#wording is difficult and up to a certain point you gotta abandon your fic into the big bad world

[catsafarithewriter]

Been a bit since we had some angst 👀

"How much more do you need? How much more do you need me to give?"

"All of it. More than you could ever give."

A/N: How dare you throw this angst at me when you know I'm already looking at Slay the Princess AU angst?! How much angst do I need to offer to satiate your thirst?? Anyway, this is not a StP AU, but is loosely based on Moonlighter, an indie game where you play as a merchant moonlighting as a dungeon delver to collect stock for your shop.

I've been eyeing this particular AU for a whlie, so thank you for inadvertently giving me an in for this.

(This, uh, hit 10K, so heads up for a lot under the readmore. I'm gonna post this to AO3 in time, but for now, enjoy this monstrosity here.)

Happy birthday, you menace <3

x

Baron has been gathering dust in Moonlighter's cellar for longer than he cares to count.

This, however, is less remarkable for him than it might be for another; he is built of magic and wood after all, ageless in a way that makes noting the passage of time meaningless.

There is also precious little to mark such time, down in the cellar. There are no windows, no sunlight, not even the changing breeze that might denote seasons. All he has are the brief sightings of Moonlighter's owners – a man and a woman, and in his early days he had seen them come and go often to the cellar, but now their hair has greyed and their limbs have slowed and their detours to the basement are brief.

Recently, it's been only the woman.

Until one day it's not.

"I'm telling ya, there's nothing to be worth selling down there, Chicky."

The voice isn't young, but it is new. From his vantage point on the shelf, Baron can see the light spilling from the doorway is almost entirely eclipsed by the man on the threshold. Another light – that of candlewick rather than sun – bobs past the man and a significantly smaller form begins the descent.

"Maybe not, but it has to be worth a look."

"Your ma told us everything in here was either impossible to flog or cursed."

"Yeah, my mother also worked herself into an early grave trying to run this place solo," the other voice retorts, "so forgive me if I want to deviate somewhat from her teachings."

The second figure nears Baron, and now he can make out a face notably similar to the woman he has watched grow old. Her hair is darker, and her skin is clear of not only wrinkles, but also the scars that had marked even the younger years of the previous woman. Only her eyes show signs of wear – red rimmed and tired.

"Moonlighter was never meant to be run alone," the man says. He begins a cautious descent after his companion. "It was manageable when your pa was alive; then he could delve the dungeon for artifacts during the night, and your ma could sell them in Moonlighter during the day."

"And people wondered why I was an only child," the woman mutters.

"Moonlighter has been in the Yoshioka family since it started–"

"I know. But a lot of those inheritances were sideways along the family tree for good reason."

"Look, Chicky, if yer need any help, Toto and me can run the shop a few days so you can rest between delving. We used to help yer ma out when Daichi passed–"

"You and Toto have your own shop to run though," the woman says. She opens up a chest and finds only moth-eaten breeches. "And I can't just rely on the kindness of others to make this work, Muta."

"'Course you can."

"There's got to be a way to make ends meet – properly." The woman stops before Baron and looks – really looks. There's a fire in her eyes that Baron hasn't seen in a long time. "You're different," she says, and lifts him off the shelf.

The man joins her, and he eyes Baron with distrust. "Don't bother with that one, Chicky."

"Why not? It looks like fourth tier – and no one's been able to get as far as the fourth tier in decades. Someone's gotta be willing to pay up for it."

"Yeah, yer ma thought the same. Only it kept coming back."

The woman turns Baron over, running calloused hands over the immaculate morning suit and painted fur. The callouses are unfamiliar to Baron, earned from daily chores rather than wielding a sword. "Coming back? Coming back how?"

"Depends. If she sold it to a hero, they'd usually enter the dungeon, do pretty well for themselves, and then one day never be seen again." The man rubs a hand across his chin. "They'd always get... weird towards the end, too. Reclusive. And then yer ma would find it abandoned in the upper levels of the dungeon and no hero in sight."

"And if she sold it to someone who wasn't a hero?" the woman asks.

"Then they'd usually complain about hauntings and return the damn thing. In the end, she gave up on it. Guess she could've kept selling it to wannabe heroes, but she felt bad about it."

"Bet it paid the bills though," she mutters, but without any real rancour. She sets Baron back on the shelf and moves onto the next artifact.

That's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

He sees the woman half a dozen more times before he makes his approach.

The second time she enters the cellar, she sets to work furiously dividing the room's contents into possible sales versus the lost causes. Some of the latter she removes – presumably to be thrown – whilst others she leaves to gather dust.

She stares at Baron for a good long while before setting him into the final category.

It is some time before she returns. Baron wonders whether she followed in her mother's footsteps and attempted to run Moonlighter solo. Sometimes he wonders if she sold the shop and left for greener pastures. And sometimes he wonders whether she's died, ending Moonlighter's Yoshioka line once and for all.

But return she does, and she looks all the older for it.

Not older in a temporal sense, although Baron would be the first to admit difficulty in recognising that, but life has been unkind in ways other than time. Her skin is sallow, untouched by sun, and a scar clips her jaw. She moves such a way to make him question when she last truly slept. She doesn't stay long, just long enough to gather up some of the less hopeless causes, and haul them into the upper belly of Moonlighter.

He sees her sooner after that, and the following descents into the cellar become more frequent – and each time, she looks the worse for wear. Every time she looks a little bit more like her mother, and every time he wonders if this will be the last time he'll see her.

On the sixth visit, she collects him up and he sees sunlight for the first time in decades.

The light is low outside – either dusk or dawn – and she sets him onto a display stand. There are no sign of the artifacts previously claimed from the cellar; instead the other stands are filled with low-quality offerings, items foraged from the upper levels of the dungeon. Their prices are notably lower than the value she sets before him.

After writing out his price, she leans against his display stand, staring into his gemstone eyes and evidently seeing something else reflected in them. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she says. "If I sell you, I'll make enough to cover this month's rent and be able to skip a few night's delving in favour of sleep." She sighs, and Baron notes a new scar, running along her throat. "And goodness knows I can't keep this up."

"There are other ways, you know."

To her credit, the woman doesn't scream. He's usually found that to be the most common response to his initial greeting – occasionally paired with a clumsy swing of the nearest makeshift weapon – but, then again, she looks too tired to scream. She merely blinks, once, twice, and then says, "Oh goody, the cursed cat doll talks."

He sweeps his hat from his head and gives a once well-practiced bow. It's a little rusty after all these years, but whatever passes for muscle memory in him remains. "Greetings, miss. I think you'll find that I am no cursed cat doll, but a Creation. When someone creates something with all their heart, then that thing is given a soul, you see?"

"I see that the sleep deprivation is already on the hallucination stage."

Personally, Baron thinks the sleep deprivation is probably a few notches further along than that. But, then again, what would he know? He's immortal. "I assure you, I am no hallucination, Miss...?"

"Haru." She yawns, and there's a tremble in her limbs that the yawn exasperates. "And that's just what a hallucination would say, Mr...?"

"Baron. Call me Baron." He sets his hat neatly back between his ears. "And if I am a hallucination, what harm could come of merely listening to my proposition, Miss Haru?"

"Time. In case you weren't aware, I don't have much – or any – of it going spare."

"And if I were your hallucination, I should know such things."

She blinks slowly. He can visibly see her try to comprehend his words. And fail. "I'm too tired for this. I'm going back to..." She falters, brow furrowing. "No, I'm not. I've got a shop to run."

"And then a dungeon to delve," Baron hazards, "and then a shop to run, and then a dungeon to delve, and so on and so forth. Tell me, Miss Haru, when exactly is sleep scheduled in this busy life of yours?"

"Never. Sleep is for the broke."

"It is going to break you, Miss Haru."

"I don't have much choice," she says. "The pittance I make from dungeon artifacts barely cover a day's rent. I don't have the money spare to skip a day." She grimaces. "Or night."

"That's because you're only selling the artifacts from the very highest levels of the dungeon," Baron says. "If you went deeper the artifacts would fetch enough to tide you over for longer." He pauses. "Long enough to sleep."

"Nice theory, save for one fact." Haru gestures to herself. "I'm a librarian. Or I was, until I inherited this place. If I go any deeper than the shallows, I'll get myself killed." She brushes a hand, subconsciously, across her throat. "Quicker than I'm already likely to, anyway."

"As you are, there's no doubt," Baron agrees. "Not without help."

She blinks again – but this time it's laden with suspicion. "Muta said you only stick around with heroes."

"I do."

"I'm not a hero."

Baron cocks his head. "And yet you enter the dungeon."

She snorts. "For artifacts. I'm a merchant. Heroes go into the dungeon for glory, fighting monsters and suchlike, while merchants are just doing a job. Or, at least," she adds off-handedly, "that's the idea. In theory, a job pays."

"I have little interest in glory," he says. "All I'm looking for is someone who wants help in exploring deeper into the dungeon. In the past, that's only ever been heroes."

"Yes, and look what happened to them."

"Yes, indeed."

Her gaze narrows. "What did happen to them?"

"They pushed themselves too far, too fast. My aid can only do so much; they sought monsters too powerful too soon and were killed in the encounter. But, as you said, you're not in it for the glory. Perhaps your survival instincts will be stronger."

Haru snorts. "Given my life choices so far, that's a bit of a leap."

"Maybe," he admits, "but I've been offering my help to heroes for long enough to no avail. Maybe a merchant is exactly what I've been looking for." He offers a hand. "What do you say?"

Haru eyes the tiny gloved hand. "What kind of help did you say you give?"

"I can unlock a human's potential for magic," he says, and it's true enough. "Over time and practice, your power will grow, enough to face even the monsters of the fourth tier. So long as you take it slowly, you will be at no risk."

The first lie he's told but not, he knows from experience, usually the last.

Still, Haru doesn't take his hand. "Why help?" she asks. "What's in it for you?"

"It's what I was made for. All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

For a moment, he fears he's misjudged, that she's going to refuse. But then she glances to the windows, where the sun is steadily rising and the flicker of shadow denotes people passing by, and a fresh wave of fatigue passes over her. Baron wonders just how close she was to breaking.

"Fine," she says, and drops her hand against his. Her palm dwarfs his. "I only need to go a little deeper anyway."

Baron smiles. He's heard that before, and no one has ever kept to it. "Good," he says instead. "Now, lock up the shop and tidy yourself to bed. We have a big night due."

x

The entrance to the dungeon is much the same as Baron last remembers it. The dirt track opens out into a dirt courtyard, and a large stone doorway is built into the hillside. Seated on Haru's shoulder as she pushes the door open, Baron can see the interior is also much the same – wooden beams outline the tunnel, deceptively manmade, with lanterns set at regular intervals. It almost looks like a mining shaft, except mining shafts don't usually echo with the sound of tiny skittering feet further within.

Haru falters before entering – as if she's tempted to flee – but enter she does, even if the hand that holds her rusty blade shakes.

"Alright, you promised me magic," Haru says, "so how does this work?"

"Magic works through intent. You must focus your desires and manifest them through intention." He thinks of previous would-be heroes. "Start small; that's all you'll be capable of at this point."

"So don't try running straight to fourth tier, otherwise I'll end up barbecued," she says.

"No, the fire monsters are on third tier. If you go up against fourth tier monsters unprepared, your remains will be less the charred type, and more the type best left to a dustpan and brush."

Haru glances Baron's way, eyebrow raised. "Are you speaking from experience or...?"

"Just take it slowly." He's spent years, possibly decades, sitting on a shelf. If he loses this mortal, there's no telling when he'll next find another willing.

Haru raises a hand, and Baron can feel her focus narrow. He converts the magic as needed, unlocking just enough potential – and a smidgen more – to fulfill her request. It's a modest affair, just a sphere of light that chases away the shadows that the lanterns cannot reach. It surprises Baron – but maybe it shouldn't. He's learnt from experience that too much magic, too soon, can burn out a mortal, but that hasn't stopped previous heroes from attempting more than they ought on day one. He's learnt now to keep a tight rein on a mortal's magic level, but Haru is a merchant, not a hero. Her priorities are based in survival, not glory.

Still, too restrained can be as dangerous as too ambitious.

"You can do more, if you so wish," he prompts. "You'll feel it when you reach your current limit."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." After all, he has no interest in burning through a mortal so soon.

Haru focuses again, and the light dissolves into dust. It hangs, suspended in the air like stars, and then begins to dance.

Baron blinks. He's never seen the magic used for that. "What is the purpose of this?"

"Light," Haru answers, and she starts down the tunnel. The lights bob around her, still not using up her current magic potential. "And they're pretty."

"Beauty is rarely advantageous in survival."

"Are you going to be so judgemental the entire time we're working together, or are you just getting it out of your system early?"

Baron begins to reply, but then hesitates. He's never been called judgemental before – but, then again, his own goals have usually aligned closely enough with his current mortal that such remarks are unnecessary... or, if they are spoken, usually readily agreed with. "I don't mean to be judgemental," he says eventually. "I merely am accustomed to a different nature of dungeon delver."

"Yes, and they all died," Haru reminds him. "If I'm gonna be going out the same way, I intend to have some fun with it." She tilts her head enough so that Baron, still seated on her shoulder, can see her grin. "Come on, Baron. You can't say you don't like them."

The lights cascade around him, and from the eddies twirl forms that might be birds. An unfamiliar emotion skitters through his heart.

He suspects it may be bewilderment. Perhaps he had kept with heroes until now for good reason if merchants are all as impractical as this.

He's saved from the indignity of trying to find an answer by a monster dropping from the ceiling.

Each tier has its own biome and, by proxy, its own breed of monster. The first tier carries its facade of man-made origins in both environment and monster, and the creatures here are oft the animated remains discarded by humanity. The monster that attacks Haru appears to have once been an umbrella.

And not a moment too soon.

Baron braces himself for the inevitable overreaction, for the blast of offensive magic and the smouldering remains. Humans always underestimate their power on the first attack–

Haru smacks the flying umbrella with her rusted sword and sends it slamming into the far wall.

It flaps weakly, and then goes limp.

A beat passes. Haru is breathing hard, her face flushed and her sword arm shaking.

"You have magic now," Baron says, eventually.

"I forgot."

Baron glances to the light show, still dancing above their heads. "You... forgot?"

"I've been doing this job a lot longer with a sword than I have with magic," she reminds him.

Yes, Baron thinks, and the sword is definitely showing its age. It looks like it's seen several generations of Moonlighters.

Haru approaches the fallen monster and kneels down beside it. Baron is prepared to believe she's about to perform last rites – he'll believe anything of this not-hero at the moment – but instead she begins to strip it down for parts.

"Most of this will sell," she says, as if she can sense the raised eyebrow. "Attach a piece of the wings to an arrow and it'll fly farther, or use the rods as arrows and they won't break so easily. But the best part to sell is pretty much impossible to get–"

As she reaches further into the monster, the umbrella-creature twitches, and Haru jolts back. Finally – finally – her magic flares into action, and those dust mote lights fire into the beast, where from its body they erupt into vines, twisting and tightening, contorting the monster until it ceases to struggle.

Baron releases a breath he hadn't, until then, realised he'd been holding. "See?" he says. "It's so much simpler with magic."

Haru rocks forward on her heels, and gingerly drops a hand into the mess of vines and umbrella. The greenery parts ways and both wings and rods are mangled beyond use. "Dang it."

"Oh, what a shame," Baron says. "It's for the best, though; anything worth selling is going to be a good deal deeper–"

"Maybe not." Haru cracks open the centre of the main shaft, and a tiny blue stone falls free. "It's a crystal. I've never been able to break open one of these things to get them, but they're meant to be pure magic. Look."

She passes it up to Baron and he does, indeed, look. It emits a gentle warmth, uncomfortably familiar, and he wonders if his own crystal pulses the same steady beat. "Then all the more reason to keep going–" he starts.

"Keep going? This thing will sell well enough to tide me over for a couple of days. No," she says, and straightens up, "I'm going back home so I can catch some sleep while the sun is actually set."

x

Baron's never had this kind of problem with previous humans. It's infuriating. It's ridiculous. It's... stumped him, honestly.

Usually the promise of power or fame or treasure is enough to lure even the most reserved of heroes into the dungeon's depths, and a merchant should have been no different. After all, everyone knows the deeper one delves, the more precious the artifacts.

And yet Haru is frustratingly, impossibly content with the meagre findings she retrieves from the first tier. The gold she makes is just enough to give her days off and a little to spare.

But that's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

The push Haru needs comes from an unexpected source, when the town's herbalist approaches Haru with a peculiar request.

"These roots you sold me," the woman says, setting dried tubers on the counter, "I need more of them."

"They're only to be found in the lowest levels of the first tier, and even then only sparsely." Haru picks up the roots. She hadn't even been sure they would sell, but had taken them on the assumption that curiosity would trump common sense and purse strings. "How many do you need?"

"As many as you can get your hands on. Julian's daughter is sick, and nothing I've tried has helped – but these. She's making a recovery, but I fear she'll worsen if I don't get more."

Baron waits for the gentle refusal – the explanation that such plants are too deep for reliable sourcing, the apology – but instead Haru's mouth curls into a stubborn twist that Baron will come to know well. "I'll see what I can do," she promises.

x

"It was only chance that brought you upon those roots originally," Baron tells her on their next dungeon delve. Usually Haru skips a night and savours the sleep, but tonight she has gone straight from shop to dungeon. "If you want to be sure of finding them, you'll need to descend into the second tier."

"Then that is what we'll do." She glances his way. "Only for as long as it takes to find them, mind you. No more."

He smiles. "No more," he agrees, knowing the oath will never keep. She's already proven a willingness to break such promises, even if she takes longer than most to alter her priorities.

By this point, Haru's magic is strong enough to make the journey down to the second tier almost an afterthought. The monsters that dwell on the upper levels can sense her power enough to steer clear, and most only attack now if cornered.

The monsters on the second tier are a different kettle of cave fish altogether.

The mine shaft tunnels become more natural, more roughly-hewn on the second tier. Here, light is sourced not from ever-burning lanterns, but from glowing moss that clings to the walls and bioluminescent fungi sprouting at the edges. The monsters also alter in appearance, offering threat in the form of carnivorous plants and thorny poison. They are bolder, stronger, than their first tier brethren, and it doesn't take long for Haru to encounter one.

The vines that snare her are uncannily like the ones that spring from her magic, and they are little defence against her new opponent. Baron is quick to leap free – the plants ignore him, as they always do – and even if he was inclined to help, there is little aid he can offer at his current stature.

What he can do is transmute a little more magic her way, strengthening her power.

"You'll never defeat it like that!" he calls. He watches a new wreath of greenery spiral out from Haru and immediately be throttled by the snaring vines. "You must tailor your fighting styles to your opponent! Try fire!"

She stumbles backwards, trying desperately to kick her feet free. "If I lose control of that kind of magic, I'll set everything aflame!" she shouts back.

"You don't have the power to do that!"

"Once it gets going, I mightn't be able to stop it!"

The plant monster lashes out and strikes lucky. Its vines catch around Haru's waist and she is dragged off her feet.

Dammit.

"If you don't do something, you won't need to worry about losing control!" he shouts. Dammit. No other human has ever needed such coaxing; usually he's the one preaching the virtues of restraint. "Attack it, Haru!"

She swings at it with that ridiculous sword, its blade too dulled to do more than dent the monster, and the vines tear it out of her hands almost disdainfully. The vines curl up along her arms, around her shoulders, towards her throat, and Baron remembers vividly the mangled mess Haru's own plant magic had made of that first umbrella monster.

Lesson learnt: next time he sticks with heroes.

All he can do is watch as her feet kick uselessly against the monster, nails scrabbling in vain, face reddening, hands reddening...

Wait.

Hands?

Her fingers dig into the vines about her neck, and now he can see her palms are molten-red. He catches the smell of smoke and firewood, and suddenly Haru is thrown free from the vines. She rolls to the side as a thorn-lined vine slams where she had been only moments before. It hits the ground with enough force that Baron feels the floor shake.

"Baron! In the bag!" Haru yells. She pulls her satchel open and lingers only long enough for Baron to follow her instructions, before she's off running along the corridor.

Thankfully, what plant monsters have in thorns and vines, they lack in the way of feet. Haru outruns it with ease, even injured as she is. When they reach a secure corner, Haru slumps to the floor. Her breathing is heavy, irregular in a way Baron recognises to be pain.

Baron is out of the bag almost before Haru has sat.

"What happened back there?" he demands.

