis, rising from where he had been sitting the moment Ares entered the room.

When he had drawn nearer, his uncle lay a hand on his shoulder, firmly, whether to reassure him or himself, he could not say. He gave him a long look: pitying, comforting, steadying.

“Uncle Poseidon,” he began, carefully,” might I inquire to know why I’ve been summoned? I am greatly saddened by the news, as you may know, yet I am uncertain if I am able to assist, here. The funeral arrangements are the responsibility of the successor, are they not?”

There was a pause.

Ares lifted a brow.

Pauses, silences, quietude – those had never been associated with his uncle, much less his domain. His presence was loud, booming, oftentimes overwhelming; it was not for him to say nothing.

And here he was, all quiet, all still.

“The successor will be announced by the council shortly,” was all Poseidon mustered, before he gestured towards the seat opposite his.

Athena’s.

“No,” he answered, instantly, his jaw taut and tight, bile on his tongue.

***

“The Queen has left a succession will,” proclaimed Apollo, donning his holy insignia and robes: the white dalmatic, bright-gold-embossed, billowing always in the wake of his striding steps, the cincture, he remembered, a kind of rope tied at the middle; god thread, jewel-adorned. His half-brother reveled in his station, and had never shied any expense to wear clothes that exuded his importance.

He made a practiced, graceful hand gesture, after which they all sat down.

Ares did not know why he was there. He had only ever seen the inside of this room when Athena had required his insight and rapport with the soldiers, sometimes when she required a second opinion on her stratagems. Surely, those new lands could not have fallen into disarray this swiftly, could they?

“I, Athena the Queene, proclaim that the imperial crown of this realm of Olympia with all dignities, honours, prominences, prerogatives, authorities and jurisdictions to the same annexed or belonging should be to my dear brother, the prince Ares, and any heirs he may sire, that is to say, the firstborn of his body between the prince, my heir, and his future Queene, and that His Highness should and might give, will, limit, assign, appoint or dispose the said imperial crown and other the premises to what persons or person, and give the same person or persons such estate in the same, as it should please His Highness by his gracious letters patents under the great seal, or by his last will in writing signed with his most gracious hand; as by the same act among divers other things therein contained more at large it doth appear; since the making of which act, I, the Queene, have no issue of my body lawfully begotten any heirs, and thus have it be known, in this legal and binding will, that only my good brother the prince may and shall succeed me, as no other hath claim to the throne of Olympia. Furthermore, that the appointing of advisors of his Majesty’s government falleth only to my successor and that he may choose whomever he pleases to serve the kingdom and its interests, which, until His Majesty hath chosen a government that pleases him, releases my chosen government advisors from service immediately. I bequeath to my advisors 5.000 gold each, as thanks and in honour of their most loyal service to the kingdom.”

“This must be a joke!” Erebus exclaimed, banging his fist on the table.

But Ares was still processing. He had heard Apollo’s sonorous voice, smooth, silk, sweet as only the practiced oration of a studied man.

He, the heir?

He, the successor?

“No,” Ares said, not thinking, shaking his head vehemently.

“There you have it,” Erebus interjected, his nostrils flaring, his words blaring, like war horns, deafening any other assent or dissent.

“Surely the ancient and noble line of my house, Cthonisia, is much better suited to the task than some philandering, dilettante half-wit of a princeling? Do we want Queen Athena’s efforts and victories to have all been for naught?”

Apollo’s gaze flitted from his fellow cardinals to Erebus, a flash of green across the room. As always, that look, that gaze, that glare – it was gaining momentum and might until, afeared, Erebus looked away.

“The will of the Queen is binding, irrespective of how willing or unwilling her successor may be,” he began, glancing briefly towards Ares.

“It is, however, binding for all – disobedience or disregard of the wish of the Queen, whether alive or not, is treason. And treason, my dear gentlemen, is a death sentence.”

There was truth to his words, sickening as it was to Ares. The only truth spoken today, he mused. This meeting was a waste of time, if he had to think about it. Yes, this served as a means to convey Athena’s last will, but it was predominantly for these ministers to try on their sycophant costumes like good little nobles grabbling for authority.

***

“I don’t want it. I’m no king!” came the fusillade of rage, the torrent, the wrath. Once he and Apollo had retreated to the private library of the Queen, Ares had done what he always did when he lost himself. He grew warm, then hot, then blazing, a flame; a fire engulfing everything, from right to reason, leaving only cinder, like the fire from years before. The city fire, from when nearly everything had burnt to the ground.

His fists were shaking at his sides, trembling with that dangerous, incendiary current. He was seeing only white, brilliant white, his teeth bared, sharp, a warning.

Apollo had him against the wall within seconds, his right hand wrapped around his throat. He was staring at him, staring him down, predator to a predator.

“Stop behaving like a petulant child before I forget myself!”

Apollo had that effect on him. Apollo knew how to tame a beast, it was said, as one of the swiftest, deadliest hunters aside from his twin sister Artemis. Tame him he did, in that moment.

Ares took a deep, deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort of it. He closed his eyes, breathed in again, breathed out, opened his eyes again.

“Whether you like it or not, you will be crowned king in the coming days. I will help and guide you as best as I can as a servant of the Mother, and my function as a member of your council. But you must exercise self-control, or the nobles will skin you alive, and I will not disgrace myself and save you from yourself.”

***

Night had settled in the castle, in silence and dark. Only silvery moonlight was slipping in through the high windows, which cast a cool light in the hallways. It was that quiet that made him cautious. The cicadas, their distant song, the lonely winds, even the owls and their hooting – yes, those were noises fit for the sleeping world, but not footsteps.

Ares tiptoed through the shadows, sneaking down the same path he had first sneaked down when he had turned fifteen. A secret passage, for their way, because it was only known to them.

There she was.

Once Ares had emerged from the confined space of the passage and out into a dimly-lit chamber, his gaze found hers.

She was standing there, in the center of the room, as though she had been waiting for him. Expecting him. Clad only in a white linen nightgown, the shape of her round breasts sharp against the cloth, she took a step towards him, and stretched out her hand.

Ares smiled, tiredly, gladly. For her. He took her hand. He let himself be let towards and then onto the bed, where she pushed him into the pillows, gently, before laying down her head on his chest.

“How are you feeling, my heart? Honestly.”

Ares gave a huff.

“Honestly?”

Aphrodite raised her head and looked up at him, firm and stern.

“Honestly.”

And how could he lie to her, who already knew too much of him and had seen too much?

So he heaved a deep sigh, ruffled his own hair, and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I keep wishing to wake up to find this has all simply been a figment of my imagination, a bad dream… but, alas, it seems real.”

A shiver snuck up and down his spine, then; there was pressure at first, light, lighter, lightest, the warm wetness of her mouth against his closed eyelids. Kisses for him. Ares could not keep a crooked smile from turning his mouth corners upside. She always found new places to plant her love.

“Indeed it does, my heart,” came her affirming whisper, close to his ear.

“Any king needs rest, however, so you best not worry your pretty little head all night for now and close your eyes now like a good little boy.”

***

The morning broke just like any other morning; yet golden-young and bronze-drowsy from a reclining night. Where he would have snuck outside yearning to swing his sword at the practice grounds, Ares was miles and miles away. In the capital, at court, sat upright in bed. In his old sleeping chamber. Back when he had begrudgingly remained. For Athena, for Aphrodite. Before the glaring, opulent ballrooms and indulgent banquets had all been too much.

Sleep had evaded him throughout, even though exhaustion had not. His limbs and mind were still heavy and aching. Even though Aphrodite had stayed with him, her breathing a calming, soothing lullaby; but even she could not alter reality.

Looking out of the small window, he edged closer to sit on the sill. He leaned forward to gaze outside.

Tiny gull and pigeon dots were hopping over meticulously trimmed meadows. In only a few hours, he would be stepping inside the parliament chamber to meet the council. Where ministers of high birth would cajole and trickle sweet, tempting promises all over him. A gamble, of course, to retain their positions and influence. Just because Athena had favored these nobles, it didn’t mean Ares would. It was up to him to shape and form his council however he saw fit.

Power was not everything in those rooms, he had learned. Although the decision ultimately lay in his hands, it was a small comfort.