Haru doesn't answer immediately. She has her right arm close to her, her left hand tight just above the elbow. "Plant monster," she says eventually. She proffers a thin grin. "Or weren't you paying attention?"

"Not that. I meant with your magic." He gestures to her obviously injured state. "At your level, you shouldn't have had any such issue with it. Your magic is strong enough, trust me. So why didn't you use fire back there?"

"You're made of wood."

"And?"

She blinks. "You're made of wood," she repeats, slower this time like he's missing something obvious. Like that comment should mean anything in this context, like it should explain why she nearly got herself killed instead of–

Oh.

There's blood seeping through the sleeve of her shirt, ruby-red staining the hand pressed to it. Thorns, most likely. Poison, possibly. And all because she feared she would burn him.

He steps forward, and as he does so, he shifts into a human height. Haru balks, but isn't really in any state to do much more than stare.

"Since when have you been able to do that?"

"I always have. But my role here isn't to fight; yours is."

Her mouth sets into that stubborn line, and he suspects she's thinking of all the time that having another body beside her would have been useful in traversing the dungeon. There's a reason he rarely shows this ability to humans.

"You shouldn't have worried about me," he says. "I'm hardier than I look. But you, it appears, are not." He collects the healing kit out of the bag and passes an antidote to her. "Drink. Not all monsters on this floor are poisonous, but we can't risk it."

She takes the vial and downs it with a wrinkled nose. "These things always taste foul."

"Would you rather risk dying a slow, painful death?" Baron asks. "Or perhaps being petrified. I believe there is at least one monster on this floor whose poison turns one into a chicken. How does that sound?"

Haru snorts, and Baron is surprised by the relief that blossoms in his sternum at the sound. Surprised and... unnerved. His purpose is to find a human capable of reaching the final level, so their survival is always optimum – up to a point – but this feels... uncomfortably personal.

He turns his attention onto safer matters, such as rolling the torn sleeve away from the injury. The skin is equally torn; not deep, but intricate lines mar the arm. He sets to binding the wound with bandages.

"Why did you stay?"

Haru rolls her head away from the wall. "What?"

He hadn't meant to ask that, but now the words are out and his curiosity is whetted. "At Moonlighter," he specifies. Between his fingers, he can feel how soft, how delicate human skin is. He wonders why any mortal would take to this life when it could be ended so easily. So off-handedly. "Surely you needn't have taken over the business, even if it is a family affair."

"Oh. That." She leans her head back against the wall. "Apparently, Moonlighter must be inherited by one of Yoshioka blood."

Baron recalls what snippets he has learnt of Haru's life before. "Yes, but you were a librarian. Surely there were better candidates?"

"You'd think so. But, no; it turns out that having a family of dungeon delvers/merchants is a pretty good way to not have a family before long. The death toll is high and the lifestyle isn't, shall we say, conductive to having a kid."

"And yet you pursued a life elsewhere before coming back here."

"I wasn't meant to inherit this place. That was to be my cousin – but then she got on the wrong side of an ogre, and..." Haru shakes her head. "The only other Yoshioka left is her daughter, all of five years. I couldn't let her inherit Moonlighter so... well, here I am."

"Here you are," Baron agrees. "Would she have really inherited Moonlighter if you hadn't accepted it?"

"There are two things impossible to get out of: fairy deals and legal matters." Haru rolls her head to one side, but this time her gaze lingers on the wound she has been so carefully avoiding until now. "I came, knowing a librarian was never going to be a good owner for Moonlighter but, I thought that I might at least last long enough here to give her a chance to grow up. So maybe she'll be able to handle the job when she inevitably comes into possession of it."

Baron slows in his tending. The resignation in her words sets his heart cold. "Is that really how you feel?" he asks softly. "That this life would be the death of you, and still you came?"

"It's killed pretty much all its previous owners," Haru answered, far too blase for Baron's liking, "and most have been much more capable than me. Sooner or later, everyone slows or errs, and this job isn't the forgiving sort. So, yes, I was pretty sure this would kill me, probably sooner in my case." She glances his way, with a smile Baron does not deserve. "At least until I met you. With the magic you've given me, I might survive this. Perhaps even thrive."

Baron doesn't recognise the emotion that pools in his gut, cold and heavy.

He thinks it might be guilt.

x

After that, Haru begins to venture regularly onto the second tier. If he had thought her close encounter with the vine monster would push her further onto the path of cautiousness, he is very much mistaken – instead, it seems to have emboldened her. She still plays carefully with her fire magic, keeping it close to her skin, even after Baron's assurances that she shouldn't fret over him, but it works well enough against the second tier creatures.

She gathers enough of the root to satisfy the herbalist, but news that Moonlighter's owner is venturing deep begins to get about. More come to Haru's shop with requests – fetch these seeds, find these leaves – and Haru is happy to help. If they merely spoke of a rich payout, Baron isn't sure Haru would be so willing, but the offers she accepts are always for a worthy cause.

Once upon a time, Baron would have been relieved she was finally comfortable delving deeper, but now the thought seems to give him vertigo; satisfaction and grief warring inside him.

One of the owners of the neighbouring weapon and armour shop stops by, and he eyes Moonlighter's array of stock with a wary look. He's tall, birdlike somehow in the way he holds himself, and avian in his sharp eyes. "When Muta told me you were managing, it set my heart at ease," the man remarks, "but I'm startled to see you've been delving so deep. What did you say your profession was before?"

"Librarian," Haru replies.

"Librarian," the man echoes. "You've caught on well, then."

"Thank you, Toto."

His gaze roams the shop, until it seems to find what it's searching for in the form of Baron. He starts towards it, but Haru is quicker. She scoots between them, as if guarding Baron from the man.

"He's not for sale."

"Glad to hear it. Muta did tell you what happened to the heroes who bought it, didn't he?"

"He did."

The frown burrowed into the man's brow doesn't lessen. He regards the stock around him, salvaged from levels even experienced heroes were reluctant to venture to. "Haru, if things are difficult, if Moonlighter is proving impossible to run along, you know you can always ask myself and Muta for help, don't you? You don't need to turn to... alternative sources for aid, you understand?"

"I understand. Muta made it quite clear what happens to heroes who bought the cat doll." Haru smiles. "So it's just as well I'm a merchant, isn't it?"

x

Baron knows it is only a matter of time before Haru braves the third tier.

All it takes, as all it ever takes, is someone asking for something from the fire levels – Baron can't even remember what she needs; all he remembers is that she's one step closer to the final level – and she's venturing yet further than she promised she would.

The third tier is one of fire and smoke, lava flowing in molten-red rivers that home monsters built to scorch would-be heroes to cinders.

Haru almost refuses to bring Baron along.

"And if a stray fireball hits you, what then?" she demands. "Poisonous trees and over-active accessories are one thing, but the monsters on the third tier could really kill you."

"I'm at no greater risk than you have been during our adventures," he reminds her.

"That's different."

"How?"

Haru opens her mouth. Closes it. But Baron has a pretty good idea of the kind of answer she'd like to give – that the standards she set for herself, and the standards she set for other people are two very different things.

She admits defeat, and he accompanies her on her next delve.

This would all be easier if he could convince himself the care she affords him is purely self-serving. And he's met plenty of those sorts over the years. Those who have protected him, as far as they have felt the need, have been doing so because of what he grants them; because if he is destroyed, then maybe their newfound magic will be destroyed also. It has always been a means to an end – and that's worked just fine for him. After all, the exploitation goes both ways.

But Baron has seen the way Haru cares for those around her, sometimes even fetching high-priced items from the dungeon and refusing payment if the need is too great and the cost too dear for the recipient. It is easy to believe that same reckless care has been aligned over him. However ridiculous it may be.

"You needn't worry about me," he assures, all the same. "I've been here before and, as you can see, I'm still here."

"You've been to the third tier before?" Haru asks. Here, the only light to be found is in the glowing lava and ever-burning torches, and it bathes the tunnel and its occupants in an ember hue. Her hair carries a reddish shade that almost looks like her mother's in her younger years.

"And to the fourth and beyond," he answers.

"There's a fifth tier?"

Baron shakes his head. "There's only a single floor below fourth tier."

"I wonder why no one's heard of it."

"It's because all who venture there only meet death."

Haru eyes him. "Except for you."

"Except for me," he admits, "but I, as you have probably discerned, am a special case. The monsters here have a preference for attacking humans over a cursed cat doll," he says, echoing her words from so long ago with a smile.

"So what's down there?"

Nothing, he wants to say. Nothing worth seeking.

"The monster," he says instead.

"Same old, same old."

"No. This monster is the reason this dungeon exists."

Haru stops walking. "What?"

He's told this tale a hundred times, and each time tailored to pique his mortal's curiosity. Promises of riches or glory or power tied to success, and yet none will guarantee Haru's aid here.

Good.

"A long time ago, there was a monster terrorising the world, so great in power that to slay it was impossible. Many tried, many failed, and in the end all that could be done was to trap it away. To create a dungeon for it."

Haru blinks. "I never wondered why this place was called a dungeon."

Baron nods. "Some clues to its history have survived the eons. It's sealed away on the very lowest floor, trapped, but still very much alive and very much dangerous."

"Have previous heroes tried to kill it?"

"Yes."

"And I'm guessing none have succeeded."

"None."

He watches her, wary of the urge to seek out such a danger, but she seems to slot this new knowledge aside and move on.

He shouldn't feel relief.

But he does.

x

The fourth tier is the lowest part of the dungeon – before the inevitable, anyway – and the one that best betrays the abilities of those who built it.

Of those who built Baron.

Baron may be a more complex Creation than his bellicose brethren which occupy the fourth tier, but he is still a Creation, and his artisans didn't deviate far from previous forms. Although all monsters in the dungeon run on magic, those on the fourth tier most obviously owe their existence to it. Living statues, living suits of armour, living gargoyles... they all call the fourth tier home, and are so clearly built for that intention that it is only a matter of time before Haru looks to him and wonders.

They sit in an offshoot tunnel, lit by lanterns that glow blue, and Haru has been quiet ever since taking down a statue with a feline face. Baron sits beside her. He's been taking on a human height more often than he ought recently – more often than he ever has before – but for some reason he keeps coming back to it.

Haru runs a thumb over one of the gemstone eyes she looted from the statue. It's a glittering red, and sure to fetch a good price in Moonlighter... but Haru doesn't seem to be seeing that in it.

"Who are you, Baron?"

He offers the smile that has reassured many a hero before Haru. "I told you before: I am a Creation. When someone creates something with all of their heart–"

"You misunderstand me. I didn't ask what you were. I asked who." She looks to him, and suddenly he's wondering if she's seeing his own eyes echo so closely that of the statue, save for colour. "When I first saw you, I said you looked like fourth tier, but I didn't really dwell on that. I didn't really think through the implications." She rolls the gemstone eye in her palm. "Who created you, Baron?"

For all the heroes he's encountered, he's only had this conversation with a handful. Few seem to care exactly what or who he is, so long as he can benefit them.

He doesn't have the practice for this.

The truth – or as close as he is allowed – it is then. He inclines his head towards her hand. "I think you have a guess."

"Is it true, then?"

"Yes."

Her thumb rolls past the stone, and instead carresses the scar that runs across her palm. "You're not like the other creatures in this place thought," she says. "You don't harm."

Oh, how wrong she is.

"They're made for a different purpose," is all he's allowed to say. "They are designed to challenge heroes, to slowly increase the difficulty so that only the strongest of fighters reach the final floor and, perhaps, will be strong enough to slay the monster trapped there."

Haru considers this. "The dungeon is a test."

"And the monsters are the questions," Baron says.

"So what does that make you?"

The guillotine, Baron thinks. But that would warn Haru of the final step in his purpose, and he's forbidden from such truths. "I was designed to find such a hero," he says instead. "Or, more exactly, to make one. The final monster is beyond any mortal's ability to slay it, therefore I was tasked with finding a willing hero and giving them that power."

"Why?" she asks. "If the final monster is trapped for good, then surely it can just be left as it is, no need to throw wannabe heroes at it, unless..."

She goes quiet, and Baron suddenly realises with awful, heart-wrenching guilt, he knows exactly how to get Haru to the final floor.

"The monsters have been getting worse, have you noticed?" she asks. "Even on the first tier, they're more dangerous now than they were in my mother's time. Back then, the boldest heroes could make it as far as fourth tier – not often, mind, but still, it did happen – but it's been decades since anyone's delved this far." Except for herself. She doesn't voice the thought, but the words still hang in the air between them. "The town used to be bustling, but now even the firrst tier is a risky business."

Baron nods. "The binding wards are weakening."

It's true, but he wishes it were not. Not because of the threat it poses – but because he fears Haru's reckless selflessness, the care that has thrown her as far as fourth tier, breaking her own imposed limits again and again.

"What wards?" she asks.

"The wards that keep the final monster trapped. It was always going to happen – no magic lasts forever – but my creators had assumed I would have found a hero by then."

"The monster is waking up," Haru translates.

"Its power is rejuvenating," he corrects. "And with it, the power required to slay it is increasing. So the rest of the dungeon is adapting accordingly – in order to create a hero able to slay it, the other levels must increase in threat also."

"So, eventually even first tier is going to be too dangerous for anyone to enter..." Haru says.

"And the monster will one day break free," he finishes. "Yes."

Baron has been searching for a hero to slay the monster for longer than he cares to count.

It has been long enough for him to forget the faces of those who made him – and his memory is sturdier than most – and their voices may be gone, but never their words. Never the purpose for which he was created. For in his chest there lies a crystal, a condensed heart of magic, and in that crystal is his purpose carved. He can no more disobey his purpose than he can tear out his crystalline heart and live.

He's never wanted to.

Until now.

"You can still walk away," he says. "There's time."

"If I do, you'll merely find someone else to take my place," she replies. "Won't you?"

He wishes he could deny it. Not because the truth makes him sound fickle – although it does that also – but because Haru's humanity has crawled under his skin and the idea unsettles him. How could he offer his aid to a human, knowing he was just leading them to their death?

And yet he would, because that is the way he was built.

He doesn't answer, and apparently that is answer enough for Haru.

"Maybe the next person will succeed," Haru says, ignorant that success will kill as surely as failure, "maybe they won't. Maybe," she continues, not looking to Baron, "you'll one day offer the same deal to my cousin's daughter. Assuming, of course, the binding wards last that long."

"It's what I was made for," he says, voice hoarse with apology, but unable to deny it. "All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

"That's what I thought," she says, and there's no anger in her words. He wishes there were. He wishes she would rage, wishes she would hate him as she should, but there's only sorrow.

"Tell me truly, Baron: do you think I could do it?"

"You are nearly strong enough to defeat it," he answers, "and, when the time comes, I will grant you enough magic to succeed."

Ask me if you'll live, he wants to beg. Ask me so you can see me lie, so you can see the truth.

But, of course, she doesn't. She trusts him too much by now to doubt, to search for hidden truths. She cares too much to ask after her own wellbeing.

He wishes she could be just a little bit more selfish.

Haru looks to her rations. She has, as always, been careful with her magic and supplies, and despite the long journey down, there's still fire in her veins. "Then I guess there's no time like the present, huh?" She grins, and Baron's heart wishes to break. "Let's go slay a monster."

x

Baron has been to this final floor only a handful of times. More than once, the hero's eagerness has overtaken sense, and Baron has watched them be scorched into oblivion. The first time Baron got a hero this far, it was his own underestimation of the monster's power that killed them.

But, more often than not, it is the hero's own magic that kills them in the end.

Baron's never spent this long with a single mortal, and Haru's magic reflects that. It's no longer the messy instinct that reacts without thought, but is instead more akin to muscle memory, honed through practice. It moves with her, responding to her needs the way a hound follows the subtlest of its master's orders.

He has created many monsterhunters over the years, but Haru is the first he actually believes will succeed in the task.

It doesn't matter. It'll still kill her in the end.

Even after all this time, she still carries that damn rusted sword at her side, despite the fact that it's even more useless now than it was in the beginning. Her hand flies to its hilt in some remnant self-defence when she sees the creature she plans to slay.

"It's a dragon?" she whispers to Baron.

"Yes."

"You couldn't have told me that?"

"Would it have made a difference?" he asks.

"...No. But it would have been nice to know." She drops her hand away from the sword and flexes her fingers. Magic – that iridescent blue – sparks between her fingers. She inhales slowly and the magic retracts, drawing close under her skin, carefully reined in. "Right. I'm guessing this is a fire-breathing dragon–"

"Magic, but it comes to the same sort of fate," Baron amends.

"Either way, you're staying back."

He bridles at that. "I can–"

"You said it yourself – your role isn't to fight," Haru reminds him, "so you're staying out of the way. Or has your purpose changed since we last talked?"

Baron scowls, but there's little he can do against the truth. He's not sure his purpose will even allow him to intervene – but he wishes he could at least try. "There's still time," he tries once more. "You can walk away."

"I can," she admits, "but we both know I won't."

"I know."

She leans in quickly and kisses him – brief enough to be little more than a breeze brushing him – and she grins that that daring grin that he knows so well. "I'll see you on the other side," she whispers, and then she is gone.

She moves quickly with a speed honed from the delving, and is nearly upon the dragon before it even notices her. She flings her arms out and vines spring up from the ground. They wrap around the beast, thick rope-like shoots binding it down, and already she's moving onto her next stage of attack. Fire simmers in her palms, hot enough to burn blue and she slices through the air with razor-thin flames. They slice through the dragon and it–

It doesn't even notice.

Haru rolls to the side as the tail sweeps towards her, lined with spikes that will kill with a single blow. She tries again, this time with balls of ice, thick enough to be fatal for most monsters.

Again, it shakes it off, this time with a wing that smacks into Haru. She catches herself with her magic – air swirling beneath her to form a cushion – but that damn sword spins out of its sheath and skitters to a halt close to Baron.

Baron can't stand this any more. He steps out into the cavern. "Forget elemental attacks!" he cries. "The only thing that will cut through a dragon's skin is pure magic!"

The dragon swings its tail again, and this time it strikes the columns nearest Baron. He leaps out of the way – but not wholly. Chunks of stone slam into him and he feels the fracture that runs through him. And as he gathers his senses back together, he hears Haru scream.

She screams, but it's not one of pain or terror. It's a scream of rage and grief, and magic erupts from her palms. Jet streams of pure, unaltered power slams into the dragon's chest, and Haru stands before it, hair crackling and eyes glowing, and in that moment she looks as monstrous as the creature she was tasked to slay.

And then the magic runs out and she slumps to her knees, terrifyingly mortal.

When the light has dimmed, both can see the beast is down, a death rattle wheezing through its charred body.

"It's nearly dead," Haru rasps. She tries to rise to her feet, but the strength has gone from her limbs and she doesn't understand why. She looks to Baron, and he braces for the betrayal, but there's only reckless determination. "Magic. Baron, give me more magic like you promised."

The dragon is inches from death, but already it's beginning to stir. The blistering skin is bubbling, healing. This is the way Baron's creators made his own spell to work – the dragon can only be killed by using up everything a mortal had to offer. Even as Haru's magic is regenerating, so is the dragon's, perfectly matched to end them both.

"Baron!"

He knows what his purpose is. He knows he was made to create a hero capable of slaying a dragon, and now success is so close, he can almost see it.

But, more importantly, he can see Haru.

His purpose demands he gives her the means to slay the dragon.

And he refuses.

Baron's magic is carefully crafted to his role. It's designed for exactly two things: to keep him alive, and to transform life force into magic. He isn't designed for combat, and that's a feature, not a flaw. He was never meant to do anything more than watch.

But the dragon is so close to death, perhaps that doesn't matter.

He kneels down to the rusted sword by his feet, and its weight is alien to him, balanced in a way his cane is not. Dulled but still, possibly, deadly.

He starts into a run, aiming for the chest where the scales are still soft from healing, and where the muscle is still so thin he can see the heartbeat pulse within. He hears Haru shouting, but he can't make out the words. All he can do is duck as the dragon swings claws and wings at him, running for his life – for both their lives – and stab the rusted blade into the bubbling flesh.

The sword sinks into the marred skin, past warped ribs and melted muscle, and he feels the give as it pierces the heart. The dragon writhes. Baron clings on, suit tearing and gloves bloodied, and when he is finally thrown free, he feels something crack when he hits the wall.

He watches through fractured vision as the dragon contorts, screaming and curling in upon itself and then, finally falling still.

A silence settles. It settles so deep that he can feel it rooting through him, even as footsteps echo across the room. Haru drops down beside him, her face pale and her limbs shaking, but alive.