Apollo would be there, as was his duty and right as a high priest of The Mother. But this first trial of kingship, he had to face alone.

Dread twisted his insides; cool, cruel, gnawing.

Ares flinched a little. Slender arms still warm from blankets and cushions and their shared body heat wrapped around him from behind. Rosy locks came into his vision, tickling his bare skin.

“Be on your guard, my heart. These ministers will not shy away from deceit or manipulation, especially now that you can control their fortune.”

Ares gave a non-committal grunt.

She would know, wouldn’t she?

***

After Aphrodite had tiptoed back to her chambers through their secret passage connecting their rooms and assisted in putting on his robes for the day, he had made his way to the west wing. He had servants to call on, but he had never much enjoyed their demure eyes and quiet, lurking nature. He did not need help for the simple act of dressing himself. But having Aphrodite help him into his tunic was different. She knew him, knew what suited him, specifically; knew the impetus of style, and how it could be just as much a weapon among nobles as a sharpened blade in battle.

He was standing in front of the parliament door after wandering aimlessly for a while, after one last, wistful look at her. But, there it was, that door: Old, dark wood adorned with owls, door knobs shaped like Aegis, gold-embossed and imposing. Apollo was beside him, his hand already on those knobs.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” he muttered, raising his shoulders to attain the proper posture. Tall, towering, looming.

The door opened with a loud, resounding creak, ancient as it was, and immediately, every seated minister rose to acknowledge his entrance.

Before they could walk to take their positions, however, Nyx strode forwards above everyone else present. She was donning her House colors: a gown of deep, deep blue velvet, endlessly flowing. Her dark strands of hair were spilling over her shoulders, dark as ink, adorned with small jewels to resemble stars.

“Your Grace, we are all deeply sorry for your loss, and mourn our most-beloved Queen. Although her absence shall be most keenly felt by us all, you lost a sister also. Her death must succeed you two-fold.”

Gradually, as words after words poured from her lips, his smile grew sharper. She was smiling a smile of sympathy, though her eyes were cold.

“If ever I or my children can lessen the burden on your shoulders, I ask you to please make use of us as you see fit. As surely you are aware, our Houses are linked through a rich history of marriage, loyal service, and fruitful cooperation. We would be humbled to see it thus continue.”

There it was, he thought, consciously trying to control his composure and face. He felt the faint pull of his mouth corners, the twitch, down and down – the hint of disdain.

“My Lady Nyx, I thank you for your most soothing words, for they bring me great comfort. Truly, I am grateful for your continued support. I can surely count on your unconditional loyalty to the crown as well, I hope?”

“But of course.”

Nyx must have awakened their collective ambition from complacency, for throughout the meeting, more and more ministers were hovering around him. They all waited and waited, a hunger in their looks. Predators, all of them, who interrupted each other or agreed loudly when it suited them. Appearances, appearances, appearances.

***

Once the last member had been ushered outside and left, spewing vacuous condolences in their wake, Ares shut the door firmly behind their back. He lurched over, collapsed into the nearest seat, and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I do not trust any of them.”

He leaned further back so that he could cast a side glimpse at Apollo, who was looking out of the faraway window.

“Did Athena?”

At his question, Apollo stirred. His impassive profile crumbled. Ares knew his brother knew how to conceal his own secrets, was expert in this, always bright, blinding, blazing and warm. And just as his skin was sun-caressed, freckles scattered on his cheeks, so, too, bright was he and his mind.

Apollo, full of light and joy, could just as easily drape himself in darkness: scathing remarks, glacial glares, and then, his features were an inscrutable mask.

Now, he allowed Ares to see him. Not the devout priest, not the legitimized bastard of the late King, but him, his half-brother who, too, had lost a sister.

“That is the price of ruling. No one can be trusted, least of all any of Athena’s ministers. The most obvious being, in your case, because they loathe you.”

When Ares only grunted by way of reply, Apollo sighed before coming over to claim the seat next to him.

“You must root it out, one by one, elect new ministers you can trust to a degree.”

His gaze dropped away, straight to the middle of the long table. His words merely a beat before had warned him against trust or sentiments. This was a miasma between them, a gaping gulf, their expressions the same: grim. Tense shoulders both.

“It would be unwise, however, to yank them all out. Choose which are the lesser evil, who can be controlled best.”

Ares drew a deep breath.

Already pressure was building behind his eyes, the faint pulse and drum an ache that could hardly be eased, or stopped.

“Thank you for your counsel. For now, I wish to retire to deliberate this matter in private.”

Which was to say: he needed a goddamn drink.

***

Where drink freely flowed, rippling like stray raindrops into cups, Dionysus was not far. Indeed, Ares did not have to scour long for his half-brother when he entered the main hall. A circle had formed at the edge of the currently empty dancing floor. The musicians who had travelled far to perform at court were resting now, their conversations gentle whispers permeated by gasps and giggles from the crowd.

Dionysus was trying his coin trick of yore on a high-born lady when he stepped closer to watch him with a raised brow. As he had conjured the gold coin countless times before, he did so in this very moment. Accompanied by the free, loose laughter of the lady half a beat later. Dionysus curtsied deeply and winked at her with glee and mischief alive in his eyes.

It did not take him long to spot Ares in the crowd, however, which prompted him to curtsy once more, even deeper this time. The tip of his nose was barely inches away from marble.

Ares could not help but scoff at the display. Discomfiture wrapped around him; the taste of bile in his mouth. Burning, as their glances, into his consciousness.

“There is no need for such formality between brothers, Dio.”

“Oh, my little vulture, I must insist there is! How could I not pay proper homage to my soon to be king?”

He laughed; loudly, boldly, quite unlike any mirth befitting of a man of his station, bastard or not. Dionysus was always laughing in spite of this, always with a twinkle in his eyes, crinkles underneath, and dimples in his cheeks – as if his lover, Hypnos, had pressed his thumbs into his skin and left a permanent mark.

And so, too, his whole posture loosened, opened, came alive. His brother had that effect on others, no matter the situation or standing. A spell, a craft, finely honed.

It was this magic he needed, he decided.

“A word?”

Dionysus bowed again, all elegance and decorum.

“I am, as ever, at your disposal, my most illustrious king and sovereign ruler.”

Ares scoffed at those pompous airs he put on, revelling in his discomfiture; but he put it aside, tolerated it. He gestured towards the study outside, at the far end of the hallway.

Athena’s girlhood study was a small room, practically a broom closet compared to the size and opulence of every other room. It was this simplicity, this lack of wealth Ares could well appreciate it. Just dark shelves of oak lining the walls, stacked with books of all themes. Political theory, history, mathematics, science and so much more. All under a vaulted ceiling, wide and spacious, like a plain.

“As you know, I have spent the last years at the estates in the countryside, far removed from court. I know it has been much the same for you,” he began, leaning forwards in his chair, hands folded on the writing desk.

“However, you have been travelling throughout the kingdoms, performing at various courts. Listening. I trust you have learned a thing or two of the innerworkings here and there, have you not?”

Dionysus smiled his lazy smile, though his eyes were awake and alert as he reclined in his chair, crossing his legs.

“You know what they say about bards, my little vulture. No one ever suspects them,” he replied. His lips curled into a smirk. As unloved sons both, legitimate or not, they knew the value of obscurity, of irrelevancy.

“I will be glad to write up a summary of the juicy bits I’ve heard, if it helps.”

“It certainly will. Thank you, Dio.”

***

That night as many nights and afternoons before he had retreated to the country estate, Ares found solace in the arms of Aphrodite, nuzzling his face into her hair, the scent of myrrh and rose water in his nose, and her warmth, always her tender strength and unfailing warmth. He told her about the meeting with the council, about Nyx’s protestation, about the dread in his guts and the hungering wolves sat around him, dressed in fine silks and golden jewelry to flaunt their wealth and status, about how vulnerable he felt in their wake, even though he was the one wearing the crown.

“Well,” she murmured in his ear while he was on the threshold of waking and dreaming,” I say you should follow your heart, hm?”

It was.

A yearning, a craving, little praying – a wanting he could no longer allow. Never could he abandon his loves the way Athena had, sacrificing and sacrificing and hurting, for the good of the lands; but he had to tear parts of him apart, with stained hands, scrape off the dried blood from under his fingertips, and gaze out the balcony. Those houses, far, far away, silhouettes closer to the mountains, he had to think of too, now, not only his own indulgences.

He sought out Apollo the next morning, having been helped once more by Aphrodite to dress in robes conveying his rank, and found him already waiting in the throne room.

“I take it you have already at least partially made up your mind on whom to elect as a minister?” he asked, knowing, because Ares was nothing if not predictable in such matters.

“Yes,” he said, trailing off, letting silence turn stilted, pulling them further apart. His brother was unreadable, always, and as their eyes locked, Ares was none the wiser about his thoughts.

“I am releasing Thanatos from the tower to have him take the place as one of my close advisors.”

Apollo nodded instantly.

“Yes, this should please the House Cthonisia and ease the tensions between us for a while.”

He paused. Grew silent. His eyes, bright and hard and seeing, on him, searching for something, finding it, and still Ares did not know what Apollo wanted with this knowledge. What he would do.

“But, Ares, we cannot release him until after your coronation. You are not officially king yet, after all, and acting in opposition to Athena’s will, while legally possible and constitutionally your right as her successor, is... unwise.”

He swallowed, audibly, leaning his back against the stone-brick wall. Cool, yet steady. Of course, Apollo was right, as he often was. Infuriatingly so. He did have the authority to do as he pleased now that Athena’s will had been spread, and her old council informed. Many would think it callous to stride around handing out orders and pardons before Athena, still the Queen in the eyes of the common people, was even buried. It was his duty to give their sovereign, his sister, the funeral she was due. As a royal lady, as a ruler, as his friend. The people should grieve and mourn and find comfort in the following games. To remember her, to reminisce, to keep her alive in their memories for one last day.

“How is he?”

Apollo gave him one of his avuncular smiles. It was pleasant, it was charming; it did not reach his eyes.

“Thanatos is the second oldest son of an old, noble House. I assure you he’s received the best accommodations and care one can ask for, his confinement notwithstanding.”

He strode to the nearest window, peering outside.

“For now, I advise you to focus on immediate concerns, namely Athena’s funeral arrangements, along with the games in her honor. Do not take this lightly, brother, for our foreign ambassadors at court have sharp tongues, and will not look kindly on the next ruler of Olympia if they find your arrangements lacking.”

***

He had been poring over papers and waving off ambassadors and merchants eager to make some coin and, already, he could feel it. The pressure of tension throbbing behind his temples, imbued by a dull ache. It was not the worst he had had, though it was consistent, pulsating from his head down to the soles of his feet.

“Don’t despair, my heart,” Aphrodite crooned; honeyed, forgiving, patient. She ambled over to a servant girl holding a tray with ale, bread, and some cheese. She gave the girl an appreciative nod and a smile before allowing her to return to her other duties. Again, she made him smile, too. Just watching her was a pleasure. And those ostensibly small gestures were what made Aphrodite shine. Commoners, nobles, ambassadors. She knew how to act around others according to their station, and though her words and motions were calculated, her defiant warmth towards all never felt like a scene from a play.

She carefully set down the tray, then claimed the chair next to him. Without so much as a mischievous gleam in her eyes and a little smirk, she took his hand propping up his head and shoved the ale at him.

“Your determination to get this right is all quite endearing, darling, but you have to take care of yourself. When did you last eat, hm?”

Ares grunted noncommittally, but took a quick swig of the ale in his hands.

“I’ve barely made any progress since midday.”

She smiled.

“This is why I brought someone along.”

Almost as if they had planned it to the very second, Dionysus burst in, leaving his guards stupefied in his wake. He lurched towards them, towards the round oak table, raising a hand as a nonchalant welcome.

“I’ve heard you need some help with a little planning, my little vulture?”

Ares sighed.

“This is supposed to be a funeral arrangement. Please be decent, Dio, if you must help.”

“Oh, I absolutely must.”

To his surprise, his half-brother did have a penchant for planning and organization, even if it largely pertained to the games, which would be held after the ceremony at the church. There was to be a race, a tournament, and a play on the final day. The latter, so Dionysus said, would be a homage to Athena’s reign, her victories, a snapshot lane of a dearly beloved queen. They had had relative peace under her, after decades of vicious fighting among noble Houses. It was not without reason that, besides many other honorifics, she had been the Saviour Queene.

There was some consolation in the thought that his sister, their sister, would be celebrated as she had lived.

***

The morning of the funeral had dressed in dreary grey; heavy clouds, gusts of wind, hidden sun. Many priests in the temple had solemnly reassured Ares this had to be an omen. A good one, for it seemed even the Mother was mourning the loss of a faithful servant who had mended her earth with years of peace and prosperity. Athena’s bier had taken weeks to craft by the finest artisans, expedited by spells of speed thanks to the kingdom’s mages, adorned with gold and precious jewels befitting of her status as sovereign. Ares, on horseback, was riding behind the bier as her successor, through the busy streets of Olympia. People of the capital had poured outside to bid farewell to their Queen. Some of them had opened their windows, leaning on window sills for a better vantage point. The women gave way to their grief in loud wails. They were beating their chests in one unrelenting, cruel rhythm, tearing at their hair and clothes.

A keening sound resounded throughout the journey from the streets of the town to the abbey, where all kings and queens would rest eternally. A keening sound. It was their song of woe. Sobs and wails and loss and fear. Too soon for the people to have forgotten the succession wars that had ravaged the lands and taken their sons and daughters in summons to fight for their queen and her claim to the throne. There was uncertainty in this banquet of glances, Ares knew, as he rode past. Athena had brought order. What, they were thinking, would her brother bring?

But even a queen who had executed traitorous, ambitious nobles and passed bill after bill to leave little possibility for another war once she would die could not strip those oligarchs off their essence. They would always poke and prod at the pillars she had so thoughtfully built, until there were ruins once more. There was uncertainty in those looks. He was well-liked among the army and the common folk, yes, because he was their prince. A prince, at that, who had dared to elevate ordinary men and women into offices. They had a voice in government, now, and because Athena had not opposed and granted his recommendations for those offices and posts, they were of consequence.

Tensions between old and new had not subsided.

They would have to see whether this successor of hers was up to the task to unite them.

It was Apollo who addressed the crowd to give his funeral speech. His voice, an echo throughout, silvery and strong --- the mark of an expert orator, his verbiage deliberate and vibrant; a recounting of Athena’s accomplishments.

How she had ended the succession wars that had drained the coffers for all and left the farmers either gutted or starving while the opposing forces would take their lands. How she had stabilized the succession and royal family to banish tragedy into plays, onto stages. How she had pleaded and succeeded in more equality.

Indeed, she was laid to rest not a mortal, but a goddess.

The funeral games followed and lasted three days.

Commoners, too, were permitted to participate in the race vying for a medal and a prize of thirty gold.

It was a commoner who won. A father of three, with lanky legs and nimble feet. However swift he had been, however, Ares could not help but doubt whether he could have outrun Hermes, had he been here.

Hermes, sent running a year ago, to liaison for House Olympia at the court of Titanus. A spy, what else, who had dared further still to love above his station.

Ares tried not to think about it.

***

Even though the funeral rites and games had barely ended, Apollo was already preoccupied again. His mind had once again filtered out everyday trivialities, focusing instead on Ares’ fast approaching coronation.

Evidently, this was not simply over and done with putting the crown on his head and waving to the assembled nobility.

Everything from his wardrobe to his gait towards the throne fell under patronizing scrutiny. Everything was wrong, nothing was right. He did not have the poise Athena had naturally possessed, nor her knowledge of etiquette. Even he had attended such lessons, with a stern, grim-faced lecturer, who had often slammed a wooden stick on his bare hands, laid out on the table like an offering. It had brought deep, dark welts, red skin, a glaring impress of discipline; but there was a wildness in him. He was a wolf, an animal, ravenous always. It had been unbecoming of a prince then, and it was humiliating now.

Again and again he had been walking back and forth, striding back and forth, all under the unrelenting eyes of Apollo. Again and again his brother had told him, harshly, exasperated, that he could not move like a foot soldier. His posture was not as outrageous as it could have been, had he not been trained to become a fighter, a soldier, and a commander early on. He was standing straight and tall, a sense of authority undeniably in the way he was holding himself.