He waits for his purpose to remind him that shouldn't be – that he has one more duty to perform – but the silence prevails. He follows Haru's horrified gaze and sees the reason why.

A crack runs down his chest, split open from throat to stomach as cleanly and bloodlessly as a log struck by an axe. He presses a ruined glove to the opening and cradles the fissured crystal as it falls from his shattered chest.

"Ah," he says, and he can already feel his magic drying up, the ebbing tide tugging at his lips. "That would explain it."

"You idiot," Haru rasps. "What did you do that for? I had everything under control; you had just given me that little bit more magic like you'd promised, instead of leaping into the fray yourself–"

"Haru–"

"Hold still, I can help."

"Haru–"

She presses her hands over his, over the shattered crystal, pushing it back into his chest, and he can feel the magic begin to pour out of her, trying desperately to do the one thing it was never designed for – to heal.

"Haru, don't–"

"I can do this, if you'll just unlock that last bit of magic–"

"I can't–"

"You can! Why won't you–"

"Because it'll kill you."

Haru's frantic movements falter, and at last there is that doubt he has deserved all this time. "What?"

"I lied." He curls his hand around hers and gently peels her hold free of his chest. She lets him, too numb to press back. "I don't unlock your potential for magic. I convert it from life force. From your life force."

"What?"

The sight flickers in his left eye. He blinks, and Haru's face falls back into focus. Despite everything, for some reason she's still here, still by his side. "My creators never intended for the hero to live," Baron says, and every word is a truth he was never meant to reveal. But now his crystal lies shattered, and the purpose written within it lost. "From the moment you took this deal, it was designed to be the death of you. No one powerful enough to defeat the monster could be allowed to live; you'd be a threat greater than the dragon you slew." He draws a shuddering breath, but Haru should hear this. She deserves to. "And so the spell I was given was to transmute life force into magic, so that anyone powerful enough to defeat the dragon would have to drain their own life in order to succeed."

He waits for the anger, for the betrayal.

"How much more do you need?" she asks instead. "How much more do you need me to give to heal you?"

"All of it," he replies softly, softly enough he is sure he can hear his nonexistant heart breaking. "More than you could ever give."

"Well," she says, with a twist of her lips that is part smile, part stubbornness that he both loves and hates, "that's not quite true. More than I could give and live, sure... but not more than I could give."

"Don't–"

She untangles her hands from his and presses them back to his chest. "I can't," she agrees, "at least, not without your help. You're the only one who can give me the power to heal you, to create me into someone who can – so let me."

He shakes his head. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I can save you."

"At the cost of your own life," he rasps.

Haru's gaze lingers on her own hands, grazed and bruised after the fight, blood caught beneath the nails, and brushes her fingers over the crevice nearly cleaving Baron. Even now, she's emitting a steady stream of magic, just enought to keep him from collapsing altogether. It's only a temporary remedy; once she stops, it'll only be a matter of time before the inevitable.

"Do you love me with all of your heart, Baron?"

"Yes." And in that moment, he realises it to be utterly, indeliably true. "Yes, of course."

She grins, bittersweet. "Don't forget that. Now, please, just trust me. Let me help you."

When she asks of him such, how can he refuse?

"Don't let me regret this," he says, and transmutes the last of her life force to magic.

Haru heaves a shuddering breath and collapses forward. Baron catches her as she falls into him, but her hands are still pressed against his chest. The magic flowing into him sputters. Flickers once, twice, and for a heartbeat its extinguished entirely.

Then it's like a dam has burst, and the power that sinks into him is like the sun compared to the candlelight of before. The surface of his wound springs to life, greening until branches grow across the fissure and knit it closed, while the crystal within reforges, setting into a new shape, untouched by the purpose once carved into it.

And still Haru is folded against him, her skin glowing with the sheer power held within.

"Haru, that's enough–"

He goes to grab her shoulders, but his hands jolt away, burnt.

No, not burnt. He runs his hands over one another, but there's no sign of scorching. He cautiously reaches for her again, and this time recognises it as intense cold instead, like that of ice, or snow, or...

Or metal.

His hands realise the cause before his head does, and by the time he's fully registered just what Haru's plan had been, he's already reaching to her with his own magic. It's crazy. It's reckless. It's trusting him with far too much heart, and yet – and yet it has to work.

With his own magic, he shapes the raw magic that runs rampart through Haru, and begins to herd it together. He condenses it down, smaller and denser, until he can sense that where Haru's heart used to be is now a crystal made of pure, solidified magic, just like his.

When the light dies down, he's holding in his arms a knight in shining armour. Where once there was skin, there's now only silver, soft flesh traded for metal, and a heart traded for magic. But when she stires – and she does – it is still Haru who stares out of those glittering gemstone eyes.

"Well," she says, and the metal face resembles her own, the metal shifting in impossible ways to facilitate speech. She pauses. Twitches her mouth experimentally. "Well," she tries again, "this is different."

Baron pulls her into an embrace, and the body fits all wrong, too many angular shapes and ice-cold surfaces – but it's her. It's Haru, alive in the closest thing they could be granted a happy ending. "Reckless, crazy, foolish," he mutters into her shoulder. He draws back to see the face again – and those eyes, still hers. "How could you possibly have been sure that would work?"

"I didn't," Haru says. "But you said it yourself – when someone creates something with all of their heart, then it is given a soul." She passes a gauntlet along the line of her jaw. "You were told to create a hero and it seems you succeeded."

"It was incredibly risky."

"I know. But some things are worth the risk." She sighs and glances to the dragon's corpse. "So now what happens to this place?"

Baron follow's her gaze. "Now, the dungeon will begin to degrade. It was made to bring about the monster's death, and now it's succeeded, it has no use."

"Moonlighter will close without a dungeon to maintain it," Haru says.

"Does that sadden you?"

"No." Haru rises to her feet, steadied with Baron's aid. "No," she repeats, "Moonlighter claimed enough lives. It's time us Yoshiokas got to choose our own futures."

She smiles his way, and even amid the metal and magic, Baron still knows that smile.

"And I think I know what my future holds."

#the cat returns #cat writes #tcr fanfic #moonlighter au #also heads up I wrote this in a couple of days #somehow #so there will almost certainly be typos and errors #esp since this is the first thing i've managed to write in months #wording is difficult and up to a certain point you gotta abandon your fic into the big bad world #this was meant to be. uh. 5K AT MOST #this uh. got away from me

[farfromsugafanfic]

About Alyce #2

This time we'll do a writing related one.

Probably Sutures. I am really proud of that one and it remains one of my favorite stories I've written.

This is difficult to answer because my first thought was romance. However, ask me to write a regular contemporary romance and I will fail. I also gotta mix genres. But, the romance arc is formulaic and easy to insert into almost any story.

Whatever floats your boat. As long as they don't go too far, I don't have a problem with them.

From random things. Music is probably the most consistent inspiration for me. Amadeus was inspired by Wolfgang, Sutures was inspired by a random pop song I don't even remember, Dangerous was inspired by a meme/old Jimin live. Honestly, it kinda just pops up during moments where I'm really enjoying or focused on something.

Of course, it depends what you count as a block. I get mini blocks quite frequently. Large blocks tend to be project specific and probably happen once a year or so, but it truly depends. Honestly, the reason I started writing Amadeus is that I've been blocked on my novel for almost a year.

Hmm, I've had the best response when writing for Kpop. It also allows me to make up my own worlds more than other types of fic I've written. Essentially, I take a familiar face and personality and insert it into a novel of my own instead of having constraints of an existing world. (I know non-con fic exists but I have a hard time writing non-con when it takes place before or during the work).

I always shoot for 1500 words. Lately, though my chapters have been coming in at between 2000 and 3500 on average.

As mentioned earlier, I like mixing genres. Based on my work, romance, fantasy, and historical are my favorite genres.

I tend to write for one fandom at a time, but I have written for many fandoms. Now, I kinda write for both BTS and SKZ, but am focusing on SKZ.

Yes, you can see my introduction post to see what I am currently accepting requests for :)

Probably Dangerous and Sutures. Hence why they were the first two I decided to cross post.

I'm going to save us all a lot of time and say that I don't know and am not going to count. I've been writing fanfic and other works seriously for 13 years now so uh...

Both? Like it's definitely just a hobby, but it helps me improve my other writing. I tend to work on fanfic when I'm blocked because there is less pressure with fanfic (for me at least). So, while, yes, it is technically a hobby, it is helping me improve and have the energy and passion for my "thing".

Of course. I read much more than I write.

Read and learn from what you read. Also, do not let likes, follower counts, etc stop you from writing.

No, because I read fanfiction for years before I read a smut fanfiction.

Yes

Usually, I will abandon the ones I don't like. I do think I would do Dangerous very differently now and find certain aspects problematic (more so than I intended when I wrote it).

13 years

I plead the fifth

Eh, not really. I read a lot of AUs. The only thing that bothers me is if a member is a villain or the love interest does something like r*pe the OC. I stop reading at that point. Those people in my fics are always OCs because I am not going to put something like that on someone I'm supposed to be a fan of. (Also most of my idol characters don't kill people. Occasionally, but it's always as a hero for the most part. But I will read mafia fics, so for some reason that doesn't bother me as much unless it's like a completely innocent person).

Depends on the day, hour, minute, and second.

Always in my Kpop fics. Occasionally in others.

Yes.

Of course. It's not usually consciously, but there are parts of me in all my works.

I have too many. Many of them aren't on here anymore tbh, or I can't remember their user names. But I have my regulars I will go back to for BTS. For SKZ, I'm still finding them. Any recs?

Not sure what they mean by this. I am inspired by several other writers in different ways. I wouldn't say I have just one. Marissa Meyer is probably the one that informs my writing style and genre bending most.

Yep, AUs for most of my stories. I think Sutures and Birds of a Feather (not yet crossposted) are the only idolverse stories I have. I prefer AUs for fanfiction of real life figures because then it is obvious that it is NOT the person you are writing about.

A long one shot: Probably 8-12 hours spread over 1-3 weekends. A longer novel length fic? The shortest time it took me was about 6-7 months of almost solely focusing on that fic. More realistically its about 2 years.

#about farfromsuga #farfromsuga #about me

[lethargicsunlight]

'Demon': Prologue ♡ BakugouXFem!Reader (Book 1)

Alright I'm doing it.

I'm doing the thing.

It literally keeps me awake at night I gotta write thisss *cough* okay

Originally I was only going to post this unto Wattpad, but getting traction on their website is a little more difficult than good ole' Tumblr, so I'll be posting it on both. Feel free to visit my Wattpad here: LINK if you want to support my writing on that end. (I would so appreciate it)

This post is going to run pretty long, as it will host both the prologue of the story and my author's notes. Just a heads up.

Summery:

A slow-burn action/romance where you begin in the bowels of a Villain base and rise up to join U.A.'s top Hero Class. This life was your choice. In the event of learning then losing the love of a friend, you make a decision that changes your reality at the core--to become an imposter among villains and bring them down from the inside out. The organization that ruined your premature perfect life was known as H.H., after their leader Head-Honcho. His crime of choice: intelligence. Training and conducting espionage agents and assassins across Japan as a means to further the dark underground network. Your training began at thirteen, after managing to impress the multi-faced villain with your stealth and your conviction. Rumors would soon spread through the dark alleys of Naruhata City of a masked assassin known as Demon, whose bare face could steal the souls of her targets. Everything appears to be going to plan; but the Hero Agencies you've been slipping information to are calling for an end to your superior sooner than you had anticipated. Your time as 'Demon' is limited. What will happen when your world comes crashing down? Where will you go, when everything you had known you helped to destroy?

AUTHOR'S NOTES

This is a slow burn fan-fic; and I am not italicizing those words without reason. This is going to be an agonizingly slow action-packed adventure-romance. This is a self-insert story, just like my three-part series 'Some Combat Training' (link) where you as the protagonist will not be described outside of being female, general physique, and a generalization of your uniform(s). Skin, hair, eyes, etc. will not be described at all--besides ambiguous adjectives. That said, I am taking liberties with physique and stature due to the nature of the story. You're abilities rely on stealth as well as close and fast combat, therefore you are described as 'small', 'lithe', 'athletic', and all of those other fancy little ninja woman words. Your personality has been shaped by the events of your life and the people within it; but if I were to describe it I would choose words like: Intelligent, determined, self-sacrificing, quiet, humble, and studious. The story will follow along with the anime for the most part starting at around the time of the USJ event, though at some point the story will branch off and become more my original concoction. (Such as, fast-forwarding the time-line to when the characters are older.) Some information about you as the protagonist will not be written here, as I plan for those to be revelations within the story. There will be angst, blood and gore, adult-humor, trauma, death, bad language and warnings will be listed with each chapter as needed. Feel free to comment on those chapters as soon as you see something that isn't mentioned that might make someone (if not yourself) feel uncomfortable. I will not be offended. This story is meant to get a little dark. Please comment if you can about your opinions! I have never posted an on-going fic before, and anything you have to say I would appreciate! <3 Now, please enjoy this short prologue~ Chapter 1 is being reviewed and edited, to be release very soon! 👹🖤⛓🔪💣 ...four...five...six.. You counted the footsteps behind your left ear, round the corner of the dim abandoned subway. You'd been stationary; still so long that your digits had all but numbed. Turn... one...two...three... The footsteps were distancing from the hall your attention had been set upon. A T-section, where the entity had gone down and away from your destination. You had to cross that 'T' to get to the junction--where you needed to leave a note completely undetected. The slightest mis-step would lead to suspicion. Suspicion would lead to investigation. Investigation lead to the five percent chance they could find that note--and no percentage was too small. It all hinged on absolute perfection. Nine...ten...eleven... This was their fifth round. A patrol. You had to make sure their movement were predictable before this would work--despite having successfully delivered the note fourty-two times and counting--you did not have the luxury of assumption. Only if their stride was even, only if you absolutely knew they were moving at a certain pattern, could you depend on the following information: It took fifteen steps before they would reach the broken light on their route. The haze of the dust and pollutants reflected in the working lights prior to that was your cover. Cross the 'T', leave the note, and cross it again. Out of sight and out of earshot, mission successful. Fourteen... f-- You turn, and it takes three steps to arrive at the drop to the tracks. You bunch and leap, and even the quietest friction of fabric from your uniform creases your brow. You land, just outside of the light's reach on the thin concrete slab beyond. Your eyes track the metals, the jutting wall tiles; that with which the barest touch could emit a sound--and you maneuver around them. Under, creeping low--and over, leaping to land on the balls of your feet and checking your balance before moving forward. Careful to not cast a shadow into the hall. Paced, so as not to move too quickly nor too slowly. Counting, because every second was controlled and calculated. You reach the juncture, and once again

edging the light you propel yourself to land back on the main thoroughfare. The next obstacle--removing the loose brick. Behind a metal bench centered between two closed-in stair cases, where the tile meets what had once been a decorative brick mosaic; eight bricks right and eighteen bricks up, was your note's destination. Just above your head, where you had to bend at an awkward angle to reach. Not practical, less detectable. You're wearing tight fabric gloves with grips on the pads, but thin enough you can feel the texture of the brick as you gently lace your fingers at each of the corners. Lifting, centering, and pulling the brick from its slot. Holding it just right, you can avoid the loud scrapes and grinds--but you have to hold it perfectly centered. Success. In goes the note. As does the brick, back into the wall. But you're only half-way done. Leap. Quiet, maneuver, avoid, measure. Silent. Leap. Hide. You're back is once again at the wall, the footsteps of the lackey you'd been avoiding closing in proximity to the Hall you'd just left. Four... five... six... Your eyes focus on the wall opposite of you as you ground yourself. The next few seconds determined a new reality. Either they followed their pattern, or they didn't. You had to be flexible. No assumptions. If they move towards the junction, you have to follow. If they move towards you, you'd calculate on your feet. Seven... eight... nine.. Turn. ...one...two...three.. You don't relax. Even after you count their steps to fifteen, even as you slip away back through the hall, even as you exit the unattended vent and breathe in fresh air--you don't relax until you're sitting on the floor in your room, calming down, your mask in your hands. After checking to make sure your door had not been opened, and no one had looked for you. No tracks in the dust. Only then do you allow yourself to ruminate on the contents of the note you had written, because you could still see every letter of it in your mind. ------ 55-1, Minami Senju 5-chome, Musutafu Target: Fukui Mitsuo Floor 8 3 AM. 7. Accompanied. Head. ------ For the briefest moment, you feel your hands shake. They always did on these nights. Realistically, you'd left no openings. Tested and re-tested every method. Calculated every movement. Left nothing to chance. But the 'what-if's' still linger, and you let them. The fear is good. It keeps you on your toes, your mind on edge, your tongue to the roof of your mouth. If he found out, you wouldn't know it until it was over. So you pretended he already did. Below you, underground in his base, plotting how to get at you when you were most vulnerable. Tear you to pieces, throw you in a pit or in a cage. No--too risky, he'd just kill you. A dead-end is better than a possibility. You'd learned that from him. You swallow, head turning so the amber morning sky is in your peripheral. All things considered, you would still unfortunately need sleep. You cherished the brief moments of sunlight and let your mind swim in the memories of your childhood spent in the daytime; before retiring to the broken and borrowed mattress. Seven days. You would check the location of your note in two. If there is another note in response, you would create a reactionary plan. The pattern continues. Until he finds out. ...Until he finds out.

#Bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #bnha #bnha fanfic #slow burn romance #bnha fanfic slowburn #bakugou x f!reader #mha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero fanfiction #bakugou x you

[ikemen-obssessed]

‘Day 6: Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters! (Fenrir x MC)’

Masterlist

Turns out I’m really not good at writing ikesen fics yet. So yeah, I tried to make up for it with these idiots for my 100 followers fic. Oh and happy Valentine’s Day you guys💖

“Ahhh!”

When she turned at the corner of the seemingly endless hallway, she was welcomed by one heck of a sight.

Dressed in a full on bronze and scarlet striped onesie, overly sized proton pack held in his calloused left hand, an entire bag of freshly picked tomatoes attached to his belt, Fenrir’s crazy hair was sticky with sweat, his magenta eyes wide with shock as they met hers.

“Uh… I can explain?” he mumbled, probably asking himself that question more than the blonde haired woman that stood in front of him, bright azure eyes equally as wide as his.

“I should hope so” she muttered in response, fixed stare still piercing through his.

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Less than an hour earlier…..

“What?!”

“Ugh, don’t look at me like that”

“Sorry, but are you SURE it’s Valentine’s Day?”

“No, I’m mistaken, today just happens to be your everyday giving out chocolate to random people on the streets” quite sick of Fenrir’s presence, Oliver quickly strode out of the room, despite his incredibly short kid legs.

“I wish that was a thing….mmm imagine Luka’s chocolate everyday… wait, what am I thinking?! I gotta go shopping”

He swept the kitchen table with one swift movement of his hand, shoving all of the pieces Oliver had left him in the proton pack style backpack Ray had got him for Christmas.

“Where exactly are you going? It’s not difficult to make chocolate, you know” Oliver’s voice came from the kitchen, scorn and all still very much there.

“Well, we made a bet, didn’t we? I’ll just have to wear the clothes today, I’m sure Chloe will understand. Anyway, thanks for the gun!”

And with that he dashed out of the house, slamming the door shut on his way out just before his heavy footsteps could be heard from where Oliver still stood in the kitchen, staring at the window in open disbelief.

“Well, you can’t say that I didn’t try to tell him” Oliver muttered as he retreated to the garage, where Fenrir’s most recent order awaited him.

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“What exactly was the bet you made?” she questioned worriedly.

“I actually can’t remember, if I’m being honest with ya” Fenrir scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to remember the real reason for why any of this was happening.

“Well, let me enlighten Chloe on the subject” Seth’s loud musical voice echoed in the otherwise deserted hallway.

This is bound to end badly, they both thought.

For some strange reason, all three remaining officers happened to be free, and in the lounge when Seth had led Fenrir and Chloe inside. When they saw Fenrir, their expressions immediately turned to surprise.

“Why are all of you looking at me like that? Never seen a guy in a onesie?” Fenrir pointed out as he took a seat next to Chloe on the sofa.

“Fenrir, it’s not that, it’s more about what kind of onesie it is” Luka started, unable to handle the pointless tension.

“Whatever, forget about that for a second!” Seth quickly cut off any further discussion about Fenrir’s attire.

“Now, onto things that matter-” “Hey! Don’t I matter?!” Fenrir interrupted

“Do you really want an answer, buddy?” Ray grinned

“As true as that is, that’s not why we’re here” Sirius’ deep voice rang out

“Oh, can it old man! You know you love me!”