He was a king now, however, somebody who was supposed to stride into any room, linger in any crowd, and still leave everyone speechless. Because his presence should be its own force, its own might, like their infamous warships at port.

Ares huffed audibly, loudly, before collapsing into his chair. Apollo gave him a foul look when he sat down, abandoning his lessons and practice, but he pretended not to see it.

“This is impossible and ridiculous,” he grumbled.

Before his brother could throw a scathing remark back at him, one of the guards entered his chambers.

“Your Majesty, the dowager queen Hera seeks an audience.”

Ares lifted a quizzical eyebrow. This formality. Unnecessary. His mother would burst into any room she wanted, whether he were a king or a stable boy. It was sweet, this sensation, this realization his mother would have to obey, whatever he said. He nodded dismissively. Apollo rose to his feet, giving Hera the slightest nod of acknowledgement as he strode past her.

“Mother,” he said, cautious to keep his voice neutral.

Hera strode to the chair opposite him without invitation or permission.

“I have come to discuss the topic of securing a suitable marriage for you now that you are going to be king, son.”

He frowned.

“There is nothing to discuss. You know who I’m going to marry.”

Fury. He could see the transformation on her face, could watch as her dark look grew darker, sharper, colder, her lips thin and pale - and her nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Surely you cannot mean to marry this girl, my dear? I will not protest if you wish to keep her as your mistress, it is your right after all, yet Aphrodite is unsuitable to be your queen.”

A sigh elicited him at her crude, callous words, none of which were new. Her wrath against Aphrodite had begun after her introduction at court a few years ago. She had spent her childhood abroad at the court of Queen Persephone. A common practice for daughters of influential men, which Aphrodite’s foster-father undoubtedly was.

Soon, their gaping silence had opened up like an ever growing gulf. With nothing to breach this distance, this glacial disapproval in his mother’s eyes, it became unbearable. Desperate for words, for sounds, any sound, his lips parted, ready to just speak; but Hera held up a hand, motioning for further silence.

She was not quiet for long.

“Ares, now that you are king, you cannot live your life freely doing whatever you desire most in the moment. She...may have her charms, and I see she pleases you,” she conceded, her mouth corners downturned,” however, take into account our difficult relations with the neighboring kingdoms. It was not long ago that we were fighting a bloody succession war, in which many people perished. It would be in your best interests, therefore, to take a bride that will strengthen foreign connections and appease the other ruling monarchs.”

Again, he inhaled, deeply, through his nose; again, he exhaled, shakily, through his mouth. He leaned further back in his seat. His mother was a clever woman. Had she been Queen in the age of Athena and Artemis, both revered queens in their own right, she would have made a better head of state than his father could have ever been. She could have steered this country towards golden dawns instead of charcoal dusks. Like his father. She was showing this in this very moment. She had a personal stake in keeping Aphrodite from becoming queen, yes. Her hatred was a cold, twisted thing she had never bothered to hide. Though more than anything, more than her rage, Ares saw a mother who did not want history to repeat itself.

He was his father’s son.

In the end.

“Thank you for your counsel, mother.”

With this, he rose. After this, he needed to be away from this wretched castle, this wretched court.

He went outside, to the gardens.

***

All too quickly, he saw he was not alone.

Perched on a little stool with a canvas before him, a man was painting the very heart of the labyrinth: a tall marble statue of the Mother. At her foot, a crown of flowers bloomed. White roses, brighter even still in the noon light. Ivy was coiling around her long, slender limbs, too, though Ares did not remember seeing it the last time he had been there.

“heard you, you know.”

The man glanced over his shoulder, a smirk clearly on his face.

“You have good ears, then,” he said, and took a few steps forward until he could take a proper look.

He was smiling, dimples popping; but it did not reach his gaze. His dark, brown eyes were inscrutable, impenetrable, like depths of unknown waters. His matching brown hair was a mussed up mess, wind-kissed, and his white tunic was hanging loosely off of his left shoulder.

“You always were pretty awful at remembering faces, boss.”

Ares frowned.

This knowing smile, those features - there was a vague familiarity to them. He edged towards him, still frowning, coming to a stop right behind the stool on which he was sitting. He was looking up at him, with that smile, as if he knew, as if he held all knowledge.

He remembered.

Boss.

“Hermes.”

At the sound of his name, his smile dispersed. There was a mischievous sheen to those eyes, though, which had never dulled or gone in all the years he had known him.

“Got to say, did not think you’d remember this quickly. Always on the slower side there. Good on you, Ares. Though I guess it’s your Highness now, isn’t it?”

Ares’ face twisted into a grimace. Without waiting for Hermes to scoot over on his stool, he lay down in the grass, staring up at the sky above.

“So you’ve heard,” he muttered. He shook his head, slowly, pointedly not looking at Hermes.

“It’ll always be just Ares to you.”

“Barely a day back and already receiving special privileges. That’s pretty quick, even by my standards.”

His mouth went dry.

He shifted slowly, carefully, so that he could prop himself up on his elbows and look at his old friend.

“So you’re back?”

His body tensed, was heavy. Those words had tumbled out, without thought. The hitch in his voice, this breathy note - his silly little boyhood hope.

“Yupp. Been summoned by none other than Apollo himself. There’s a job that needs doing, he said.”

Hermes did not seem to have noticed anything. He narrowed his eyes just so, his gaze dropping away.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

There it was again.

His smile.

“What do you think?”

***

Even though he would learn why Hermes was once again at court, he guarded his secret expertly. Apollo, too, had very firmly shot down his questioning, claiming his coronation took precedence over the matter of Hermes’ new position. It had always been like this, with him. Conspirators, the both of them. Always, indelibly, donning secrecy as other nobles would finery.

It did not bother him, not knowing.

He would never ask him for truth.

Hermes without secrecy was only one half of him. Incomplete, inherent. So they had agreed, when they had both been students under Chaos, that Ares trusted him to speak when there was something he had to know.

Despite this, despite their promise, he couldn’t deny he was curious. Apollo did not leave him many moments to dwell, however, adding one lesson after the next in preparation for his coronation that he was nearly spending all his mornings, afternoons, and evenings with his brother.

They had retreated to the private library of Athena. Day had reclined further and further until light summer skies had collapsed into soft, orange evening. Apollo was striding up and down the room, hands clasped behind his back. Aside from the occasional withering looks when he would stumble over a word, or mix up the exact vernacular, he did not acknowledge him. Only his own voice was reverberating in the study. A tired, tired drone. Disembodied. Dull. Dry.

“Could we end these lessons now?” Ares asked, after he had recited his speech for the fifteenth time this evening alone.

Apollo paused, turned, glimpsed at him. Those golden eyes, always warm according to the people of the court, were blazing. Blazing eyes, blazing attention - burning him, who was the focus of that look, that glare.

“Ares,” he said.

It was not to address him.

It was not to reprimand him.

It was a warning.

“For better or worse, the crown will land on your head. As you may recall, your tutelage under liege Chaos was solely lacking, because you could not be bothered to take your duty, nor your education seriously. I will make sure, personally, you will not be an embarrassment to the crown. Am I making myself clear?”

He always was a good little soldier, wasn’t he?

He knew how to follow orders.

Knew how to kneel.

Ares stared blankly at the filled notebook lying open on the tabletop, his grip around his quill tight. Very, very tight.

“Yes.”

The night before his coronation did not belong to him. Tradition demanded penance, in this dusk, this twilight, between old and new. It was why he found Apollo sitting on a chair by his bed, the bound, embossed holy scripture of the Mother yet unopened in his lap. He watched gingerly when Ares climbed into bed. Only a priest could take his confession, to give him absolution for his sins in the name of the Mother. As the highest member of her priesthood, it fell to Apollo to ease new sovereigns into their reign. He was a listener to the living and the dying, steady and unyielding in his duties.

“Son of the Mother, what do you wish to confess?”

His hands tightened around the cool, silken sheets. He could not meet Apollo’s condemning eyes, too harsh a judgment late at night, when the Mother herself was listening in.

“I have ended many men's and women's lives on the battlefield. It was to defend my kingdom, my family, and my home, but I have shed blood still, and I have taken their lies in spite of these circumstances.”