“That’s questionable” Sirius responded, his lips forming a hint of a smile as he did.

“Fenrir, that’s really not what you should be focused on....” Luka absentmindedly continued

“Luka, he’ll figure it out on his own. Probably. Not. Anyway, why the heck did you call all of us here, Seth?” tired of their non-stop arguing, she finally cracked, basically shouting over the others.

“Thank you, Chloe! As I was trying to say before a certain SOMEONE interrupted, I trust that you all have your possessions?” Seth was enjoying this way too much.

“Er, exactly how does this have anything to do with a bet Fenrir lost?”

“All in good time, sweetie.”

“Since Seth and Luka won, and Fenrir’s obviously kept to his agreement, Ray, it’s your turn” Sirius proclaimed

“Oh, fine. Luka, make sure he gets enough food. Remember, one quarter of a can per mealtime. And he needs a bath, so don’t let him run around all day in the muddy grass” Ray begrudgingly responded.

“Ray, what did we say about losing?” Fenrir sounded like a primary school teacher from the babyish tone he was using.

“Well, look where it got you! You’ve ended up wearing a full on Ghostbusters outfit, plus you even picked up the proton gun Sirius asked Oliver to make for a laugh. We didn’t think you’d actually do it! And for the record, Belle isn’t just an object either” Ray blurted out.

Fenrir’s body seemed to freeze at his words, for he wasn’t moving at all.

“Fenrir?” she called his name, but got no response.

She gently cupped his icy cheeks with her warm hands, shifting the direction of his head to face her.

“Huh?” to be honest, none of them knew who said it first, for they instantly realised that Fenrir had passed out when he didn’t have a panic attack at the mention of the word ‘ghost’.

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By the time she had returned with a glass of water and a cloth that had been soaked in cold water, Fenrir had already regained conscious, his onesie still abandoned on the floor after she had got him back into his uniform while he had passed out. He was staring listlessly at the wall opposite him, for all of the officers had secretly taken a break from their duties for the ‘meeting’ in the lounge, and had only returned to work when Chloe promised to not leave Fenrir’s side until he woke.

“Feeling any better?” she questioned.

“Yeah. Thanks for changing me out of that onesie, by the way. I can’t believe all of you were in on that and you didn’t even tell me” he sighed, sounding disappointed more with himself than the others.

“Hey, if I did, you either would’ve freaked out or you would’ve gone the whole day scared out of your wits” she tenderly tucked the stray strands of his ruffled hair, smoothing each one as she did.

“So you’d risk my life just so I wouldn’t embarrass myself? The betrayal!” he mockingly covered his chest with his hands overdramatically, looking for all the world like he wanted a good beating.

“Do you want a slap?”

“Ack! Sorry” he really did look terrified in that moment

“Then concentrate on getting better instead of finding ways to earn a beating!”

“Fine. But, for hiding everything from me, I think I deserve something in return, don’t you?” his conspiritol grin was enough to leave her cheeks burning.

“Guess you’ll have to tell me what it is you want, or I’ll have to go back to reading my book. I just started reading the climax, you see” despite her best efforts, her voice trembled, unable to hide her desire for him.

“Sorry, but you gotta figure it out for yourself. And what the heck’s a climax anyway?”

“Seth, would you please stop breathing in my ear?” Ray’s voice came from the other side of the door, along with a few other familiar voices.

“Hey, suck it up and shut it! They’re about to kiss, for the love of--”

“Language!”

“Oh, since when do you care about language, you’re like the mother of all hitmen, old man!”

“Wait, why are we listening to them? We should really give them some privacy” Luka’s soft voice was barely audible through the other’s loud whispering

“Luka, you don’t understand! We can use Fenrir’s sloppy moves as an example of what you definitely shouldn’t do, under any circumstances when you’re with a woman!” Seth was so loud that it sounded like he was shouting, for even Fenrir and Chloe could clearly hear him from the other side of the room.

“Should we tell them?” Fenrir’s breath tickled her sensitive skin as he spoke in her ear.

“I think listening would be more interesting, don’t you?” she gave him a small grin before turning her head in the direction of the door.

“Why aren’t they talking?” Sirius asked

“Guys, we really should leave them alone…”

“Don’t you dare, Luka! Ray, this is all your fault”

“How’d you figure that? Look, they could just be making out, y’know.”

“What does that even mean?” Luka sighed, obviously not expecting an answer.

“They can’t be! The atmosphere isn’t sexual enough yet”

“Luka, cover your ears!” Sirius hissed,“Seth, unless you’re some sort of fraternity expert, keep quiet. And even if you are, I’d rather not have a pretty boy like you expose this kind of stuff to Luka”

“Sirius, do you even know what we’re talking about? Cause it sounds like you’re saying that Fenrir and Chloe are having some sort of mother’s meeting”

“Ray, they wouldn’t dare to do that without Sirius, he’s the mother of all mothers, after all”

“What the hell are you talking about?! I’m only 30, and a grown man at that!”

“Oh no, I think we pissed him off” Ray sounded mockingly shocked

“You think?” even though they couldn’t see him, both of them could picture the thunderous expression on his face.

“We should probably stop them before Sirius ends up slapping Seth and Ray” she added, her voice laced with honest concern, even though her azure eyes were bright, dancing with amusement.

“Hold on! I think I heard something” the door creaked slightly as Seth pressed his face against the door

“Please don’t tell me he’s laying her in the lounge” Sirius complained

“How about you shut up so I can hear them?”

“Ugh, Seth, you’re such a perv”

“That’s rich, coming from the guy who told all of us to eavesdrop on them in the first place”

“What, is Fenrir doing something to Chloe?” Luka’s voice was faintly worried, and it took all she had to not burst out laughing.

“Luka, when did you learn that kind of language?!” Seth wasn’t even trying to lower his voice any more, “oh, wait, don’t answer that”

“All of you shut up! I can’t hear anything”

And suddenly the hallway was all too quiet, the only sound that could be heard was Fenrir and Chloe’s heavy breaths.

Crash!

“Ray, get your fat ass up, you’re crushing me here!”

“Don’t act like you’re any better, Seth. You eat nearly as much as Fenrir does!”

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?!” Fenrir’s outburst caused all four of the officers to turn their way.

Lying piled on top of each other in the doorway with Ray at the top, they all blinked at the pair in confusion.

“Ray, I swear to god, if your elbow keeps stabbing my thigh like that I will hurt you”

“Ugh, not you too Sirius”

Letting out a sigh of indignation, Ray rolled over to his side, landing directly on top of Luka.

“Oh, come on!”

“Ray, get off me” Luka grumpily added

“Make me”

“Chloe, can you show me that new instruction manual?” Luka shifted his gaze to her direction, a hint of a blush forming on his cheeks as they made eye contact.

“Volume 1, 2 or 3?” she answered

“I think using all of them would be suitable in this situation”

“Shit, you don’t have to put it like that!”

“Fenrir, help me up”

“Give me one good reason to” Fenrir’s eyes looked like they were about to release tears from laughing so much.

“If you don’t, I’ll shove tomatoes down your throat when you’re asleep”

“What the fuck, man?” for some reason, Fenrir scanned the room, fear written clearly across his face.

“Fenrir, you do realise there’s a pack of tomatoes attached to your belt, right?” she asked, as if it was ridiculously obvious.

“WHAT?!” he shouted so loudly that all four of the officers slightly jumped in surprise, although they were all still on the floor. Fenrir had automatically grabbed Chloe, trapping her in a tight hug.

“Fenrir, you know I won’t let that happen, right?” she could barely breathe since he was holding her so firmly, let alone speak properly.

“Yeah, but its RAY we’re talking about here! Have you already forgotten that he’s the reason I ended up passing out?!”

“Actually, that was a joint effort”

“Are you kidding me?!”

They both turned to face the others, who were all watching the scene unfold with wide grins spread across their faces.

“Dont you lot have work to do?” Fenrir’s cheeks went red as he noticed their suggestive gazes, (minus Luka, of course.)

But none of them made any effort to move, although Luka looked for all the world like he wanted to run.

“You guys are the worst” she said, still encased in Fenrir’s broad arms.

All she got in return was an impish grin from Ray Sirius and Seth, an apologetic look from Luka and a shrug, along with a fed up sigh from Fenrir.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #ikrev mc #Fenrir Godspeed #oh fenrir😂 #he so cute i swear #its not good for my heart #valentines day countdown

[thechocobros]

Lunyx | Dirty Dancing Au | ch.2

Couple: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Nyx Ulric

Words: 4339

Previously: AO3 LINK

Summary: Princess Lunafreya Lucis Caelum - the daughter of Regis Lucis Caelum and Sylva Nox Fleuret and the sister of Ravus and Noctis - is a very good mannered, intelligent, innocent and curios young girl. She sneaks out of Insomnia’s palace to join the Glaives in the slums, only to find Nyx and Crowe enjoying their hours of freedom by dancing senseless some galahdian dances in front of hundreds of people. When Crowe gets badly injured during her guard duty, Nyx needs to find a good partner before the dance competition of next month. That may be the hardest thing to find in Insomnia. Until Luna offers.

Comment: Again, I love this AU for them. And things are getting hotter here :3 

Btw, this fic is freely inspired by the movie, so you will have some new elements in it, I hope you don’t mind. 

Aaand ... Thanks to @rsasai for the huge help in editing this chapter! You really turned my confused words in logical sentences, amazing xD 

Nyx was certain this wouldn't have been a good idea. He didn't agree with having the Princess being present at the discotheque without her family's approval and even less with the Princess being his direct partner in Crowe's place. Yet, here she was.

"If your parents find out ... If your brothers find out... I'm fired. Not only will I lose the prize, I'll lose also my primary source of income and I won't be able to go back to Galahd ever again."

Lunafreya nodded and moved to her feet, squashing her fingers in her own palms. She wore a simple, short dress for the occasion, matched with some gym shoes to feel more comfortable, but it hadn’t helped. She had never felt so nervous in her whole life.

"I know. With a wig and some good makeup nobody will recognize me when I'm on stage. The real problem is learning to dance." Nyx raised the eyebrows and made a grimace similar to a smile, crossing arms so that his perfectly shaped muscled were pulled at the thick material of the Kingsglaive's jacket.

"No, I can be a good teacher. Don’t worry about that. But we have only a month. I need to train you every single day, for hours and hours, probably until your legs will hurt and your back breaks. How do you plan to do it without your family noticing?" There was doubt in his voice and sarcasm in his eyes. Luna couldn't blame him, of course. She was the most insane partner choice for a slum's dance competition.

"I-I will arrange it, somehow."

Nyx shook his head. "Fine." He took off his jacket and abandoned it on a nearby chair, showing the perfect shape of his mix of soldier and dancer’s body.

They were in the gym hall of the Kingsglaive's department, which at that hour was empty. It was 9 pm after all. The rest of the Glaives were at Yama's already. Nyx locked all the doors anyway, just to be sure nobody wouldn't interrupt them.

Also, of course, it was imperative that nobody would find out that a Glaive was training the Princess for a dance contest.

Luna stood paralyzed in the center of the floor, looking at Nyx like he was an assassin sent after her.

When Nyx turned around he noticed, so he raised his hands in such a princely and polite gesture, but Luna knew it was to mock her.

"What's that face for, Princess? You're the one who offered."

"I'm fine! I'm just ... A bit nervous."

Nyx smiled this time, getting closer with a smug yet gentle confidence. “Relax,"he whispered, taking her into his arms. With the smallest effort he sustained her entire weight.

Of course such proximity didn't relax her at all, on the contrary. Her cheeks flushed, her heart went crazy.

He noticed and, thinking about how long the road was ahead, he sighed. He freed a hand to press against her chest, feeling her heart beating wildly against his fingers.

Luna froze, focusing on his warm fingers on the bare skin of her collarbone, the pleasant sensation of having his eyes on her.

"Are you really going to teach me how to breathe?"

"I hoped it wouldn't have been necessary.“ He smiled. "But it is. Listen, Princess." And he used the thumb to lift her chin like he did once before. Their eyes glued again, this time in utter silence and tranquillity.

"If you want to be my partner in this, I need to connect with you. Me and Crowe, we’ve known each other since we were kids. We know each other's bodies. We understand each other even before we open our mouths to speak. That's why we're good together. And if I'm not even allowed to touch you without making you feel faint, how exactly am I supposed to guide you into the ancient tribal dances from my homeland?"

Luna swallowed, magnetized by his hazel-blue eyes starring right into her soul. For some reason, the idea of having him knowing her so much scared her.

"It's ... just… I’m not used to it. No man except my father or brothers ever hugged me, and ..." Luna moved in his arms, not at ease with the words she was choosing.

His fingers deepened in the skin of her lower back, like he wanted to keep her still.

"It's not a hug. It's a dance position. I'm here to teach you, not to cuddle." Nyx smirked, trying to knock her fears away with some sarcasm, but he was the first one to know her didn’t even believe what he was saying. Of course the proximity would have been a problem for him, too.

With Crowe he had years and years of platonic affection to count on, so there was no real risk to compromise their relationship with a dance. On the contrary, their familiarity made them even more skilled. But with the Princess ... Touching her like he touched Crowe had a different feeling, something under his skin. She was a new experience, something so far from all he ever had before. It was utterly and completely appealing in a way that was difficult for words.

"I know, I'm sorry, it's just that ... this kind of dance is considered indecent in my world and I feel--" She lost her words in her own embarrassment as she kept staring at Nyx's hands on her waist.

The Glaive bit his lip in a nervous gesture as he lifted the Princess's chin again to force her to look at him.

"Don't look down. Don't look at anything else but me." Luna held her breath, hit hard by his following meaningful words: "Good manners and etiquettes are only prejudices society says we have to conform to. Thinking about what other people will think won't help you to express yourself. You gotta break the borders of your mind. While dancing ... I have to become your only world." Nyx caressed her neck delicately His eyes followed his fingers, getting lost in it. "Alright?"

Luna nodded, hesitating at first but more convinced in the end. "Fine."

To test her, Nyx lowered one hand until he reached her hip and there he stayed. He kept the other hand on her neck, surrounding it. Somehow, Luna understood the movement he wanted her to do even before he said: "Push yourself back. I won't let you fall."

With a deep sigh, Luna stepped ahead, sticking to his entire body, grabbing his shoulders like he was an anchor. Then, she let her neck incline back, losing her balance but exactly like he promised he was there to hold her. His strong arms easily carried her entire weight, because— like Nyx noticed already — she was far thinner than the dancers he was used to.

He guided her to make a turn and pulled her up calmly, focusing on her muscle tensing and relaxing. As she did the movements he requested, Nyx had to resist the temptation to place a kiss on her collarbone. It was so exposed to his sight; so soft, so alluring. He swallowed down the desire in silence and luckly enough Luna's blues found him only after that. The smile which touched his mouth was uncertain though, and he knew she could see it, too.

"Good?" she asked.

"Good." Glaives never blushed, but he had to break eye contact anyway. "Now, I'll teach you some simple moves."

----------

It had been fun at the beginning.

Meeting an attractive member of the Kingsglaive in secret gave her a vibe of adventure she never had before, so the idea of sleeping less in order to make space to the dance lessons didn't bother her.

This was, of course, until Nyx didn't speed up the pace of their dancing and her learning. And at that point, the idea of dancing felt more like the sensation of descending into hell.

"No, raise your chin when you turn. The arms should be straight here. Quicker. Put some effort in it, c'mon!"

More or less, he yelled at her the same words over and over again.

Nyx had been honest from the very beginning: The training was going to be hard and he wouldn't go easy on her just because she was a princess. He kept that promise.

He almost broke her bones pushing her to limits she didn't think she could reach.But even it was tough, Luna had finally the chance to prove herself tougher. She liked it, in a way, because it was her choice. The price of freedom was always the highest. That was what her father once told her and she found it to be quite true. So, she didn't give up, not even when she woke up in the morning with muscles she didn’t even know she had aching.

Lunafreya continued to have dinner with her family every evening, but when they moved to the large room where they all used to sit in front of the fireplace, she always said she had something else to do.

"You're very busy lately, Lunafreya,” her father, King Regis, said once. He was sitting on his luxurious red chair, his wife Sylva in front of him. "Are you sure these gym lessons are good for you? You look tired."

Luna turned to look at her parents, the portrait of elegance and calm. They didn't deserve lies, so she had to go for a"half truth" when she first explained what was going on in her new schedule.

"Yes, I'm a bit tired, but I feel better since I started the course. I was becoming lazy. I needed to get in shape."

"Becoming lazy? My opinion is that such an idea should have been from a different sibling,” Ravus commented, raising his chin from his book to look at Noctis, who was busy playing King's Knight in a corner. The younger Prince didn't even bother to answer, knowing it was betterto mindhis own business.

"Ravus, my son, please,” Regis whispered, before looking at Luna again. "It's fine, my dear. You can go. Remember to take an escort with you."

“Of course. Sir Ulric will come."

“Right. The Glaive who took the place of Lady Crowe." Luna's heart bumped for a second, sensing a hint of judgment in her father's voice.

"The man who saved my life when the accident happened,” she specified then.

Her father nodded, so Luna kissed him and her mum on the cheek, wishing them good night. As she passed by, Noctis leaned up so he could receive the same treatment, not even bothering to raise his eyes from the phone. This caused Luna to giggle. She kissed him on the cheek too and left the room.

She quickly changed her clothing, wearing a pair of white leggings and a long top of the same color. She didn't forget to refresh her make up. For some reason she wanted to look nice for her training.

Of course, the effort was repaid every night when Nyx Ulric saw her coming down the stairs, beautiful and glowing, and he forgot how to breathe.

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

Nyx had taken her to a small theater on the borders of the city which was abandoned a couple of years before because the owner couldn't pay his taxes. Being friends with one of the policemen who was in charge, Nyx and Crowe had easily gained the keys to use the theater for their trainings.

Now, Nyx thought that a better place couldn't have existed for him to teach the Princess how to dance. The Kingsglaive's halls were too dangerous.

"So, your father really believes you're having some gym lessons?"the Glaive asked, during the break he had to give her after an hour straight of frantic training.

Luna nodded at his question.

"And what does your moral and educated conscience say about it?" he investigated further, trying to steal a smile from her. He succeeded.

"Well, it is a sort of gymnastics, isn't it?" Luna answered, breathing heavily and accepting the bottle of water he was offering to her.

"Yeah, think so. But it's not the sport's definition which would bother him, I guess."

"What then?"

Nyx shrugged. "I don't know, maybe the fact that your idea of 'gymnastics' implies that you’re brushing up all over a Glaive's body."

Luna bursted into a small laugh, sweet and crystalline. He noticed how her eyes seemed to glow differently when she did.

"Weren't you the one who said I had to break the borders of my mind and forget about these prejudices?'"

"Only if you really want to be my partner in this. You can still step back, you know. If ... If you think it's too much." He was still trying to joke but this time a hint of hesitation caressed his voice.

Luna swallowed the fresh water and took a moment to observe his features. She knew him for a couple of years by now and she always thought he had been good looking, but she never went much further than that.

However, the entire situation that had happened to them recently brought them close enough for her to get familiar with more than just his good sides, to see beyond the only surface. She started to notice the small defects on his face, the invisible scars, the imperfections on his skin due to an illness he got when he was a child, the wayhis ears were a bit larger than average. She started to notice the constant fatigue in his eyes, the mark of suffering, well hidden beyond the smug and haughty appearance.

And as she learned his flaws, she started to appreciate him more.

"I won't step back now, Nyx Ulric. I gave you my word."

Nyx never ceased to be surprised by her determination and in that moment too, he felt unprepared and unworthy in front of her gentle words.

"Thank you. You're a ... kind Princess." Usually such a statement would have been slightly sarcastic in his mouth, but the Glaive was serious now. He really meant it.

"If we don’t win the competition because of me ... I-I will find another solution to bring you the money."

"Really? You're gonna steal from your daddy's credit card?" Nyx helped her up.Their breaktime was over.

"If you want to go back to Galahd, I could arrange a --"

"I don't want your money, Princess,” he interrupted her, looking her straight in the eyes. “I don’t need a handout. We’re gonna win the competition. You'll see."

Luna swallowed and nodded. Nyx gave her a minute to realize how much trust he was putting in her and then he took out a bandage from his pocket.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice quivering. She wasn’t sure she liked the bandage very much.

"We warmed our muscles, Princess. Now the real lessons starts. Close your eyes." Nyx turned her around. Once he was behind her he tied the bandage around her face until he covered her eyes completely.

"What do you mean by 'the lesson starts now'? I'm exhausted already,” she complained, but she worried way more about being blind than about her tiredness. As matter of fact, she continued,"Nyx, wait, what is this for exactly?"

"You're too technical. I taught you the basic moves already, but these won't give us the victory. We need to aim higher. So, before doing some crazy stunts you'll need to learn to understand my body and the way I move ... blindly. You count on your sight way too much: You can't dance by looking constantly at how your feet move. You need to focus on other senses, touch being the first."

Luna grabbed his wrists, already panicking when she started to lose balance.

"Are you asking me to dance with a bandage covering my eyes? If I'm blind, I’ll barely be able to stay straight on my feet!"

"That's why you'll need to rely on me and not on yourself,”He smirked, taking her in his arms and helping her to find the right starting position.

Luna really had some big difficulties at the beginning. The Glaive made her turn around and swing a bit and the more she started to get used to being blind, the more she had to grab onto his body to not lose balance. That was right what he wanted, because doing so she was more malleable and flexible. Not having other choice, she trusted him completely for every smallest step.

He turned on the music then and they tried to move along with the rhythm, using the moves Lunafreya learned before her sight had been taken. At a certain point, Nyx surprised her by leaning down and grabbing her knee, lifting it up until it reached his hip.

The Princess gasped and held tight to his neck, almost falling back. A giggle escaped from both of their mouths as they continued to move and move, every inch of their bodies in tune, lost in the music. Luna didn't feel like his hands on her skin were intrusive anymore.

The initial embarrassment had passed after the first few dayswhere he had touched her like no other man had before.

So, she let him touch her again now, this time feeling him like she never had before that moment. Being blind amplified her other senses, and this helped her to follow the music in a different way, enjoying truly the essence of what she was doing.

Nyx's body on hers was natural. She loved the way his abdomen sticked to her breast, the way his strong arms surrounded her back, how his hands left white signs on her muscles. Dragged by the new exciting experience, Luna used her arms to lift herself up until she pressed her lips to his neck, inhaling the smell of him deeply.

It was the Glaive's turn to gasp, yet he didn't complain if not with a whispered curse. ”Damn, Princess."

"Not good?”she asked innocently, slowing the dance, fearing she really did something wrong.

Nyx bit his lip. Yes. Yes, of course it was good. But not in the right sense.

"Just keep moving,” he sighed, feeling on the edge of his self control but trying to sound like he wasn’t falling apart at the seams.

For the first time in his whole life, Nyx feared he wouldn't be able to finish the dance without kissing his partner senseless. He never felt such an urge for a girl he danced with, and he surely hadn’t expected to feel it for the Princess.

Yet here he was, passing his hands on her thighs with a greed which was not professional at all, drinking in every detail of her body, taking advantage on the fact she couldn't catch him staring. He didn't even know he was dying of thirst until that moment, when he had such an amazing bottle of fresh water like her in front of him.

And exactly like water, she moved. She was silent and pure, yet sparkling and lively, ready to adapt to his requests. What would Nyx have given to take a sip?

She didn't interrupt the dance even when he distanced from her and then pulled her back, holding her close in his arms, like he wanted to protect her from his own indiscreet eyes. Then, he raised her from the ground, making her do a little jump.

Luna screamed at that; being blind, she reacted so violently she almost hit him with an arm.

Nyx laughed when he put her down. “Tomorrow… bring a swimsuit,” he whispered to her ear, making her shiver and lose her balance even worse. "You're gonna like the next lesson."

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

The next secret meeting took place in a pool near to Nyx's apartment. Luna guessed he payed a lot for it, since they were completely alone that night.

"You're probably wondering why I took you to the pool and how this is going to help you with dancing.”

Of course Luna was wondering about that. The idea of being in only a swimsuit in front of him didn't make her feel comfortable. It was also hard to deny that it was also because his own shirtless chest was very… distracting.

There were so many scars and magic spirals on his bare skin, it almost look like a constellation map and she feared she would have ended up studying that instead of the choreography.

"One of the stunts needs you to jump, with me picking you up,” Nyx explained then. "We'll train in the water. It’ll be easier for both of us."

---------

They already had done dozens of tries, yet something kept go wrong. Luna couldn't jump without making Nyx fall down, too. In spite of every attempt, they just kept losing balance.

Out of the water it was even worse.

"You can do the jump with Crowe, right?" Luna asked when they finally left the pool.

Nyx hesitated to answer, which was already an answer.

The Princess sighed desperately. "I'm sorry, Nyx. We'll try again tomorrow and I swear to the gods that if I won't learn, I--"

"Don't push yourself. It’s fine,” Nyx replied, opening the door of the car to let her in. It was almost midnight and they had to be quick to get back to the Palace. They lost track of time and if the Princess wasn't back soon, the gossip would no doubt start.

She never was so late.

"It's not fine. I don't want you to lose the competition because of me. The day is getting closer and I still don't know how to jump without breaking both our backs."

Nyx sat in the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. He didn't reply. He got strangely silent since they left the pool.

"Nyx."

He blinked at her and then at the street again. The roads were empty and dark. Insomnia was beautiful at night.

"The competition starts next week, isn't it?"

The man nodded.

"Yes. The selection is on Thursday. I took the day off, so I should be able to come to pick you up at 6 pm. The finale is on Friday night."

"Fine, I'll arrange my schedule." There was a minute of silence. “Nyx. Why do you want to go back to Galahd?"

A few seconds passed again before he answered: "It's my home."

"Do you have someone to wait for you there?" she asked. Nyx knew what she was really asking. She wanted to know if he had family or a girl back home.

"No. Only ghosts."

"So why not stay here? Don't you like Insomnia? Is the Kingsglaive's life too hard?"

"No, it's just..." He briefly glanced at her again because, if he were honest with himself, he was addicted to her eyes. But he knew he had to focus back on the road.

"I'm only an immigrant here and I'll always be. No matter how hard I try to distinguish myself. I may be able to use the King's magic, and I may be the best of the department and, hells, I may also be called 'hero' for some reason… but at the end of the day... it doesn't matter. For Insomnia, I'm only an immigrant. I'm fine here, but ... sometimes it's not enough, you know?"

Luna felt her heart ache looking at how serious he was under the moving lights of the city outside the car.

Nyx continued,"I need to start a new life. When Galahd was destroyed and I lost my family, I arrived here as a desperate teenager with no real purpose or hope. These years as an immigrant in Insomnia changed me. I took notice of a lot of things. I mourned. I grew up. I feel ... ready to be someone, to start something that I can call 'mine'."

"You mean ... A family?" That idea surprised Luna in a pleasant way. She didn't expect Nyx to be one to look for something similar.

"I don't know yet. A family. A house. A job. Whatever it is, I think I’ll find it in Galahd, not here. Crowe and Libertus agree, so hopefully we can go back together."

Luna got lost in watching his profile. He was so thoughtful while imagining a future far from Insomnia. Far from her, too.

"You will be missed."

Nyx was caught by surprise and smiled. "You're talking like I'm gonna die."

"No, it's just that... I mean. People will miss you." Nyx couldn't help but finding her struggle with expressing herself quite funny and more endearing than he wanted to admin.

"People, who?"

"The Kingsglaive department will miss you."

"Really? And what do you know?" he asked with half a laugh.

"... I will miss you."

And this made Nyx's heart stop. He ceased his laughing, holding his breath and looking at her. He tightenedhis fingers on the wheel, almost crushing it under his suddenly nervous touch. The silence falling inside the car after the jovial vibes felt strange and made Luna blush hard.

"You wouldn’t,” Nyx whispered, and such a sentence felt more like a plea than a statement.

"I would."

Nyx found something to do on the car's panel. He turned on the AC, he controlled the buttons of the engine, everything to avoid continuing that conversation.

Luna moved in her seat, trying to become invisible, so embarrassed that she would have preferred to die. What was she even thinking when she said that?

Once they entered the Citadel and arrived in the court of the palace, she jumped out without saying a word.

"Princess!" Nyx called, running after her. He took her by the hand so she had to stop and turned around. Nyx's eyes were still hesitating when they fingers entwined, but this didn't stop him from delicately kissing her hand. "See you tomorrow, ok? You're gonna do that jump, I'm sure of it."

Luna nodded, but the rest of her body was still paralyzed, watching him in awe.

She wasn't able to sleep that night.

#lunyx #lunafreya nox fleuret #nyx ulric #final fantasy xv #kingsglaive

[ncislaficexchange]

Blackmail is Such an Ugly Word

A/N: Dear reader, I hope you enjoy this fic. Please know that a lot of love, frustration and often confusion went into this story. Based on your preferences I focused on Densi (and Deeks), but also the team as friends to both Kensi and Deeks. I hope you won’t mind my creative interpretation of your preferences. It was done with the very best of intentions.

This story occurs about six months from the season eight finale. Happy reading!

***

Kensi raises an eyebrow, catching Deeks’ gaze as he sidles into the mission, once again just a few minutes short of being late. His lips twitch in what she supposes is meant to be a smile, but it turns into more of a grimace. The twisted feeling in her stomach amps up another notch with each step he takes.

“Cutting it a little short, aren’t we, Deeks?” Callen observes mildly though his gaze is just as focused on the detective. She makes an effort to look away which is difficult given Deeks’ exhausted appearance, his posture slumped in a way that spells defeat. If not for the presence of Sam and Callen she’d be pulling him into her arms as she does every night when he returns home.

“Yeah, my mom is, uh, having some issues with her landlord and asked me for some advice,” Deeks says distractedly. Technically it’s true, though that particular call had come three days ago at 10pm rather than this morning.

“I didn’t know your license was current,” Sam comments, as though he has an actual interest in discussing Deeks’ former career. Kensi wonders just how much they know since neither he nor Callen has called them on the strange schedule Deeks is keeping of late or the guilt she knows is lurking in the back of their eyes.  

“I’m afraid Deeks’ extracurricular activities will have to wait,” Eric announces, arriving at the top of the stairs and cutting Deeks’ reply short. He hooks a thumb behind him, pulling a face. “You’re needed in OPS.”

As the others make their way upstairs, Kensi pulls Deeks to the side, giving him a concerned look.

“What happened? You were gone all night again,” she hisses. The chance that Hetty might materialize behind them at any moment has her glancing around nervously. If she doesn’t end up with an ulcer by the end of this whole mess, she it will be a miracle.

Deeks heaves a sigh, closing his eyes briefly as he shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs, his voice just as low as Kensi’s though it appears to be due to exhaustion rather than fear of discovery. Kensi cants her head, questioning his decision to be silent; he’s been pretty good about filling her in and she really doesn’t want him to start hiding things again. “It’s not that,” Deeks adds quickly, seeing her look. “It’s just getting a lot more complicated than I thought it would, which is saying something, and I don’t have the time to explain it now.”

“Is there a problem, Miss Blye?” They both school their expressions as Hetty’s voice drifts down from above though Kensi’s certain that the older woman isn’t fooled in the least.

“No, we’re coming,” Deeks answers for both of them. “I just wanted to tell Kensi about Monty’s vet appointment.” As far as excuses go, it’s fairly believable; Monty has had his share of ill health in the last few months. At the very least it’s better than chronic plumbing problems. Hetty merely accepts it with a slight nod of her head, waiting for them to start up the steps.

***

“We can’t keep this up,” Kensi says in a low voice an hour later. Feeling ridiculously covert, she checks over her shoulder once more before following Deeks into the burn room. Deeks comes to rest against the nearest available surface, his posture slumping again as he brings both hands to his eyes and lets out an unsteady breath. In an instant Kensi’s irritation is gone with the obvious distress she sees in every fiber of his body.

“Baby,” she murmurs and closes the small distance between them to wrap her arms around his broader frame. After a moment’s hesitation she feels his arms lift and settle on her back, his head lowering until his nose is burrowed in her neck. Keeping a soothing rhythm Kensi gently runs her fingers over his muscles, feeling a collection of knots that are courtesy of the ridiculous amount of tension he’s been under recently. His ribs are slightly more prominent as she slides her hands up his sides and along with the loser fit of his clothes, it’s just another item on her list of worries.

“I’m sorry about this,” he says into her neck. “I know I keep saying it, but I never wanted you to have to deal with this crap.” Placing a hand on his jaw, she lifts his head and makes sure she has his full attention before she speaks.

“I want you to stop apologizing because this is not your fault,” she says firmly, punctuating the statement with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t told Whiting–” he begins miserably. It’s an argument that Kensi has heard far too many times to count in the last few months and she treats it with the same level of import as always.

“Deeks, it’s not your fault that Whiting is an opportunistic, blackmailing hag.” Deeks blows out a shaky breath that might just have a hint of a laugh at her unbiased summation. “The point is that you saved her life and told her the truth. And if she can’t see that you’re an honorable man who was just trying to protect a vulnerable girl, then there’s something wrong with her.” Deeks nods, looking even more overwhelmed by her unfailing support.

“Now, I’m not saying that things wouldn’t be a lot easier if you hadn’t told her…” she continues, eliciting the closest thing she’s seen to a grin from him in a long time.

“Yeah, next time I’ll have to remember that,” he says almost playfully. “I love you,” he adds. Lifting a hand, he mirrors her own position, carefully cradling Kensi’s jaw as he brings their lips together.

“I love you too,” Kensi breathes against his lips, slipping a hand up his neck and into the hair curling around the edge of his collar. He’s never let it get this long since she’s known him and though she doesn’t exactly hate it, she can’t help but associate it with his current predicament.

Abandoning all pretense, Kensi tugs at Deeks’ arm, leading them farther into the room until her back hits an unknown piece of equipment. Deeks presses his body tight against hers, his weight welcome after the uncertainty of the night apart. She moans slightly as Deeks angles his head to deepen the kiss and drops a hand to her hip.

The creak of the door opening stills Deeks’ hand which had been slowly creeping towards the edge of her bra.

“I bet they’re in here.” Callen’s voice says, his head popping around the door. “Ha, told you they wouldn’t be in the showers,” he adds to whoever is on the other side of the door before taking in the still embracing couple in front of him.

“I thought you guys had a rule,” he says with vague interest as he and Sam, closely followed by Nell and Eric trail through the door.

“Didn’t really work out for us,” Deeks explains as Kensi gives him one last squeeze and steps back slightly. She keeps one arm low on his back, silently supporting him.

“Right. So you want to tell us what’s going on? Cause I gotta tell you, Sam’s not taking all the secrecy too well.”

“I wasn’t the one who wanted to show up at their house at 12:30 AM when and I quote ‘their guard will be down’ and demand answers,” Sam says irritably. Rolling her eyes, Nell cuts in before either of the older agents can continue their bickering.

“What they’re trying to say, and doing a really bad job of it, I might say, is that we’re worried and we want to know what’s going on. So, who wants to start before Hetty actually comes looking for us?”

“It’s personal and doesn’t need to affect anyone else here,” Deeks answers shortly. Withholding a sigh of exasperation, because she knows he’s just doing what he thinks is best, Kensi squeezes Deeks’ hand briefly until he looks down at her.

“We should tell them,” she says, ignoring the four pairs of curious eyes watching them with various levels of suspicion and interest.

“Kens, you know they can’t get involved in this.” Deeks nods his head in the rest of the team’s direction as he speaks. “No offense, but subtlety isn’t really NCIS’ strong point. And I really don’t need you guys rushing in with guns blazing.”

“Ok, first of all, I personally am very offended,” Callen says, earning another eye roll, this time from Sam. “Second, when has going solo ever worked for any of us?” There is an overabundance of agreement to Callen’s comment, particularly from Sam who seems to have forgotten his own forays into rogueness. Even if we can’t be directly involved, at least will know why you look like you’ve gone one-on-one with a character from The Walking Dead.”

“I do not look that bad,” Deeks mutters, as though it’s the relevant part of the conversation.

“Your eyes have been bloodshot for a week,” Callen rebuts remorselessly. Behind him, Sam makes an irritated noise, pushing past the others so he’s standing directly in front of Kensi and Deeks.

“Deeks, we all know you can counter-argue in your sleep, but why don’t you just make it easy on everyone and spill? Callen’s right, you are exhausted. Maybe it’s not effecting you yet, but the way you’ve been overextending yourself is gonna get you hurt. So just tell us what’s going on with LAPD.” Nell makes a harsh hissing sound.

“You weren’t supposed to mention that,” she murmurs as though she won’t be heard from three feet away.

“You’ve been spying on Deeks,” Kensi says flatly. She shares a glance with her partner who looks equally ticked off at the prospect. No matter their good intentions, they should have known that following Deeks would not go down well. Nell merely shrugs her minute shoulders. As if to say, ‘what did you expect?’

“Well, both of you really,” Eric adds helpfully. “You see, we didn’t know if both you were involved or just Deeks.”

“Awesome,” Deeks mutters under his breath. Kensi gently squeezes his hand again, reminding him that he’s not alone in this. She knows how much he wanted to keep his dealings with Whiting a secret and fears the repercussions if any one of them knows too much or became involved.

“If you still don’t feel like telling us,” Callen begins in an offhand tone, “we can always go to Bates and ask him what’s going on,” Kensi glares at Callen, angry that he would threaten Deeks, when he’s feeling so cornered and overwhelmed.

“Yeah, and I’ll let slip who really knocked over that rare plant Hetty has in her office,” Deeks says after a moment, not to be outdone in the blackmail department. Grabbing Deeks’ shoulder, Kensi turns him so their bodies are facing away from the others, giving the illusion of privacy.

“Deeks, we need to tell them something or they’re not going to give up,” she murmurs. Deeks instantly tenses up as expected, giving her a look of betrayal. “We knew it might come to this. And imagine the trouble they could cause if they think their helping somehow, but only end up making it worse?”  

He sighs, the sound short and exhaustive, running a hand through his hair and turns back to glance at the four people openly watching their every move. Kensi catches Sam’s eye, hoping he’ll have some sense of the added pressure this is putting on Deeks. He nods discreetly and casts a brief glance at his cohorts before clapping his hands together like a coach gathering his wayward players.

“Alright guys, why don’t we give these two a little time to sort things out?” he suggests. Eric and Nell both take a look at his will-not-budge expression and easily agree, scurrying from the room while Callen is less cooperative. Sam places a large hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly steering his partner towards the doorway, he turns the knob, pausing briefly after Callen exits.

“We’ll be looking into Lieutenant Madison’s acquaintances when you get things figured out,” he informs them, clearly insinuating that while he’s giving them a moment to talk without an audience, copping out isn’t an option.

“I’d like to go on record as saying this is a terrible idea,” Deeks says the moment Sam leaves the room. The comment is Deeks through and through, but his tone lacks any of his usual humor and his face is decidedly grim. What she wouldn’t do to make it disappear and have him home again without this miserable worry and threat hanging over both their heads.

“Baby,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms back around him and pulling his head into the crook of her neck. “You know we can’t keep this up. They’re going to find out one way or another and like you said, we won’t be able to control what they decide to do.” Deeks shudders into her neck, the motion working its way straight up his spine and into Kensi. Comfortingly, she runs her fingers through his hair.

“If I tell them what I’m doing for Whiting then I’ll also have to explain what she has on me,” he says, bringing up a point that has been discussed multiple times in the past few weeks and caused quite a bit of dissension.

“Deeks, you told me you thought Sam and Callen already knew, chances are they do. And even if this is a revelation for them, you’ve stood by them without question when their actions have been less than by-the-book,” Kensi reminds him. He has a terrible habit of believing that he’s better off alienating people and having them think the worse than know the truth. There’s good reason for his secrecy she knows, but she also knows their team and whole heartedly believes they will stand behind Deeks.

“What if it changes how they treat me?” he asks, finally voicing his main fear, the same one he later admitted to Kensi after confessing about killing Boyle. “You know how long it took everyone to accept me…” shaking his head as though he can’t quite voice such thoughts, he ducks his head and presses his forehead against Kensi’s shoulder. “I don’t think I could take that,” he finally murmurs in a creaking voice. He sounds so unsure and vulnerable, terrified of losing what he considers his family.

“I know you’re scared,” she whispers into his ear. “I am too. But you can’t keep this up, you know you can’t. You’ve barely slept in three weeks, you’re not eating and you’re so tense I’m worried you’re going to have an aneurysm at any moment. And I don’t care how many times you tell me, I know that what Whiting has you doing is dangerous.”

“Going on the run is sounding better and better,” he mutters into her neck. “We don’t even need to have ice cream.”