Apollo was sitting very still, unmoving, one hand laid on the holy scripture. Throughout his telling of fields ravaged and turned into graveyards, he had made no sound, not even one of dissent or disgust. He had only listened.

“Do you ask forgiveness?”

Ares nodded.

“For this, I ask the Mother for forgiveness, and if she wishes to meddle in my case, I wish she only judge it justly.”

Slowly, tentatively, Apollo reached out for his hand, and placed his palm on the scripture, which he was now holding up high.

“You are forgiven.”

Intricately drawn runes coiling around Apollo’s arms and dipping into his palms flickered with light, softly, as dawn after night. Laying his own hand atop his, Ares winced just so. It was the gentle mark of the Mother upon her priests, the warmth of it, that was touching and encircling him. His fears had dulled, had quelled to concern; his fear, it did not cut and twist deeply in his mind anymore.

Silence, too, had unfolded. Only the tiny trembles of the torchlights tumbled through, all soft light and half-shadows and relief.

This was no deafening silence, no sentence, no tilted punishment. Here, now, Ares did not feel ill at ease in his brother’s presence.

“I don’t believe I’m of the same regal cloth as Athena, Apollo. I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

He had expected assent, callous and cruel as his brother always was. When it did not come, when instead he simply sat, hands once again on the scripture, his head slightly tilted downwards, Ares wanted to see him off quickly.

It was then his brother spoke, when he had not been bracing himself for his voice.

“When our father made the decision to legitimize me and include me in the succession line, I was overjoyed. I truly thought he had found an heir worthy of him at last.”

Bitter, those words unsaid, Ares thought, proper black in mood. The only triumph he had ever held over Apollo was his own legitimacy, to be the son of Hera, a true queen. Apollo and Athena both had been immortal. Free from flaws. As children, as adults. Apollo, whose soul had bathed in molten specks of the Mother’s light, who could prophesize and entice all nobles to vye for even one favorable glance from him alone.

And Athena, whose intellect had soared and soared and soared, above any scholar or scientist.

He, he knew, had only ever been an ugly thing of shadows, rotten rage residue child of two royals, ruins themselves, who could have only ever made one thing: terror.

“When I embarked on my quest to gather enough support to have our father up my place in the succession, so that I would’ve succeeded him, Hyacinthus had been my closest confidant and advisor. Although it was a terrible risk, I sent him to one royal family who had always borne only ire towards our royal House, to plead my case, but…,” Apollo trailed off, the first pause in an otherwise terribly dull tone.

It sounded like a monotone, something rehearsed, a speech to which he had only begrudgingly agreed.

“You know, you do. They found him a few days later, gutted like some thug from the streets.”

Anger had made his enunciation slip, had made it sharp; but this anger was old, aged, like fine wine.

“Power corrupts, Ares. It is why I refused my claim on the throne and gave my soul in service to the Mother.”

They were silent again, sharing squirt together, not against one another this time. In truth, Ares had suspected Hyacinthus had been the reason for Apollo’s sudden pilgrimage and subsequent retreat to the temple.

He had never asked, though, never prodded. They were not close. They did not share such fierce hurt.

Ares, though, understood wounds.

He had not asked.

When Apollo’s light had gone from golden to garish, then blazing, hurting, Ares had looked away, pretending not to see.

They all had.

“One of the reasons I believe Athena was not entirely mad when she thought it necessary to make revisions to her will is exactly that. You possess a quality I do not have, which shall enable you with the ability to act for the right reasons, and for the good of the people, not to advance yourself, not for glory nor riches.”

Before Ares could turn those lines around in his head, ask for the truth of it, Apollo had risen abruptly and left his chamber without looking back.

Apollo and him, they had one bond that bound them indelibly:

They never lied.

***

The transition from one sovereign to the next, from old to new, from dead to alive. Saturated in tradition and history, laced with deliberate dramaturgy to have one day last and linger. An eternity in a day, trespassing the paths of time. If not forever literally, then all attending had to remember, and remember fondly, passing the memory from one generation to the other. There was a reason why Apollo had drawn out the rigorous lessons from his childhood and taught him anew the importance of such ceremonies.

It began with this:

before dawn could break and the day yawn light, Ares was already dressed in his ceremonial garb, waiting on his bed. Gradually, Apollo poured into his chamber as the night before, succeeded by other, lower ranking priests. It was Apollo also, who shifted sideways on his feet to dip his hands into an ornate ceremonial bowl filled with holy water. He strode up to Ares, shook his hands mid-air. Lukewarm water dripped on his cheeks, down the curve of his mouth. Rose water, myrrh, the scent of earth after rain.

Apollo then held out his other hand and helped Arise rise.

On they strode, out the palace grounds and onto the streets. Every step, Ares recalled, was symbolic, on this untrodden path from palace to temple, where he would be crowned.

Every step on this road, this path, resembled the unknown way ahead.

He had to stay silent.

In the eyes of the Mother, Ares was in limbo: not yet a king, yet no longer a subject. Not yet living, for the former queen had crossed over, but he had not yet become. Beings in between worlds did not speak, did not haunt with word or sound, as apparitions and wraiths would.

Throughout this, throughout their procession, Ares was borne by one priest, Asclepius, and a member of his council. Thanatos. Secular lords and lieges proceeded in their wake, displayed high on gilt trays. His grand marshal, Eris, carried her staff pointing downwards.

Once in the temple, Ares walked into the centre, where a likeness of the Mother’s eye stared back at him in colorful mosaics.

“Will you, my good people, honor and support me during my reign?”

The throng of people roared, tickled lions all, triple acclamations, from priests and advisors and nobles and the people:

“We will! We will! We will!”

***

“Enough sleeping already, we have work to do.”

A groan elicited him at the cacophony. Too early. Too soon. For words. For communication. On instinct alone, he squeezed his eyes shut. Darkness was enveloping him, his limbs tangled up in cozy warmth. Surely, Apollo could wait.

“Ares.”

But this was not Apollo’s cool voice.

The tone, gruff and raw, yet soft.

Ares sat bolt upright in his bed. Instantly, he threw off his cushions, his blankets; wanted, needed, had to take hold.

“Thanatos,” he whispered.

There he was, sitting at the edge of his bed, with the same stern gaze he had thrown his way too often and not enough.

“Hello, Ares.”

He stared, was staring, had been staring. One year. He had not seen him in one year, had not heard him say his name in one year, had not been near him in one year. And Thanatos, held in the tower, in confinement, a front row view for the gallows. Because of him, because of how much he meant, because he was the second oldest son of House Cthonisia.

Thanatos scoffed, shaked his head, drew him near, kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. Gave him what he wanted, in that moment, when Ares could not ask for it. How he had done the same for Thanatos before, how this man had come to know him so intimately, so honestly.

It was too short, this reverie, his caressing, cool fingertips gone before Ares could ease into their shared physicality.

“Before you ask: I am fine, no, I don’t want to talk about it. And… get dressed. We have a meeting with Apollo.”

***

This was an official meeting, Ares realized, as Thanatos led him down the stairs to the council chamber. Apollo was already seated and waiting, along with Hermes, who was restless as ever. Up and down he went, with his bouncing steps and fast gait.

Before they entered, Thanatos stepped beside him, their hands brushing seemingly by accident, before interlocking their fingers for just a beat, just a breath. He squeezed his hand, steadying him as he had always done. Just as accidental as it might have seemed, however, Thanatos released him, and strode purposefully towards the seat opposite Apollo, to the right, at Ares’ place.

“Before we address the reason for Lord Hermes’ return, I find it necessary, indeed inevitable, I should say, that Lord Thanatos and you, Ares, receive a first briefing on the political climate and current circumstances at court.”

Ares frowned.

“I thought all was well under Athena’s rule? It’s predominantly the reason why the people are calling her the savior queen, no?”

Apollo’s mouth twitched suddenly; he was looking at him as a tutor would at his student who had just asked an obtuse question.

“Things are never as straightforward as they seem in politics. Yes, the kingdom now knows what stability is truly like thanks to Athena’s reforms and mending of foreign relations, but the climate remains...tense. Let us not forget the succession wars ravaged our lands and dried up our resources less than a decade ago.”

Hermes gave a hum, then a nod. His tread slowed, gradually, before his steps faded into quietude once more. For once, he was completely still, unmoving. Ares followed his movements, took in his body and his expression. Anything for a cue, anything, to learn what was happening in this sharp mind, ever abuzz with ways and more and more and more.

“Remind me, why won’t you, how exactly the queen died?” Hermes asked.

Nothing in the way he had turned around and was now appraising Apollo suggested to Ares that Hermes didn’t already know. The sweet, daming allure of him was this: secrecy, secrets, guessing - only ever the faintest, vaguest shade of knowing. And yet still, Hermes himself was never ignorant or unknowing. He knew things, somehow, more than anyone else in any room would ever know.

“Ares’ estimation not to take the threat of the rebellions of the north lightly was correct. Athena, however, dismissed it as a simple, disorganized uprising of commoners and servants untrained in combat. They proved quite the opposite, in fact, according to the reports in the wake of Athena’s injury and subsequent death. She intended to simply starve them out until they would inevitably surrender, but they did not surrender. They attacked, under the cover of night, and Athena sustained an injury. She lived for a while, but alas the wound became infected and, regrettably for us all, she passed.”

Again, Hermes hummed, his joyous tone almost dissonant, almost taunting. Apollo was recounting his sister’s death. His sister, who had fallen, bled, and suffered. Cut open like the still warm carcass of a deer during one of Artemis’ hunting parties.

“Curious, isn’t it, that this uprising was just like any other of the minor ones up north, and so soon after Athena had changed her succession will.”

Beside him, Ares felt Thanatos tense.

He had been sitting upright and proper, a posture without flaw; but now, his golden eyes had widened, his jaw clenched. Ares himself was biting down nausea, his stomach in knots, with marrow-deep fear at the forefront.

“How would you know this, Olympia? This was a government matter of utmost secrecy, not some trite drivel one could easily pick up from the common folk,” came the retort from Apollo, without pause, without propriety, which Ares had always seen him uphold. No, now, there was a quiver in his voice, a threat poorly veiled. Hot fury.

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Hermes quipped. He meandered forwards a step, with a leisurely gait, then bounced back and forth on the soles of his feet when he came to a halt shortly before Apollo.

“Because I know things I shouldn’t know.”

***

Hasty treads, two of them, steps mingling into one sound, one beat: Hermes and Ares, in a faraway alcove, only inches apart.

Ares was looking down at him, an unsaid prayer in his eyes, beseeching hands on narrow shoulders. He was gripping him tighter than he wanted to, he saw, because Hermes flinched. Still he pressed deeper, until there was no skin under his palms, but the outline of bones.

“Is it true, Hermes? Is it because of me Athena...did I…,” he began, stopped, trailed off, stopped. It was a question he could not pose, could not voice. There was nothing but his query, however, because Hermes would never tell him how he knew. Asking for truth alone, from Hermes of all people, was sacrilege.

“Nobody knows why she chose you, Ares,” he said, evenly, and placed his hands atop his. His palms were warm, Ares realized, his presence light, feathery, never heavy. Hermes leaned in further, closer, on tiptoes, so that he could whisper into his ear. It was just as well, Ares conceded quietly, to himself. He had forgotten caution in his own consternation, in his horror, and once more he knew he needed Hermes at his side more than ever.

“Found something that leads me to believe word got out about the change to the succession will while I was liaison to Olympia at the Titanus court. Didn’t sit well with some, you know.”

Hot breath against his skin, the brush of his mouth, the scent of memories while he had revealed something. Of sandalwood and nights in the forest during summer rain, the sweet tobacco he sometimes smoked so he would not fidget with his never still, never idle hands.

Ares’ breath hitched.

No.

He had to concentrate on what he was saying.

Reaching out and placing a hand against Hermes’ chest, he pushed back so he could look him in the eyes. He breathed in, breathed out.

“Hermes.”

No response.

Just those dark, deep eyes, dark hooks, dark, looking back at him.

“Tell me who.”

#hades game #hades game fanfic #thanares #aresdite #part 1 #long ff

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hellreads · 4 years ago

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navigation for all the recs I received, let’s all indulge in these stories!

stories that are no longer available here or any other platform are removed from the list.

[ 🍒 ] indicates that i’ve already read the recommended story.

[ 💌 ] indicates that the recommendation was a love letter ~ where readers share their favorite authors and favorite masterpiece from them.

⇢ [ recs from the box google spreadsheet ] ⇢ [ back to main navigation ]

OT7/MULTI

[ #102 ] ⇢ With Us Trilogy by monodreamin [ lovers/poly!au ]

[ #100 ] ⇢ Thou Shall Not Steal by xherxx [ ot7 | spy/mafia!au ]

[ #095 ] ⇢ Pink Lemonade by himbojk [ ksj+jjk | milf/trophy wife!au ]

[ #094 ] ⇢ Nefarious by smileysuh [ kth+jjk | yandere!au ]

[ #093 ] ⇢ Destructive Interference by vyduan [ ksj + kth | i2l/f2l/e2l!au ]

[ #089 ] ⇢ Lillies of the Valley by girlmeetsliv3 [ ot7 | a/b/o/yandere!au ]

[ #083 ] ⇢ Never Ever After by peachpersona [ ao3 | ot7 | fairytale/yandere!au]

[ #079 ] ⇢ Something Like Love by koobear [ kth x jjk + knj x pjm | a/b/o!au ]

[ #078 + #099 ] ⇢ Poison Apple by jooniyah [ myg + kth | moneylender/yandere!au ] 🍒

[ #074 ] ⇢ I Love You Too by smileyoongle [ kth + jjk | lovers!au ] 🍒

[ #073 ] ⇢ Winter Court Series by koyamuses [ kth + jjk | royalty/faerie!au ]

[ #069 ] ⇢ Numinous by jooniescupcakes + ddaenqu [ ot7 | yandere!au ]

[ #067 ] ⇢ Tuqburni by solastia [ myg + pjm | poly!au ]

[ #066 ] ⇢ Versigny’s Vampire AU’s [ multiple members | vampire!au ]

[ #060 ] ⇢ Red Mistletoe by yoonia [ rapline | lovers!au ]

[ #052 ] ⇢ Break The Ice by minflix [ pjm + jjk | hockey!au ]

[ #043 ] ⇢ Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun Collaboration [ ot7 | halloween/horror!au ] ● ⇢ Demon Ritual Series by sopewriters [ ot7 | demon!au ]

[ #042 ] ⇢ The Service Series by jimlingss [ ot7 | love service!au ] ● ⇢ Tape I: Sunset Masquerade by jincherie [ jhs | superhero/superpower!au ] ● ⇢ Tape II: Dusk Rendezvous by jincherie [ pjm + kth | superhero/superpower!au ] ● ⇢ Tape III: Starlight Tryst (I) by jincherie [ ksj + jjk | superhero/superpower!au ] ● ⇢ Tape III: Starlight Tryst (II) by jincherie [ rapline | superhero/superpower!au ]

[ #041 ] ⇢ Crazy Rich Asians by hobiwonder [ ksj + pjm +myg +jhs | rich kids!au ]

[ #040 ] ⇢ The Hills by minflix [ myg + jhs | ski-trip!au ] 🍒 ● ⇢ Three's a Crowd by minnpd [ jhs + knj | cuckolding!au ] 🍒

[ #040 + #052 ] ⇢ Euphoria by 94hixtape [ pjm + jjk | college!au ]

[ #038 ] ⇢ Our Birthday Girl by joonie-beanie [ knj + kth | poly!au ]

[ #038 + #042 ] ⇢ Baby, Baby by hobiwonder [ pjm + kth | surrogacy!au ]

[ #035 ] ⇢ Stealing the Bite by wildernessuntothemselves [ kth + jjk | supernatural/love triangle!au ] 🍒

[ #033 ] ⇢ Three Squeezes by nomnomsik [ myg + jhs | poly!au ] 💌

[ #025 ] ⇢ Artificially Inclined by lemonjoonah [ maknaeline | android/assassin!au] 💌 🍒