“I will buy you an entire gallon of that expensive organic stuff with the free-range milk,” Kensi offers as though she’s compromising a visit to the doctor with a reluctant child rather than the reveal of Deeks’ deepest secret.

“I thought they only sold it in pints,” he points out, his words still muffled by her skin. Kensi snorts but doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to make his decision and silently holding him as tightly as she can. No matter how much it hurts her to see him in this situation, she knows that the decision to tell the others is fully his to make.

“Ok,” Deeks says a few minutes later, lifting his head from Kensi’s shoulder. It takes a bit of restraint not to pull him back to the safety of her embrace. He sniffs loudly and blows out a short breath. “Let’s do this,” he says in a determined voice.

“I am so proud of you,” Kensi tells him, overcome by a sudden wave of emotion. “Don’t think for a minute that I don’t realize how hard this is for you or the possible implications. I just want you to be able to live without anything hanging over your head.” Deeks nods, now reassuring her.

“I know,” he says simply. His gaze is filled with love as he leans down to kiss Kensi, his hand pressing hard against the back of her head for a moment before he lets go.

***

The rest of the team waits by their desks as promised with a collection of files open before them which seem to be mostly for appearance sake. Eric and Nell have commandeered Kensi and Deeks spots momentarily and appear to be in the middle of a somewhat heated conversation when they arrive, fingers linked.

“You know, it’s rude to talk about people when they’re still in the building,” Deeks interrupts, bringing an abrupt halt to the bickering. Callen turns with an expectant expression, not bothering to comment while Sam’s gaze flicks between Kensi and Deeks linked hands and up to their faces. He nods once in admiration as he notes the resolve in Deeks’ posture. Despite the snarkiness it’s obvious that he’s made a decision.

Deeks turns his head slightly, glancing at Kensi out of the corner of his eye. She may have pushed him to be open with the team, but she knows that ultimately what he tells them and how much is his decision. With that thought in mind she squeezes Deeks’ hand and waits.

He clears his throat once, not to gain attention because everyone is already completely focused on him, but rather to gain some sort of control in this less than desirable situation.

“Ok, I know I owe you all the truth, but before I tell you anything I need you to promise me that you won’t try to interfere. Even if you think it’s the right thing to do,” Deeks says, earning a few looks of surprise that the confession hasn’t begun though Sam nods once more with a mixture of approval and understanding. “Things are already terrible and bringing NCIS into it will only make it ten times worse.” When he receives four various signs of assent, he blows out a short breath and continues,

“About six months ago, Detective Whiting contacted me asking if I wanted to get coffee and talk.”

“Ok, I didn’t see that coming,” Nell comments. “She’s the last person I expected you to be having a tete-a-tete with.”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly my first choice either,” Deeks says dryly, his dislike of Whiting momentarily overcoming his worry and allowing a hint of sarcasm through. He sucks in a long breath, immediately releasing it and rolls his shoulders as though psyching himself up for a difficult pitch. “Beverages aside, Whiting also had another request.”

“What did she want, Deeks?” Sam asks gently.

“To help her investigate Bates without him knowing. She thinks he’s dirty,” he responds in one rushed breath as though getting it out before he can stop himself. A little bit of tension eases from his shoulders with that first hurdle behind him.

“How does she think you can help?” Nell asks, her brows furrowed. “I mean, you haven’t really worked any LAPD cases in like, what, 4 or 5 years.”

“Whiting thinks Bates likes and at the very least, trusts me, which means he’ll be less suspicious if I’m snooping.”

“Like that worked so well last time,” Nell says under her breath.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing for the last 2 months,” Callen surmises. “Spying on Bates.” He pauses to share a look with his partner that clearly says, ‘I told you so’ but Sam just shakes his head, pointing his chin in Deeks’ direction.

“I do what I can when I’m not needed here, although Whiting’s been pushing for me to spend more time at the station,” Deeks allows. He follows the statement up with a deep sigh, likely thinking of the arguments this particular point has brought on. The first time he’d come home after a full 48 hours without contact Kensi had been sick with worry which quickly morphed into anger when Deeks had shrugged off her concern with an exhausted and evasive shake of his head. It feels good that someone else knows, even if there’s nothing they can do about it.

“For my cover, Whiting spun this story that I’m actually investigating two other questionable cops in the precinct. Bates things Hetty agreed to let me help out in a show of interagency cooperation,” he adds. Eric snorts, speaking for the first time since they entered the room.

“Seriously?” At the teams’ questioning looks he clarifies. “If Bates actually believes that then he doesn’t know Hetty very well. Plus Deeks has a clause in his NCIS contract that says she has to sign off on any LAPD run operations. There’s no way Hetty would just ok an op like this without talking to Bates at all.” Eric’s voice holds a note of irritation and perhaps worry at what he clearly feels is a poorly thought out cover story.

Deeks shrugs. “Bates has so much going on right now with demands for more cops, increased accountability, not to mention the constant threat of budget cuts that I doubt he can remember what he had for breakfast let alone whether or not he signed a paper with my name at the top,” he explains, a touch of defensiveness leaking through on behalf a man he has grown to respect.

“Well, that answers the ‘what’, now how about the ‘why’?” Nell prompts, ever the pragmatic. “Clearly Detective Whiting is blackmailing you for something.” Deeks flinches as though Nell’s words have physically hurt him. Making a soothing noise, Kensi smooths her hand down his back, past the point of caring what anyone thinks of her hands-on approach.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” she says, instantly jumping to his defense. It earns five varied looks of surprise and interest, but again, she finds she doesn’t care what they think.

“Nell didn’t say he did, Kensi,” Sam reminds her softly. Only slightly mollified, Kensi sends a sweeping glare around the room. She had promised Deeks that the team would be supportive and while they’re not exactly accusing him of anything, the leading questions have her on edge. Just as she’s taking a step forward, readying another barb, Deeks interrupts.

“Before you offer any more help or implicate yourselves in this gigantic mess, you should know that Whiting is blackmailing me and her charges against me were legitimate. I did kill Francis Boyle. I could go into all kinds of explanation and excuses, but I’ll just stick with: Boyle hurt Tiffany and I stopped him from ever having that opportunity again,” Deeks says in a purposeful, even and unapologetic tone. He doesn’t pause once in his explanation. There’s a rather disappointing lack of response when he finishes; no one gasps or looks horrified, confirming their theory that at least certain members know. Kensi is perhaps the most surprised by Deeks’ sudden reveal.

“Feel better?” Callen asks simply.

“That’s a lot of weight to carry for a lotta years, it’s good to have it out in the open,” Sam says gravely, but sounding once again oddly proud at the same time.

“You don’t care?” Deeks asks, his voice caught between disbelief, perhaps a little anger and definitely a lot of shock.

“Babe, don’t push it,” Kensi instructs quietly. Although she says it somewhat jokingly, there’s absolutely no reason so invite trouble. She’s feeling a little light-headed herself and is struggling not to pepper their team with questions.

Callen takes one look at Deeks’ slightly pale complexion and bewildered expression and hooks a foot around a spare chair, sliding it towards the other man.

“You look like you could use this,” he says with a smirk. Deeks wordlessly sinks into it, looking immensely grateful for the support before Sam starts speaking again.

“I think we all understand the kind of secret you’ve been keeping, we’ve all had them,” Sam explains, gesturing at each person in turn. Somehow Kensi sincerely doubts that any of them have felt the pressure of knowing they actually killed someone, but she accepts the pardon without question. “We know the kind of man you are and the kind of man Francis Boyle was. That’s enough. You protected an innocent person, I would hope the rest of us would do the same given the situation.”

Beside her, Kensi sees Deeks’ lip caught between his teeth as he attempts to deal with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. She know that the five people currently staring at him with varying levels of fondness and exasperation aren’t helping any so she leans down to wrap her arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of his head.

“And you all feel the same way?” she feels the need to ask. Eric and Nell have both been fairly silent and she wants to be completely certain there’s no hesitation on their part. Nell appears slightly hurt by the implication but it’s Eric who speaks up, his voice quiet and as serious as she’s ever heard it.

“I had a chance to see Steadman’s work firsthand and I trolled through so many reports against him and Boyle that…Tiffany was lucky you were there for her,” he concludes.

Deeks shakes his head. “I don’t…I don’t even know what to say,” he stutters, his voice horse. He presses his hand tight against his mouth, as though he can keep the overwhelming emotion inside by sheer force.

“That’s a first,” Callen chimes in, drawing a derisive snort from his partner. They give Deeks a few minutes to compose himself, the chatter starting back up while Kensi rubs his shoulders. While she greatly appreciates their support, she can’t help but wish for another minute alone.

“So what have you found out?” Nell asks “Is Bates guilty or is he the most unlucky man when it comes to IA investigations? Second to you, of course.”

“I don’t know. All I can tell is that Bates has been running a lot of undercover operations and working to weed out some bad apples. It means he doesn’t particularly care that I’m working on Whiting’s little project. But in order to back up my cover story, I actually have to spend time around these guys, which also means the occasional shift as back up. It’s not exactly easy to hang out with an LAPD lieutenant as it is, seems kind of suspicious and all, but now my time is just about cut in half.”

“You said you were making progress,” Kensi admonishes quietly.

“I didn’t want you to worry and compared to how things were going the first couple weeks, I am making progress,” he explains.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Callen points out, catching on to his obvious reluctance to implicate his superior. “Come on Deeks. You’ve never had a problem saying it like it is before this. If you think Bates might be involved in something, then spill.”

“Look, all I can tell is that there’s been a lot of compromised covers and operations in the last few years, but whether or not Bates is involved in some way, I don’t know. I got a chance to look over some paperwork from a botched job and it seems like Bates did everything by the book,” Deeks explains tiredly.

“You said Whiting mentioned something about finding evidence while investigating you,” Kensi reminds him suddenly, bringing up a bit of information that had obviously slipped through Deeks’ already overcrowded mind. “Do you know what that evidence was?” He shakes his head, dispelling Kensi’s momentary excitement.

“No clue…I’d need to see the files but I have restricted access to all files from my case. But the only way I can think Bates could possibly be involved is if Whiting found out he helped me bust out of LAPD and that’s not something to start this kind of investigation over,”

“Maybe he enacted a little…social justice himself,” Nell suggests slowly, her voice rising higher as she speaks. Perhaps she’s worried that Deeks’ will lash out or react in some other negative way, but he merely shakes his head.

“Bates has way too much control for that.”

“So what’s your plan moving forward?” Callen asks.

“I don’t know, man. What I do know is that I can’t let it interfere with my work with NCIS or Hetty will decide to intervene, but I also can’t put Whiting off any more than I have,” Deeks says and Kensi is disappointed to notice that any positive effects of the last half hour have completely disappeared, leaving his mood as despondent as ever.

“I might be able to help with that,” Nell slips a hand into the pocket of her cardigan and removes a familiar looking object. “It’s not exactly the cavalry, but it should help if you get into trouble,” she says, extending the earwig in Deeks’ direction. He stands and silently takes it, his expression unreadable.

“Nell, I appreciate this but…”

“I set it to its own private frequency so no one else should be able to access it unless they’re already linked in and an agent-in-distress alert will be sent to all of our phones if you have it turned on and use the distress word three times in a row,” she continues, talking over Deeks’ protest and then again at his reluctant expression. “This is more important than anything Hetty can do if and when she inevitably finds out. I am not going to let you play Whiting’s fall guy.” Her expression is so fierce and determined that Deeks would be stupid to attempt further protest.

“Alright then,” he murmurs with a very faint smirk.

“And um, if Hetty mentions something about a two week long LAPD training seminar, just go along with it?” Eric adds, looking just as fierce as Nell and somewhat pleased with himself. “That should give you a little more time to investigate without taking a graveyard shift.”

“Do I even want to know how you generated that memo?” Deeks asks, looking overwhelmed by the generosity of their friends.

“Nope,” Eric answers immediately and definitively. “Suffice it to say that the course coordination office had a little snafu with their database.”

“Guys, we really don’t want you to get in any trouble,” Kensi reiterates. “This doesn’t even come close to a sanctioned operation and you’re using NCIS resources, hacking LAPD…” she trails off, letting the mounting pile of minor offenses sink in. Sparing a glance at Deeks, she worries for a moment that she’s overstepped her bounds, but he’s nodding in agreement.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate everything you guys are doing, have done, but I need you to understand that Whiting is not afraid of bringing down anyone who gets in her way. She’s already threatened to bring Kensi in for questioning which is part of the reason why I haven’t pushed back. And she’s knows it.” Deeks says, glancing at Kensi in particular. He knows that this is a sore spot with her; she hates being a weakness of any sort.

“If we don’t do anything, then she’s just gonna get her claws in deeper and deeper, Deeks,” Callen points out, sounding frustrated by the constant requests to stand down. “You need to show her that she doesn’t hold all the power.”

“Well right now she does,” he snaps back, blowing out a short breath a second later and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whiting’s smart and plays mostly by the book from what I can tell. If she’s been blackmailing other officers into helping her, there’s no evidence. Not that I haven’t been looking when I have the chance. It’d have to be pretty damning though and I’d have to be sure she had absolutely no conclusive proof I was guilty.”

“Then we have a plan: Nell and Eric, find something on Whiting that is worthy of counter-blackmail without being too obvious, Deeks will keep Whiting happy and the rest of us will make sure he doesn’t get himself arrested again or killed,” Callen sums up, wearing a self-satisfied expression.

A shrill beeping interrupts suddenly, the sound drawing everyone’s gaze to Eric’s right pocket.

“Ah, Hetty’s just left the Commissioner’s office,” he explains, silencing the alarm. “We better get to ops.”

“We’ll go with you,” Sam says, getting up from his chair.

“But there’s nothing for us to do in ops,” Callen complains, earning an eye roll from his partner.

“We’ll find something for you to do,” Sam retorts while tugging a mildly resisting Callen away from his desk. On the way past, Sam squeezes Deeks’ shoulder. “I’m sure Nell has lots of files that need to be destroyed.”

“Do you ever get the feeling we’re not in control of our lives?” Kensi asks as they watch the pair argue their way up to ops.

“Every single day since I met you,” he jokes.  

***

Later that day, well night really, Kensi is driving home, one hand on the steering wheel and the other grasping Deeks’. His body is angled away from her, forehead propped against the passenger window. She might think that he’s angry with her if it weren’t for the almost undetectable brushing of his thumb across her knuckle.

They’re driving home together for the first time in over a week and despite Deeks’ solemn mood, she can’t help but feel a touch of contentment.

“What did Whiting say when you told her you weren’t coming in tonight?” she asks, partially out of curiosity but also hoping that it will draw Deeks out of his own thoughts.

“I don’t know. Left a voicemail,” he answers in short, clipped sentences. After a few more moments of silence he slowly shifts himself around until he’s facing her, a groan or two slipping out when his legs get caught in the small space. “I thought about what Callen’s said earlier and he’s right,”

“Wow, I’m pretty sure that’s the firsts time those words have ever left your mouth,” she jokes, pleased when it earns her a brief smirk. Deeks brings her hand to his lips and presses a soft, lingering kiss there.

“Well, today’s been full of surprises, so why not?” he murmurs. “I can’t let Whiting have this kind of control over me. If I make it through this investigation with my badge, and that’s a big if, she’s still going to have Boyle to hang over my head. There’s nothing to stop her from using me as her personal mole indefinitely.”

“So what are you going to do?” Kensi asks, internally relieved that he’s being sensible. Deeks sighs, letting go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. She misses the contact immediately and once again realizes how little time they’ve had together recently.

“Figure I’ll start with any officers she’s investigated and look for evidence of misconduct…anything that will give me an edge,” He shrugs, his expression bleak as he goes back to watching the darkened blurs that represent trees and bushes.

“Well I’m down for any plan that gets Whiting off our backs for good,” Kensi says lightly although deep down she’d rather approach the IA detective in a more hands-on manner. When she’d heard that Whiting had been shot, she’d been sympathetic, putting aside her dislike. Any compassion had evaporated the second Whiting had approached Deeks with her proposition.

“I need you to do something for me,” Deeks says suddenly, still staring out the window.

“Of course,” she agrees immediately in her eagerness to help. It’s only a moment later that Kensi recognizes the guilt and hesitation in his voice for what it is. “You’re going to say something really stupid now, aren’t you,” she predicts. Deeks presses his lips together.

“You have to stay away from Whiting and LAPD this time. I don’t care what she does or says but I don’t want her to have another opportunity to threaten you or force you into testifying against me. If you think it’s bad now, it’s probably only going to get worse and you can’t play into her hands.”

“If you remember, it didn’t work last time she tried,” Kensi points out, her mouth dry at what she things Deeks is suggesting. He’s already pushed her away enough as it is and she’s terrified he’ll try something really stupid, like putting off their engagement.

Deeks makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, only because you were abducted and Whiting got shot,” he retorts. Pulling into the driveway, Kensi puts the car in park before throwing up her hands in exasperation.

“Fine, I won’t provoke her. But if I find out she’s putting you in danger or risking your career, I will not just stand by.” Deeks nods at her fierce words. “We’re partners,” she continues in a softer voice. “Here at home, at work, wherever, whatever we do, no matter how many IA Detectives come after you. I’m not going to abandon you and there is no way in hell I’m letting this force us apart. I said it earlier and I’ll say it again since you apparently are experiencing short term memory loss: “I love you and I am not going anywhere, ever.” Deeks sniffs a couple times, refusing to meet her gaze.

“This has the potential to get a lot worse,” he whispers again.

“Only if you try and go off by yourself like an idiot,” she replies stubbornly. She watches Deeks’ face in his window, waiting for him to react with his typical wit and when he doesn’t, she grabs his, kissing it in the same place he had hers. His head falls then, that guilty, miserable expression she hates so much back again. She’d give anything to see him smiling and laughing once more.

“This isn’t fair,” he whispers. Scooting over in her seat until the console impedes further movement, she places her palms on Deeks’ cheeks, ignoring his mild resistance. She gently pulls his forehead down to meet hers and relishes the moments when he finally leans into her touch.

“None of the crap we’ve been through in the last eight years has been fair,” she reminds him. “But we’ve always made it through together and this is no different.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this one,” he admits on a sigh, the sounds making Kensi’s chest throb. “Even if I find evidence against Whiting, it might not be enough or in time to be go any good.

“We will,” she assures him. “We will. And when this is all over we are going to plan out wedding and get married and go on a ridiculously expensive honeymoon in the middle of nowhere, where Hetty won’t even be able to find us.” Deeks chuckles weakly at her fierce tone and nods his head again.

“Ok,” he agrees, leaning down until his lips meet Kensi’s, his hands clasping the back of her head to pull that much closer. He is exquisitely gentle as he eases her lips apart.

“I love you so much,” he breathes into her mouth. As they stumble from the car and through the front door, Kensi knows that one night of lovemaking isn’t going to fix anything. She’s desperate for the reprieve though and as Deeks presses her against their bedroom wall, she silently vows to do whatever it takes to keep him safe.

by - @ejzah

#2k17 ncisla fic exchange

[theraredreamer]

The Raven Cycle Fic: As the Time Flies

By @rarity-kasket

7.3k words, rated T

Summary: After an excruciatingly long summer vacation away from Henrietta, Noah Czerny is dying to get back. It's senior year at Aglionby, and Noah looks forward to giving the freshman hell, receiving his acceptance letter from Columbia University, and mostly, being with his friends, whom he hasn't seen in a month. He has it all planned out, but sometimes, life gets in the way and the best-laid plans go to waste. Follow Noah and the Gangsey as they navigate love, college applications, senior year of high school, and the surprising detours that life takes them.

Special thanks to @lydia-st-james for beta’ing this fic! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for being freakin’ amazing and giving such helpful feedback!

You can find the fic under the cut or click the link on Ao3. For everyone who read, liked, commented, and reblogged, thank you for joining the journey! You’re awesome! Enjoy!

August

Noah Czerny is dying.

Okay, he’s not actually dying, but it’s been an excruciatingly long month. All of his sighs and fidgeting finally exasperates his mother. “For god sakes, Noah Czerny, please just go if you’re going to act like this all evening.”

Noah grins and jumps up from the sofa quickly before he slings his arms around his mother, nuzzling his face into his mother’s hair. “You know I love you, right.”

“Yes, that is why you’re abandoning your poor mother.”

“I’m not abandoning you. I’ll be back when I want a home-cooked meal. Also when I run out of money. Speaking of money and food, we’re going to Nino’s--”

His mother rolls her eyes, but the faint twitch threatening to break into a smile betrays her. She pulls out her wallet and hands him a hundred bill. “Spend wisely.”