[ #024 ] ⇢ Hopping Into Love by hobiorbit [ pjm + jjk + jhs | hybrid!au ] 💌

[ #016 ] ⇢ Equilibrium by tayegi [ pjm + jjk | poly/lovers!au ] 🍒

[ #009 ] ⇢ Call Me Mistress by dark-muse-iris [ ot7 | prostitution!au ]

[ #004 ] ⇢ Physcom by teawithkpop [ ot7 | sexworker!au ] 🍒 ● ⇢ Moth to Flame by bang-to-the-tan [ ot7 | vampire!au ] 🍒

KIM NAMJOON

[ #100 ] ⇢ Prohibidio by personasintro [ brother’s best friend!au ] ● ⇢ Hooked by joopiterjoon [ strangers to fwb to?!au ]

[ #070 ] ⇢ Fragmented Glass by mochismilesbrighterthanthesun [ e2l!au ]

[ #048 ] ⇢ Inked by 1997jk [ soulmate!au ]

[ #047 ] ⇢ Thou Shall Not Harm by personawife [ mafia/e2l!au ]

[ #038 ] ⇢ Oh, Baby by joonie-beanie [ mafia!au ] ● ⇢ Daisies and Dinosaurs by dark-muse-iris [ library/single parent!au ]

[ #035 + #067 + #084 ] ⇢ Sandcastles by solastia [ unhealthy open relationship!au ]

[ #029 ] ⇢ Partners by btssmutgalore [ college!au ] 💌

[ #023 ] ⇢ Bloom by hobidreams [ assassin!au ] 💌 🍒

[ #021 ] ⇢ Alias by foreignfingers [ non-idol!au ] 💌 🍒 ● ⇢ Sorry Bae by gukslut [ lovers!au ] 💌 🍒

[ #020 ] ⇢ Love Bytes by stutterfly [ f2l!au ] 💌

[ #011 ] ⇢ Underground King by sugaxjpg [ boxer!au ] 🍒

[ #005 ] ⇢ The Moment Pleasantly Frightful by yoongink [ devil!au ] 🍒

KIM SEOKJIN

[ #084 ] ⇢ Can’t Keep Lying by 1rosex [ lovers!au ]

[ #065 ] ⇢ MOAM Bonus#5: The Request by floralseokjin [ fuckboy!au ]

[ #064 ] ⇢ Cake by yeyeniejjung [ ao3 | cannibal/killer!au ] 🍒

[ #058 ] ⇢ Quietus by kingsuckin [ zombie!au ] ● ⇢ A Painter's Folly by taehauntsme [ dorian gray!au ] ● ⇢ Stay for a While by vanaera [ college!au ] ● ⇢ Edge of Tomorrow by thedefinitionofbts [ sci-fi!au ] ● ⇢ Tenderness by shookykookie [ android/dystopian!au ] ● ⇢ Expensive Gifts by bxebxee [ fake dating!au ] ● ⇢ Restoration by prolixitae [ exes!au ] ● ⇢ Melancholy by kosmosgguks [ premonition!au ] ● ⇢ Seven Tears by minstrophywife [ selkie!au ] ● ⇢ Strawberry Roses by peekaboongi [ cupid!au ] ● ⇢ 4AM Pining by dimplemono [ bakery/co-workers!au ] ● ⇢ Pasta La Vista by honeymoonjin [ food critic/restaurant!au ] ● ⇢ Whipped by syubits [ bakery!au ]

[ #045 ] ⇢ Let Me Be Yours by glassbangtan [ s2l!au ] ● ⇢ Creek Hill Apartments by btssmutgalore [ fuckbuddy!au ] 🍒 ● ⇢ Partition by taeken-my-heart [ exes!au ] 🍒

[ #039 ] ⇢ Currents by yeoldontknow [ arranged marriage!au ] 🍒

[ #037 ] ⇢ 2,561 Days by gossamie [ married/divorce!au ] 🍒

[ #018 + #043 ] ⇢ The Devil Wears Armani by floralseokjin [ devil!au ] 🍒

MIN YOONGI

[ #100 ] ⇢ Third Wheeling by untaemedqueen [ s2l!au ]

[ #086 ] ⇢ Beloved by bang-tan-bitches [ historical/daechwita/yandere!au ] 🍒

[ #062 ] ⇢ Pink Bird Houses by 54daysormore [ single parent/nanny!au ]

[ #061 ] ⇢ A Brief Story in Time by cutaepatootie [ royalty/fantasy!au ]

[ #047 ] ⇢ No Trick, Just Treats by minnpd [ halloween/parents!au ]

[ #042 ] ⇢ What You Did Last Summer by winetae [ trophy wife!au ] 🍒

[ #040 ] ⇢ Please Be Naked by floralseokjin [ rebound!au ] 🍒

[ #037 ] ⇢ Twelve Minutes in Tokyo by gossamie [ lovers!au ]

[ #034 ] ⇢ Suit & Tie by jungshookz [ CEO!au ] 💌 ● ⇢ Baby, You Can Drive My Car by jungshookz [ mechanic!au ] 💌

[ #022 ] ⇢ Penguins, Concussions, and Swear Words by dinoyoongi [ sports!au ] 💌

[ #017 ] ⇢ Punch Drunk by joonbird [ boxer!au ] 💌

[ #013 ] ⇢ The Things I Said When I Loved You by gossamie [ lovers/exes!au ] 💌 🍒

[ #010 ] ⇢ In Pari Delicto by fringesofsanity [ ao3 | first time!au ]

[ #009 ] ⇢ Conveniently by baeseoul [ single dad!au ]

[ #008 ] ⇢ Love Language by gukslut [ lovers!au ]

JUNG HOSEOK

[ #100 ] ⇢ The Serendipity of Things by oh-so-scenarios [ soulmate/mafia/doctor!au ] ● ⇢ Love Me, Love Me Not by eiichiru [ fuckbuddy!au ]

[ #080 ] ⇢ Arranged by obiwrites [ ao3 | arranged marriage!au ]

[ #079 ] ⇢ Candyman by mintedmango [ ao3 | yandere!au ]

[ #061 ] ⇢ Down the Three Seasons Path by cutaepatootie [ fantasy!au ]

[ #053 ] ⇢ Now or Never by cutaepatootie [ racer!au ] 🍒

[ #043 ] ⇢ Burn in Hell (she said) by floralseokjin [ devil!au ]

[ #036 ] ⇢ Run Little Rabbit Trilogy by readyplayerhobi [ werewolf!au ] ● ⇢ Rewrite the Stars by abunnystale [ ao3 | werewolf!au ]

[ #026 + #046 ] ⇢ Lost and Found by fortunexkookie [ peter pan!au ] 💌 🍒

PARK JIMIN

[ #099 ] ⇢ Gingerbread Hearts by primarybts [ hansel and gretel!au ]

[ #084 ] ⇢ Come Home to Me Darling by roses-ruby [ married/cheating!au ] 🍒

[ #076 ] ⇢ Violent Delights by girlmeetsliv3 [ gang!au ] 🍒

[ #063 ] ⇢ Love at First Touch by bagelwrites [ ao3 | soulmate!au ]

[ #061 ] ⇢ Touched by a Fallen Star by cutaepatootie [ royalty/fantasy!au ]

[ #056 ] ⇢ I Can’t Be More Honest Than This by lollarissa [ ao3 | arranged marriage!au]

[ #052 ] ⇢ Good Boy by btssmutgalore [ sub!au ] ● ⇢ Heartbreak Insurance by jimlingss [ love service!au ] ● ⇢ Shutter & Shiver by pac-mang [ camboy!au ] ● ⇢ Me, You, and This Thing We Have Between Us by boymeetsweevil [ pregnancy!au ] 🍒 ● ⇢ Spice It Up! by aiimaginesbts [ married/sub!au ] ● ⇢ Power Play by dovechim [ pornstar/e2l!au ] 🍒 ● ⇢ Dark Side of the Moon by dovechim [ werewolf!au ]

[ #047 ] ⇢ Faded Love by jamaisjoons [ married!au ]

[ #042 ] ⇢ Tell Me Lies by jimlingss [ soap opera!au ] ● ⇢ A Kiss of Poison by jimlingss [ royalty!au ]

[ #007 ] ⇢ Cygini by bibbykins [ yandere/dancer!au ]