“Yep.”

“And I don't want to hear about you skateboarding inside the school this year.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Call me when you get settled in.”

“Will do!”

“And-”

Noah groans. “Mom! I gotta go.”

“Fine, fine. Go then.”

Noah kisses her cheek before running upstairs and grabbing his school uniform and other things he might need for the school year. On his way out, he regards his parent’s liquor cabinet as he calculates his chances of getting away with sneaking a bottle out with him. Looking around, Noah quickly snatches a bottle of tequila. Eh, not his favorite, but this will do.

“Mom is going to kill you when she finds out.”

Noah startles when he finds Adele standing behind him with her arms crossed over her chest, eying him judgmentally.

“Well, Mom isn’t going to find out because no one saw me.”

“Twenty dollars and I get to go in your room whenever I want,” she demands, holding out her hands with a smug grin.

“Fine,” He growls and reluctantly pulls out his wallet, stuffing a twenty in Adele’s little hands. Noah sighs before he ventures out to meet his friends at Nino’s.

Noah Czerny is dying to see his friends after a vacation with his family. Sure, there have been frequent Skype calls, text messages, and occasional pictures of Ronan flipping off the camera, but it’s not the same as being with them.

Driving on the familiar Henrietta roads, Noah thinks about the upcoming year. He looks forward to senior year, giving the freshman hell, pulling unproductive all-nighters, and slacking off after his acceptance from Columbia University arrives. But mostly, he looks forward to another year with his friends. The good old times…

When Noah enters, cheers erupt from their table and his chest swells happily. However, Noah stops short when something at the table draws his attention, and Noah quickly realizes that it’s not going to be like the good old times.

There is a new addition to their Nino's table.

Henry Cheng.

What in the fresh hell?

The presence of Henry Cheng sitting at their table stirs something uncomfortable inside Noah. He suppresses his growing irritation and confusion, but his attempt grows futile like trying not to scratch at a mosquito bite. Since when do they hang out with Henry Cheng?

Most of the dinner conversation revolves around their summer adventures with Cheng which only further annoys Noah. Apparently, over the summer break, Cheng invited them to one of his parties, and they’ve been a close-knit group since then. Internally, he knows the basis of his annoyance with Henry Cheng is irrational but he doesn’t care. He blames Cheng for the downhill start of his senior year.

School starts. Cheng eats lunch at their table now. He visits Monmouth on a regular basis and obsesses over ancient Welsh text with Gansey. He flirts with Blue all the time. He even shamefully flirts with Adam until Ronan threatens to punch Cheng’s teeth out. One day, Noah wistfully hopes.

Some days, Cheng even makes pathetic attempts to interact with him, but Noah minimizes these interactions with curt responses.

“Hey, what are you working on?”

“Work.”

“What kind of work?”

“Schoolwork.”

“Okay. Well, you seem very busy.”

“Very.”

“Oh. Then I'll let you get back to work.”

Henry walks away before Ronan leans over and whispers. “Noah, you’re kind of a dick to Cheng.”

“And your point is?”

“Nothing. I just really enjoy watching it.”

As each day passes, Noah faces the disappointing realization: Cheng is not going anywhere.

It’s going to be a long year.

September

Everything changes in September.

First of all, the easygoingness of August quickly evaporates as the first round of college application deadlines loom over Noah. He might die if he doesn’t get into Columbia University early-bird admission. Noah doesn’t enjoy dwelling on the thought of not making it into Columbia. When he thinks too much about it, his heart squeezes painfully tight in his chest and breathing feels difficult, like reading an instruction manual in a different language.

He signs up for the SAT as a final effort to boost his testing scores. His SAT scores are great, but Noah worries if they are Columbia standards. Between the stress of SAT prep, college essays, and school work, Noah’s stress levels worsen.

Gansey suggests SAT Prep sleepovers to help prepare, keeping the coffee flowing all night. Ronan provides excellent distraction by blaring loud music, pelting them with paper balls when he feels like they have been studying too long (so every five minutes), or showing them the latest trick he taught Chainsaw. Noah should be working, but most of the time, he indulges in Ronan’s distraction like seeing how many marshmallows they can fit in their mouths or creating a rap about three random household objects. Adam, the most studious of them all, actually takes these sleepovers seriously. Then there is Cheng, still around.

The morning of the SAT, Noah severely regrets not taking those sleepovers more seriously. His chest contracts so painfully that Noah worries he could be having a heart attack. Can a person have a heart attack at seventeen? However, despite whatever pain he feels, Noah forces himself to go to testing.

It surprises him to see Cheng there, reclining cooly in one of the seats. When he sees Noah, his dark eyes glimmer with recognition and his lips curve into a wide grin as if he had been waiting all morning just to smile at Noah. The genuine reaction takes Noah aback and sets his nerves at ease oddly enough.

“I didn’t know you were taking the SAT this morning.” Noah took his seat behind Cheng and the other boy turned, leaning forward on the desk between them.

“I decided at the last minute.”

“Oh.”

An awkward silence stretches between them as Noah realizes he doesn’t know how to interact with Henry Cheng. His thoughts inevitably circled back to the SAT.  Who even created the SAT, and why do they enjoy torturing kids? Whoever they are, Noah feels certain that they are burning in the deepest depths of hell somewhere.

“Are you nervous?” Cheng asks, breaking Noah from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Your fingers?” He points out the way that Noah’s fingers incessantly rap against the desk. Noah doesn’t realize that he is doing it and snatches his hands from the desk, stuffing them between his thighs.

“I could teach you a relaxation technique. I learned it in drama club,” Henry offers when Noah doesn't reply.

“You’re in drama club?” Noah snorts.

“President, actually.” Cheng smirks before he says, “Close your eyes.”

Skeptically, Noah closes his eyes before Cheng walks him through a series of breathing exercises. Surprisingly, it works. The tightness in his chest loosens, and Noah relaxes into his chair.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

They don’t talk much afterward because the exam begins, but after testing, Cheng suggests that they celebrate with ice cream, and Noah Czerny never refuses an invitation for ice cream. They stop at the only Dairy Queen in Henrietta where they discuss the tough SAT questions. Noah tells Cheng about his dream school, and in return, Cheng tells him about his planned gap year. Mostly, they share silly memes and laugh at their own stupid jokes.

As Cheng leans across the table and laughs inside this tiny Dairy Queen, Noah’s world expands a little wider to make room for Henry Cheng.

October

Noah laughs at Henry’s jokes now, and when Henry talks to Noah, he doesn’t force himself to smile and bare it. He actually enjoys talking to Henry now. So when Henry invites them all to his Halloween party, Noah happily accepts. Adam works that night. Ronan would rather saw off his own foot than party with Cheng. That leaves Noah third wheeling it with Gansey and Blue, who are convinced that they are doing a spectacular job at hiding their secret relationship that everyone knows about.  Blue goes as Vanellope Von Schweetz, while Noah dresses as the one and only Marty Mcfly.

Henry greets them at the door in a pale toga that leaves no room for the imagination, with a golden laurel wreath to accessorize. Noah openly admires his bare arms and legs. When Henry’s eyes meet his own, Noah’s gaze darts away.

“Oh Gansey, you’re Harry Potter!”

“No, I’m James.” Gansey points to his forehead. “See no scar?” It’s awkward for the rest of the night because everyone mistakes him for Harry Potter without a scar. After enough grumbling from Gansey, Blue grabs a sharpie and draws a lighting bolt on his face.

Noah isn't surprised when Blue and Gansey vanish off together in the middle of the night, leaving him alone. Well, he’s not alone because Henry keeps him company on the porch. Noah steals glances at Henry standing underneath the porch lamp, and his heart lurches strangely in his chest.

“Are you cold?” Noah swallows thickly, motioning to Henry’s exposed limbs before immediately stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“No. The breeze is nice.”

Henry gracefully swings his legs over the porch railing. His eyes study Noah’s face for a long time.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Henry continues to stare at him like a math equation in need of solving.

“You’re different.” Their shoulders brush together, and Noah’s breath catches.

“How?”

“I don’t know. You’re just are.” Henry crosses his arms over his chest. “For the longest time, I thought you hated me.”

Noah throws his head back and laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

When Blue and Gansey tell Noah that they are leaving, he reluctantly goes with them because Gansey is his ride. He doesn’t want to leave though, and he doesn’t want to stop talking to Henry. He wants to laugh at his stupid jokes and stare at his stupid smile and press his mouth to Henry’s exposed collarbone--

Oh.

November

After Halloween, Noah dreams frequently of Henry. Sometimes he dreams about Halloween night. He dreams about their bodies pressing against the porch railing, his mouth tasting the sweet heat of Henry’s mouth, his hands touching Henry everywhere, and Henry’s soft murmurs of approval in his ear. On those nights, Noah startles awake breathing heavily, damp and flushed. The next day, he can barely look Henry in the eyes.

Noah quickly picks up on the fact that he’s attracted to Henry Cheng, even if he’s not sure how Henry feels about him. Sometimes Henry flirts with him, but he also flirts with Blue and Gansey and Adam and the girl in the grocery and their school librarian. It’s hard to feel special when Henry charms anything with two legs.

His mother calls him a late November day to tell him his letter from Columbia University has arrived in the mail, After school, Noah immediately rushes home without an explanation to his friends. His chest coils tightly the entire drive home, and he is too impatient as he rips open the letter.

Dear Noah Czerny,

We appreciate your interest in Columbia University. However, admission to Columbia University has become incredibly competitive. After careful consideration of all aspects of your application, we are unable to offer you admission...

He doesn’t read the rest of the letter. He closes his eyes as tight as he can, paper clutched in hand, telling himself that he feels nothing and repeating it until he believes it. Surprisingly, it works.

When he has pictured this moment, Noah always imagines that his chest tightens so painfully that he would just collapse into himself upon seeing a rejection. Instead, something expands so wide inside him that he can hardly feel the crushing blow of disappointment. The world keeps turning. The seconds keep ticking by. He is still standing.

“It’s okay to feel sad or disappointed. You had your heart set on Columbia.” His mother sits beside him on the sofa, brushing back blonde strands from his face.

“It’s fine. It's no big deal.”

“Noah--”

Noah stands abruptly and moves towards the door.

“I’m going out skateboarding for a bit. Don’t wait up for me.” Noah cuts her off and doesn’t bother to stop when she calls out his name.

Noah actually commends himself on how well he is taking all of this, especially when he returns to Monmouth later that evening. He actually believes that he is fine until Henry shares that he’s going on a date with the local girl at the grocery store.

The news fractures something inside of Noah like water breaking through a collapsing dam, and he wants to put his face between his knees and scream as loud as he can. Instead, he sits there and quietly fades into the background.

Henry Cheng doesn't want him. He’s so stupid. That’s why Columbia doesn’t want him. What if no college wants him? He thinks. No college would ever want someone so pathetically stupid. It’s almost laughable how stupid he is to think he has a chance with Henry Cheng.

His chest constricts, and as he swallows, it feels like a stone trying to slide down his throat. He grips the arm of the chair in panic.

Oh god, he can’t breathe.  

He’s going to die.

A warm hand wraps around his arm. When Noah’s head snaps up, Ronan stands there looming over him with an inscrutable expression.

“Noah and I are going out.” That's all he says as he drags Noah outside with him.

It takes everything in Noah not to collapse in the dirt from the pain in his chest. He slumps over the trunk of the BMW, sucking in short, rapid breaths.

“You’re hyperventilating. Noah, you need to breathe. “

“I can’t,” Noah wheezes as his throat closes in.

“Yes, you can.”

Noah shakes his head as his lungs snatch for bits of air. His vision swims in and out of focus as he sags against the BMW onto his knees.

This is it. He’s dying.

“Hey, stay with me! Fuck!” Ronan snaps as he presses something into his hands and squeezes Noah’s fist hard around it. Ice cubes. The cold wetness shocks Noah back into reality, and his fist grips it tight until his hands are numb and red.

When Noah can finally breathe again, Ronan helps him off the ground and forces him into the BMW for a long drive. It’s everything he needs as he concentrates on the cool November air on his face and the thrill of speeding twenty-five miles over the limit.

Ronan parks on the side of the road and the thrill wears off. Noah’s emotions crash into him like a tidal wave, the sobs tearing out of him from nowhere. Ronan sits silently with him and lets him cry without judgment. Afterward, he feels foolish crying in front of Ronan, but a whole lot better. Noah stares at his reflection in the mirror. He’s a portrait of perfection with his damp eyes, his blotchy cheeks, and mucus dripping from his nose.

“If you ask me to, I’ll throw him out of a window,” Ronan offers.

Noah gives a watery laugh, cheeks growing warm and pink. Great, Ronan thinks he’s crying over a guy...which he kind of is. Of course, Ronan figured it out. They all probably know by now, including Henry.

“That won’t be necessary.” Noah wipes his nose on his sleeve.

“That’s fucking gross.”

“I know,” Noah sniffs and laughs again before he tries to rub his snotty sleeve on Ronan. They return back to Monmouth later that night. Ronan hovers over Noah, deflecting any concerned questions and glances.

“Where did you guys go so suddenly?”

“Haven’t you heard, Dick? We went to go see the traveling circus bear in town. Its name was called  Mind Your Own Fucking Business.”

Noah laughs. Gansey doesn’t find the joke as amusing as he does.

December

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas and the gang decides on a Secret Santa exchange. The catch: there is a fifteen dollar limit on all gifts. What Christmas gift cost fifteen dollars? That’s not a gift; it’s a donation. Noah picks Adam’s name from the hat. While there are a lot of things that he thinks would make Adam’s life easier, most of those things cost over fifteen dollars. He finally decides on those crystal salt lamps that clear negative air and help you sleep better at night. The lamp costs over fifteen dollars, but who’s going to know that Noah cheated?

They gather on the 22nd to exchange gifts as Gansey and Ronan are driving up to DC to spend Christmas with their respective families.  Adam gives Blue a container to store her sewing materials. Blue makes Ronan another leather band for his arm. Ronan gets Gansey painting supplies for his Henrietta replica. Gansey buys Henry a book on Venezuela. That leaves Henry as Noah’s Secret Santa.

He receives a Columbia University t-shirt, and much to everyone’s confusion, Noah laughs.

“Guys, I haven’t been completely honest recently,” Noah explains his recent rejection letter from Columbia University last month. Guilt-ridden, Henry insists on getting Noah a new gift.

“Really, let me buy you something else.”

“No,” Noah says when Henry reaches for the shirt, and he holds it protectively to his chest.“I mean, I can wear it to sleep.” Noah reasons with him, but Henry doesn’t look persuaded.

“Actually, I’m happy that this happened. Since this is a night of truths…” Gansey stands. “Jane and I have something to confess. We’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you guys.” His hand slides into Blue’s.

“Fucking finally! Did anyone else think they were going to keep this up forever?” Ronan exclaims, and everyone laughs except Gansey and Blue. Both are disappointed to learn that everyone already knows.

Noah ventures outside for some cool air while Adam pulls Ronan under the mistletoe, and Henry, Blue, and Gansey check on the Christmas cookies. It’s quiet until Noah hears the opening and closing of the door.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing,” Henry asks, climbing down the stairs.

“I don’t mind it. I like it. Thanks for the shirt, by the way.”

“Listen, you don’t have to pretend--”

Noah places a finger to Henry’s lips and silences him.

“I want the shirt. I’m not pretending or being nice.”

A soft smile curls on Henry’s lips before he reaches up and takes his hand.

“Your hands are freezing.” Henry rubs a bit of warmth into Noah’s fingers, and Noah silently thanks the universe for cold hands

“Your hands are warms.”

“Lucky for you. My body runs like a furnace.”

Noah shivers, but not because of the cold.

“You’re shaking.” Henry pulls Noah into his chest and wraps his jackets around the two of them. Warmth floods Noah’s chest like moonlight spilling into a dark room, and a swooping sensation sweeps through the pit of his stomach as he buries his face into Henry’s shoulder. Henry is warm, and Noah inhales a hint of vanilla as their bodies press together. As Noah’s palms spread across the width of Henry’s back, he feels Henry’s smile on his ear.

“Noah?” The heat of Henry’s breath on his ear is a religious experience, pure and immaculate and holy. Noah pulls his face from Henry’s shoulder, drawing his gaze up.

Noah’s tongue stills and coherent speech flees him under Henry’s awe-struck gaze. This must be what the Mona Lisa feels like when admirers venture from near and far to behold her beauty. However, there is one gaze she won’t receive tonight because it belongs all to him. Henry’s eyes drift down to his lips before gathering the courage to run his thumb gently across the shape of Noah’s mouth.

“Is this okay?” Henry tilts Noah’s face towards him.

“Yes,” Noah barely breathes, heart thrumming wildly in his chest as his eyelids flutter close.

“Hey guys, the sugar cookies are--oh.”

Damnit.

Something hits the floor and gives a loud clang. Henry and Noah jump apart, and Gansey kneels at the top of the stairs, scrambling to pick up scattered Christmas cookies. Everyone ventures outside to investigate.

“What happ--” Ronan examines the cookies on the ground. “Damn it, Dick, you had one fucking job!” By the expression Ronan wears, Noah would have thought Christmas isn’t coming this year.

Blue sighs as she helps Gansey collect the ruined cookies. “I guess someone is going to have to drive to the grocery store for more cookie dough.

“I can drive.” Noah volunteers partially because he feels responsible.

In the dairy section of the grocery store, Noah catches his reflection in one of the glass doors and reaches up to trace the shape of his lips where Henry once had.

“Hey, are you okay?” Blue’s question breaks him out of his trance as she tugs on his coat sleeve. “You have a weird look.”

Noah stares back at his reflection and smiles.

“I’m perfect.”

January

College letters arrive from everywhere, and soon his mailbox fills to the brim with letters. Noah receives offers from Berkeley, NYU, Duke, and other schools. He has choices. Meanwhile, Henry gets serious about his trip after graduation. He convinces Blue and Gansey to join him, and they even let Noah help them conduct research and suggest places.

“Did you know that in Spain, they have this festival where participants just have one huge tomato fight?”

Or:

“Maybe you should hold off the trip to India until the spring, then you can see the festival of colors.”

Noah finds that he loves planning their trip with them. He wants to do something similar in college. He might major in something that involves event planning or marketing.

“You’ll be amazing at that!” Henry cheers him on when he tells his friends.

Speaking of Henry, neither of them have addressed the incident that transpired between them. Instead, they dance and dance and dance in circles. Noah contents himself with stolen glances and lingering brushes.

One cold January morning, Noah discovers a note in his locker from Henry.

Feeling up to an adventure today? Let’s meet in the auditorium at lunch.

First and second period drags on, the time ticking by so slowly. Noah counts the seconds until lunch and then counts them again. When they are dismissed for lunch, Noah bursts out of his seat and sprints to the auditorium where he finds Henry standing on the bare stage.

“What are we doing?” Noah joins Henry on the stage.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

Henry leads him to a set of hidden staircases that leads to a basement filled with an abandoned menagerie of theatre sets and costumes.

“What is this?”

Henry shrugs in response as he blows the dust off of a tattered backdrop that appeared to be a poorly-painted carnival. “I guess this is where they use to store their old sets before the renovation. Some of this stuff has to be from the fifties… Just forgotten down here.”

“Yes, but why did you bring me down here? This seems like something Gansey would love.” Noah gestures around them. Henry smiled mischievously.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t bring Gansey down here with us.”

Noah opens his mouth to ask Henry what he means by that, but he loses his thought when Henry’s mouth falls open on his. Noah’s hands instinctively cling to the front of Henry’s shirt as Henry presses him into one of the old flats. Henry’s lips are everywhere, his face, his jaw, his neck, removing any trace of the Henrietta winter chill.

Noah receives a detention when he’s late to third period, but frankly, he has no fucks to give.

February

Noah discovers that Henry Cheng is obnoxious about Valentine’s day.  In the morning, he finds his locker filled with those tiny boxes of candied hearts. In first period, Henry hand delivers a rose bouquet and persuades the teacher to let him recite Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 in front of the class. It’s both adorably romantic and dreadfully embarrassing. At lunch, Henry wrangles members of the orchestra to serenade them during lunch.  

“Where is my orchestra quartet, Lynch?” Adam asks over the swell of quartet music.

Ronan flips him off.  “There is your orchestra quartet.”

“Charming,” Adam replies drily.

Just when Noah thinks Valentine’s is over, Henry waits by his car after school holding an assorted arrangement of colorful balloons. There are too many to count, and Noah worries the winds might carry Henry away if it blows any harder.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah…” Noah clutches the roses to his chest, and the grin on Henry’s face fades.