[ #006 ] ⇢ Otherworldly by sinning-on-a-sunday [ coraline!au ] 🍒

[ #002 ] ⇢ Two Worlds by i-see-you-now-you-see-me [ fae!au ]

[ #001 ] ⇢ Neighbors by jkeuphoriadreamland [ neighbors/stalker!au ] 🍒

KIM TAEHYUNG

[ #096 + #097 ] ⇢ Maybe I Do by jiminssthetic [ arranged marriage/ceo!au ]

[ #090 ] ⇢ Cut by deepdarkdelights [ actress/yandere!au ]

[ #090 + #100 ] ⇢ Manager-nim by na-yiii [ actress/manager/yandere!au ]

[ #085 ] ⇢ Heal Me, Kill Me by baepsaesbae [ vampire!au ]

[ #084 ] ⇢ Cheater by personasintro [ cheating!au ]

[ #069 ] ⇢ Gold by jooniescupcakes [ lovers?au ] 🍒

[ #061 ] ⇢ In Search of the Aurora Borealis by cutaepatootie [ fantasy!au ]

[ #048 ] ⇢ Umbra by kimvvantae [ hybrid/royal/fantasy!au ]

[ #047 ] ⇢ Carnal Cupidity by kittae [ werewolf!au ]

[ #042 ] ⇢ Papillon by readyplayerhobi [ f2l/pregnancy!au]

[ #039 ] ⇢ Lighthouse by lattesalt [ wattpad ]

[ #038 ] ⇢ Pulse by rohobi [ medical!au ]

[ #036 ] ⇢ Ravenous by junqkook [ werewolf!au ]

[ #010 ] ⇢ Reminiscence by fringesofsanity [ ao3 | rendezvous!au ] 🍒

[ #009 ] ⇢ I Can Be Your Addiction by yuudetama [ fwb!au ] ● ⇢ L’Appel Du Vide by infireation [ killer!au ] 🍒

[ #007 ] ⇢ Embroidery by bibbykins [ soft yandere/CEO!au ]

JEON JUNGKOOK

[ #100 ] ⇢ A Little Closer by cutechim [ rival gang!au ] ● ⇢ The Dark Prince by jkeuphoriadreamland [ royalty/yandere/curse!au ] ● ⇢ Private by baepop [ love triangle!au ]

[ #098 ] ⇢ Into The Forest by taehyungssss [ royal/faerie/forbidden love!au ] ● ⇢ Your Little Games by thebeebi [ historical!au ] ● ⇢ Rewind by vanillagguk [ supernatural/reincarnation!au ]

[ #096 ] ⇢ Please Love Me by ahundredtimesover [ arranged marriage/ceo!au ]

[ #095 ] ⇢ Young Alpha by aroseforyoongi [ werewolf/f2l/supernatural/soulmates!au ] ● ⇢ Holidating by yeojaa [ i2l!au ]

[ #092 ] ⇢ Jackrabbit by jamaisjoons [ university/hybrid!au ]

[ #091 ] ⇢ Driving Me Wild by joonkookiemonster [ demon/roommates!au ]

[ #088 + #092 ] The Weeb Jungkook Collection by jinharem [ college/weeb!au] 🍒

[ #087 ] ⇢ Netflix and Chill by 1kook

[ #084 ] ⇢ Insecurity by jiminelli [ lovers!au ]

[ #082 ] ⇢ Aurora by mintseesaw [ historical/secret affair!au ] 🍒

[ #077 ] ⇢ Rattled by gukslut [ single parent/e2l/f2l!au ]

[ #075 ] ⇢ Silver Blades by jooniyah [ royalty/yandere!au ]

[ #072 ] ⇢ The Alpha’s Purity by suqakoo [ hybrid/e2l!au ]

[ #071 ] ⇢ Prince of Nothing by girlmeetsliv3 [ royalty!au ] 🍒

[ #065 ] ⇢ Down a Peg by btsracket [ pegging!au ]

[ #061 ] ⇢ The Blue Princess and Her Red Rose by cutaepatootie [ royalty/fantasy!au ]

[ #057 ] ⇢ Oh There’s A Name for Boys Like You by lollarissa [ ao3 | TATBILB!au ]

[ #055 ] ⇢ I Can’t Go Back to Where I Used to Be by lollarissa [ ao3 | royalty!au ]

[ #054 ] ⇢ Wanted by jincherie [ soulmate/space/alien!au ]

[ #051 ] ⇢ Distractions by 1kook [ gamer!au ] ● ⇢ Late Fee by 1kook [ f2l!au ]

[ #050 ] ⇢ Bubbles and Cuddles by strawbxxymilk [ lovers!au ] ● ⇢ Blue Raspberry by strawbxxymilk [ college!au ]

[ #047 ] ⇢ Keeping A Secret by kpopfanfictrash [ new relationship!au ] ● ⇢ Dotti by jungcock [ office!au ]

[ #044 ] ⇢ Hunter by avveh [ ao3 | assassin!au ] ● ⇢ Perverted Bunny Mask by btsinned [ assassin/killer!au ]

[ #043 ] ⇢ Howlin' For You by fortunexkookie [ werewolf!au ] ● ⇢ Nochu Unsolved by minflix [ cryptid hunting!au ] ● ⇢ Stuffed Pumpkin by floralseokjin [ halloween!au ] ● ⇢ Vampires Suck by sopewriters [ vampire/werewolf!au ] ● ⇢ Rigor Mortis by readyplayerhobi [ police/zombie!au ] 🍒

[ #040 ] ⇢ Lust and Errors by imaginesthisbts [ step-siblings/fuckbuddy!au ] 🍒

[ #038 ] ⇢ Escape by jjkfire [ company rivals!au ] ● ⇢ Sweet Saccharine by jjkfire [ sugar daddy!au ] ● ⇢ Drug Wars by plumblackjeon [ mafia!au ]

[ #038 + #049 ] ⇢ I Won't Stop You by imsarabum [ vampire!au ]

[ #037 ] ⇢ Like Stars in A Constellation by taegills [ reverse meeting!au ] ● ⇢ Before I Forget You by gossamie [ lovers!au ]

[ #036 ] ⇢ Tooth and Claw by johobi [ werewolf!au ]

[ #032 ] ⇢ Microwave Misadventures by bymoonchild [ college/roommates/e2l!au ] 💌 ● ⇢ Sugarplum Elegy by bymoonchild [ college/fwb/singer/i2l!au ] 💌 🍒

[ #031 ] ⇢ Baby, My Baby by pjmims [ parents!au ] 💌

[ #029 ] ⇢ New Rules by tayegi [ college/fratboy!au ] 💌 🍒

[ #028 ] ⇢ Content by pinecovewoods [ ao3 | roommates/youtuber!au ] 💌 ● ⇢ The School Dance by pinecovewoods [ ao3 | high-school!au ] 💌

[ #027 ] ⇢ Since Day One by gukgalore [ f2l!au ] 💌 ● ⇢ Switch Lanes by gukgalore 💌 🍒

[ #026 ] ⇢ Falling Skies by fortunexkookie [ e2f2l!au ] 💌 🍒

[ #026 + #046 ] ⇢ The Turing Test by fortunexkookie [ android!au ] 💌 🍒

[ #016 ] ⇢ Tinder 2.0 by tayegi ● ⇢ Mamihlapinatapai by tayegi

[ #014 ] ⇢ Tell Me No Lies by jeongi [ CEO/robbers!au ] 💌

[ #012 + #019 ] ⇢ Chasing Butterflies by ddaenggtan [ college/coffee shop!au ] 💌 🍒

[ #009 ] ⇢ Blue Orchids by inktae [ hanahaki!au ] ● ⇢ I Hate You, I Love You by jungblue [ bff!au ] ● ⇢ Gravity Check by gimmesumsuga [ instructor!au ] ● ⇢ Vaunt by yminie [ frat!au ] ● ⇢ Instant Gratification by dovechim [ fuckboy!au ] ● ⇢ Baby Boy by craft-rose

[ #003 + #030 ] ⇢ Animal by cutaepatootie [ boxer!au ] 🍒

#recs from the box nav #rftbnav #updated:210309 #i made this to remind me of the recs I received

94 notes · View notes