“But?”

“But?” Noah repeated.

“You’re wearing that face. That face that comes after but. You don’t like it.”

“No, no!” Noah reassures. “I love it, all of it, but it’s a lot...I mean it’s not a lot. I just--” Noah sighed. “I only got you a box of chocolate and a card. I feel like I should have tried harder.”

“It is a lot,” Henry admits. “Noah, you could literally give me a piece of lint for Valentine’s day, and I would be so happy. I wanted our first Valentine’s to be memorable.”

“Don’t worry. It will definitely be memorable. It was the first time someone recited Shakespeare to me in a public setting.”

Henry smirks. “I hope to be many firsts.”

Pink colors Noah’s cheeks. He looks up into the mass of colorful balloons, and a thought pops into his head.

”Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“How are we going to get all of these balloons into the car?”

“You know, I didn’t think that far ahead.”

March

When Adam’s Harvard letter arrives in the mail, they all gather at Monmouth together in support. Watching Adam read his letter proves to be stress-inducing as he reads with a neutral expression, making it difficult to decipher anything. When Adam glances up from the page Gansey questions him.

“Well, what does it say?”

“I’m in.”

The room explodes into cheers, and Adam appears stunned for a moment as if he doubts his own words. As the thought sinks in, Adam smiles. It’s so blindly bright and contagious that Noah cannot help smiling himself.

However,  no one is as excited about the news as Ronan, who strings together a colorful arrangement of cuss words.

“ Shit! Fucking hell, Parrish! You did it you fucking asshole!” Adam’s face flushes a dark scarlet under Ronan’s aggressive assaults of compliments.

“Having regrets about dropping out?” Noah asks. Ronan chucks a book at Noah, who ducks and dodges it before sticking out his tongue triumphantly.

“Keep talking, and I will throw you out the second-floor window.”

Gansey steps in quickly to mediate. “No! We had to rush Noah to the ER the last time. I had to lie about what really happened. So no, we’re not throwing people out of the window anymore.”

“That was a good night,” Noah reminisces fondly, and his gaze meets Ronan, who grins wickedly at him.

“Good times.”

“What is the matter with you two?” Gansey throws his hands in the air, and an impossibly inhuman noise escapes his mouth.  “Someone got hurt that night!”

“Stop being a fucking wet blanket,” Ronan dismissed.

Noah nods in agreement. “You’re always trying to stop us from having fun.”

Gansey looks up to the sky and sighs heavily as if he is praying to the universe to give him strength.

Blue and Henry exchange confused glances, waiting for someone to explain. No one ever does.

When the hype of Adam’s news wears off, Adam asks Noah if he has considered where he is going yet.

“I don’t know. I really like the program at NYU, but Berkeley would be a nice change of scenery.”

“Berkeley, that’s kind of far. Isn’t it?” Blue asks.

The aftermath of that statement is immediate as the realization strikes them. Eventually, they will have to part ways, and maybe they won’t always be friends.

Noah’s thoughts spiral. What’s going to happen after graduation? What happens to Henry and him? Were they even mature to handle a long distance relationship? A familiar pressure in his chest resurfaces and Noah squeezes his fist tightly and focuses on his nails cutting into his palm instead.

It helps.

April

It’s official. Noah will attend NYU in the fall. However, college seems so far away when prom steadily approaches. It’s all the boys of Aglionby talk about. What designer tux are they wearing? What local girls do they plan to invite? How to acquire alcohol for the after parties?

Gansey invites Blue to the prom. Henry asks Noah to prom during the curtain call of the school play. Adam goes stag as Ronan recently dropped out of Aglionby, but they all plan a sleepover at the Barn after the prom. Henry suggests Adam come to prom with Noah and him. Apparently, it’s always been Henry’s fantasy to go to prom with two handsome dates on each of his arms.

“You’re about to go to prom with zero handsome dates on your arm,”  says Noah, and Blue high fives him.

“Noah, you really shouldn’t talk about Adam and yourself like that,” Henry smirks at both Blue and Noah’s mouths fall open. Blue closes her mouth and glances at Noah.

“I’m going to need to take my high five back. That was pretty good.”

“I know it was a good burn, Blue. You don’t have to point it out.” Noah whispers fiercely

The night of prom, Noah is reminded of that saying: “You’ll never forget your prom night.” He’s not sure how true that statement is for everyone. It seems like an overgeneralization, but for some reason, he feels compelled to commit every minute to memory. Five, ten, fifteen years from now, he wants to remember the way that Blue and Henry rip it to shreds on the dance floor. The awkward three-person slow dance that he shares with Adam and Tad Carruthers because Adam doesn't want to be left alone with Tad. Gansey as he steps into the spotlight to receive his crown. He wants to remember it all.

He wants to remember this particular moment of Henry holding him close as they dance across the floor. Noah presses his face into Henry’s shoulder, and he feels the seconds fading into memories and slipping away from him like water pouring into his hand.

It’s not fair, he thinks.

Suddenly, there is not enough time in the world. The chest pains return sharp and fresh as ever, and Noah swallows thickly as he fists Henry’s jacket.

Keep it together.

Not here.

Not now.

Henry pulls back to get a get a good look at his face.

“Are you okay?”

Noah nods his head, but Henry doesn't look convinced.

Just focus on breathing.

Just breathe.

Breathe.

Breathebreathebreathebreathebreathebreathe.

Fuck.

His throat tightens. Noah tries to swallow but he can’t.  Oh god, he can’t swallow. He’s going to stop breathing soon. He feels it.

“Hey look at me,” Henry takes his face in his hands. Noah’s eyes dart to Henry, wide and frantic. “Close your eyes and envision the air you’re breathing in as blue.”

Noah follows his instruction as Henry walks him through the same breathing exercise he did when they took the SAT together. They stay like that until Noah feels steady, and his grip on the back of Henry’s jacket loosens. Henry whispers in his ear. “It’s crowded in here. Let’s get some fresh air.”

Noah lets Henry lead him out of the school. They sit on a bench outside. Noah closes his eyes and pulls his face into his knees as tightly as he can.

“Does that happen often?”

“Does what happen often?”

Henry gives him a look that says that Noah knows exactly what he is referring to.

“Sometimes.” Noah sits up a little, hiding his face in his hands before laughing humorlessly. “You probably think I’m pathetic.”

Henry reaches out, brushing his knuckles lightly against Noah’s cheeks, before gently tugging Noah’s hands from his face. “That’s not true.”

“I ruined the night.”

“That’s also not true. I’m still having a great--”

“You should just break up with me already,” Noah interrupts him.

Henry flinches and pulls back.

“Did you think that I was going to break up with you?” Henry asks, wearing a wounded expression. When he can’t stand looking at Henry’s wide shimmering eyes, Noah’s gaze flickers towards the ground. “Is that what you want?” Henry asks quietly.

“No--I--” Noah starts quickly before pausing as he thinks.  “Do you think we’re prepared to start a long distance relationship?”

Henry’s eyebrows furrow. Noah has never seen Henry look so unsure of himself. “It wouldn’t be easy, but I like you a lot, and I think I would hate myself if I didn’t give us a fair try. As long as you want me around, I’m not going anywhere.”

Noah’s hand slips into Henry’s, their fingers weaving together.

“I’ll always want you around.”

Later that evening, Ronan waits for them on the porch steps of the barn after prom.

“Did you miss us?”  The smirk on Adam’s face is inevitable.

“Don’t be an asshole, Parrish.  No one likes an asshole.”

“That’s probably why no one likes you,”

Ronan flicks Adam’s bow tie.

“I would rather be here than parading around in a monkey’s suit and dancing or whatever the fuck else people are doing at those things.”

“Probably losing their virginities,” Henry adds helpfully.

“No one asked you, Cheng.”

“As the only member of this group who is wearing heels, can we move all of this inside? I’m sinking in the mud,” Blue points out, and they all move into the living room where they drink the schnapps that Noah stole from his parent’s cabinet and swap old memories. Henry and Blue finally learn about the time Gansey had to rush Noah to the ER after he broke his arm sophomore year when Ronan drunkenly threw him out of the window. They talk about everything and anything until they can no longer keep their eyes open.

Noah wakes in the middle of the night to the soft wafting of music. In a tired haze,  Noah rises from bed and investigates.

In the middle of the living room, he discovers Adam and Ronan swaying together barefoot on the carpet, Ronan’s face buried in Adam’s hair and Adam’s cheek resting on Ronan’s shoulder. The sight captivates Noah, and he watches them waltz around the room from the top of the stairs before he realizes that he’s intruding on a private moment.

Noah silently retreats to the bed in Declan’s old room, laying next to Henry, who is drooling in his sleep. It’s kind of gross, but Noah smiles as he settles into Henry’s side.

“Mmmh,” Henry shifts and stretches next to him before opening his eyes and producing a sleepy smile. His normally styled hair is untidy. Noah enjoys seeing this rumpled, disheveled side of Henry. Noah wonders what the other sides of Henry look like. He wants to know them all.

“Stop staring at my hair. I know, it looks bad,” Henry grumbles, carding his fingers through dark strands of hair.

“I like it. You should leave it like this more often.”

Henry stares at him, unimpressed.

“Or maybe not…” Noah mumbles as he reaches up to thumb at the dry drool caked on Henry’s cheek. “You have a bit of drool there.”

Henry groans and rolls on top of Noah, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. “Please tell me more about how unattractive I am at this very moment.”  

“I don't know. I’m pretty turned on by this look.” Noah feels Henry’s breath on his neck and the imprint of his smile on his skin. It stirs a wonderful sensation inside Noah that makes his toes curl.

“Are you now?” Henry asks as his hand finds Noah’s in the darkness, their fingers lacing together.

“Mhm.”

A deep and comfortable silence settles over them, and Noah drifts in and out of a dream state until the call of his name brings him back to reality.

“Yeah?” He whispers, and Henry’s lips are on his. Everything about this kiss feels so easy, their lips moving slowly against each other, Noah’s fingers weaving in Henry’s hair, and Henry’s feet sliding against his ankle.

“I was thinking about earlier tonight...” Henry murmurs against his mouth.

“Henry, of all times!”

“Hear me out, I--” Henry pushes himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Noah’s face. “I think about that stuff too. Post-graduation. The future. Us. I think about it all the time.”

“You do?” Noah asks quietly, and Henry squeezes his hand tightly.

“Yeah, but I don’t like to think about whether we’re prepared for long distance, or if it’s going to work out. Or where we will end up in a year or two or ten. I prefer to think of you and me, right now. Just like this.“

Henry leans in, capturing Noah’s lips for his own and swallowing his soft, surprised gasp. His eyelids close shut as Henry’s hot mouth slowly unravels him. Noah, breathless, is filled with a deep and insatiable longing as Henry’s kisses burn into his skin, tracing invisible patterns into his hands and his shoulders and his neck.

“Henry,” Noah moans softly, his head tilting back in pleasure as Henry’s hips accidentally rock into his, and Noah feels the friction of Henry’s hard-on press into him.

Oh.

Oh God, yes.

Then everything stops.

Henry jumps back as if he has been burned. When Noah pushes himself up to his elbows to look at Henry, he sits at the foot of the bed, angled away from Noah.

“Um wow, I’m sorry.” Henry chuckles strangely, rubbing his forehead as his gaze flickers down to the mattress. “I didn’t uh...intend for that to happen. I can just take care of--” He stands.

“No.” Noah’s face grows horrifyingly flushed by how desperate he sounds. He crawls to the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of Henry. “That was--it was--amazing?” He wishes that the bed would swallow him whole or that Henry would kiss him again, preferably the latter.

Henry stares wide-eyed at Noah, who stares back at him, neither moving.  This is an unchartered territory and neither knows how to make the first move.

“So do we...do you want to...um, do like, stuff?” Henry fiddles with the edge of his t-shirt. Noah expects Henry to be a lot smoother at this, but he’s not, which is kind of both hilarious and reassuring.

“Yeah, I want to...um do like stuff with you.”

“Now you’re just being a little ass--” The warm press of Noah’s lips on his cuts Henry off. His hands instinctively find Noah’s hips, pulling him close.

“Do you remember what you said to me on Valentine’s day?”

“Noah,” Henry sighs against his lips. “I said a lot of things that day.”

“Before we tied the balloons to the roof of my car, you said: I hope to be many of your firsts. Well--” His heart thrums wildly in his chest as he forces himself to keep looking at Henry. “I want you to be many of firsts for me. It doesn’t have to be tonight, but when that time comes, I want it to be with you.” Even in the moonlight, Noah notices the crimson in Henry’s cheeks.

“When did you get so smooth?” Henry asks.

“I’ve learned from the best.” Noah pulls back to take in Henry’s disheveled form. “Plus, you’re not in top form tonight.”

Cupping Noah’s face in the palm of his hands, Henry brushes their lips together, and it sends shivers crawling all over Noah. “Well, being smooth is my thing. I can’t have you besting me, now can I?”

Noah’s laugh catches in Henry’s mouth as they fall back against the bed.

May

The morning of graduation rushes by in a crazy haze as relatives pass him around like an old ragdoll, vying for the opportunity to take the next photo with him. Noah finally crawls out of his family’s death grip and narrowly escapes. Gansey, Adam, and Henry are already there when Noah arrives. As he stands before his friends it’s hard to believe that they finally made it to graduation. Last August seems so far away, and Noah thinks he finally knows what people mean when they say that time flies.

Henry forces all of them to take an Instagram selfie before booting Gansey and Adam out to take a few with just Noah. Teachers quickly usher them into formation, and fortunately, Czerny comes directly after Cheng, meaning that Henry and Noah sit next to each other for the ceremony.

Pomp and Circumstance kicks into swing and they march out. When the graduates parade in, the crowd explodes in cheers and applauds. Noah’s ears roar, and he hardly hears the music anymore.

As Adam gives the valedictorian speech on the podium Henry takes a hold of Noah’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Noah can’t fight the smile that breaks out on his lips. How lucky he is to sit next to the boys of his dreams with the sun and the moon in his kisses.

Noah doesn’t know what the future holds in store for them, but he knows that he ready for it. For all of it, and that includes all the joy and heartbreak that’ll come from being with Henry Cheng.

Ronan and Blue find them after the ceremony, and Blue hugs them with all the force of the world.

“Sargent, are you crying?”

“Shut up, Ronan. I will fight you.”

“That’s my g--” Gansey pauses. “My significant other who is equal to me in each and every single way except anatomically.”

Noah’s family finds him and forces him to endure another round of photos, but this time with his friends. They bicker about who gets the next photo, and Noah doesn’t mind the fussing because it’s the happiest day of his life.

However, happiness, like all things good and beautiful, is fleeting. Blue, Gansey, and Henry have to leave for the airport in a few hours. As Henry kisses him goodbye after graduation, Noah clings to the front of his gown, pulling Henry back in for more whenever he tries to pull away because he can’t get enough. Noah doesn’t think that he can ever get enough.

“Okay, seriously, I have to go.” Henry laughs against his lips, and Noah presses another kiss there. “You’re making this incredibly hard.”

Noah plants one final bruising kiss to Henry’s mouth.

“Good. That’s kinda the point.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Me too.”

“Wait, proud of yourself or me?”

“Both, but mostly you.”

Henry tilts his head back and laughs before his mouth finds Noah’s once more.

When they finally untangle, Adam, Ronan, and he watch as Henry, Gansey, and Blue’s forms retreat into the distance until they can no longer see them.

Noah feels a deep longing in his core. Suddenly, it feels like a lifetime since he has last seen their faces and a lifetime until he’ll see them again.

“I already miss them.”

Adam nods in agreement as they all stare off into the horizon. “Me too.”

As the Time Flies

#czeng #noah czerny #henry cheng #trc #pynch #the raven cycle #blue sargent #richard campbell gansey iii #Adam Parrish #ronan lynch #the gangsey #my writing #My fic #trc fanfiction

[inawickedlittletown]

Walking The Wire (116/?)

Summary: Tony Stark always knew about Peter Parker. He didn’t know that Peter was going to get superpowers and become Spider-Man, but he always knew about Peter because Peter was his son.

This will span from pre-Iron Man up through the rest of the MCU (eventually including Infinity War) and will be for the most part canon compliant except where I’ve taken some liberties and interpreted canon a certain way.

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Tony/Steve (endgame), Tony/Mary (past)

A/N: If you want me to tag you when I post new chapters let me know. This fic is also on AO3

I used Collider’s MCU timeline to stay canon and the title of this fic is an Imagine Dragons song that is just so fitting for Peter and Tony

@findmeinthestarss

Masterpost

Chapter One Hundred Fifteen

Sneaking inside the ship itself turned out to not be too difficult a task. The new suit definitely had even more new capabilities that made the whole thing easy. Peter could tell that his dad had made even more improvements on it since the last time he’d used the Iron Spider. The thing about the suit was that it reminded Peter too much of the Iron Man armor and it made him feel like he was fueling the fire of the rumors about Spider-Man being Tony’s son. There were so many articles speculating about that among with the ones that wondered about who Spider-Man was and then also who Tony’s son was. It was a giant mess that was going to blow up on their faces one day.

He got a little lost after he got into the main part of the ship because it was kind of huge and like nothing Peter had ever seen or been inside. Eventually, he managed to find his dad and when he found him, the wizard’s cape had just reached Tony too and wasn’t that thing just weird? It was weird.

“Wow, you’re a seriously loyal piece of outerwear, aren’t you?” Tony asked.

Peter dropped down. It was like his dad was giving him the perfect opportunity to announce his presence. Well, maybe not perfect, but Peter was going to take it. “Yeah, uh, speaking of loyalty--”

Tony turned. “What the--”

Peter could see it in his eyes -- the anger and disbelief and disappointment and was that fear too? Mostly, he could tell that his dad was angry and Peter hadn’t really planned for that all too well although he probably should have. After all, Tony wasn’t exactly happy when Peter did  the opposite of what he wanted.

“I -- I know what you’re going to say,” Peter said with some caution. “It’s just that I couldn’t just...abandon you here and--”

Tony didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he stared Peter down with incredulity and a look that Peter had only ever seen on May before -- that signature parent look when their kid had done something wrong. It meant that he was probably in more trouble than he’d ever been before and it shut him up promptly.

“You should not be here,” Tony said and the words came out hard and was he gritting his teeth?

“I--” Peter cringed a little. “I was gonna go home--”

Tony waved his hand. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said.

Peter had to explain. Tony just -- he needed to understand because Peter couldn’t have him be angry with him. “--But it was such a long way down and I thought about you on the way--”

Tony sort of shook his head. “And now I gotta hear it.”

Peter kept going. “--and I kind of stuck to the side of the ship.” He watched his dad closely, watched how his expression didn’t really change. Peter motioned down to the suit. “And this suit is ridiculous intuitive, by the way. So if anything, it’s kind of your fault that I’m here…”

Those were the wrong words -- he shouldn’t have said that. The look that his dad settled him with was murderous. Peter was sure that if his dad had still had a way to get him off the ship and back down to Earth he probably would have used it in that moment.

“What did you just say?” Tony asked.

“I -- I take that back. Not your fault. Mine, it’s completely mine -- I...but anyway, now I’m here in a spaceship with you.” Peter tried to smile, but he was sure it came off as more of a grimace than anything. He really should have probably just gone home.

Tony closed his eyes and reopened them a moment later and he looked so tired -- not physically maybe, but mentally. It was a strange look on him. “Yeah, I guess you are. You are -- right where I don’t want you to be, Peter. This is serious this is-- this isn’t a field trip and we go home at the end of the day. It’s a one-way ticket. And it’s one thing for me to be--” he trailed off and shook his head. “Pete, you had to go back home. You should have and don’t pretend like you thought this through. You could not have possibly thought this through in the seconds that it took you to decide to stay on the ship.”

While he spoke, Tony had walked closer to where Peter was standing and Peter could see how much it did bother his dad to have Peter there. He almost felt bad about it except that he didn’t regret it all that much.

“I did, dad. I did think this through,” Peter said and he hoped to be convincing because he knew deep down that his dad was right and he really hadn’t -- he just hadn’t wanted to leave his dad on his own and-- “it’s just that you can’t be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if there’s no neighborhood.”

Tony shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered and Peter was glad to see that there was fondness in his eyes despite everything.

“That didn’t really make sense,” Peter offered, “but you know what I’m trying to say. I couldn’t stay behind when the world could just end or whatever it is that will happen. But I can help and maybe...maybe you need my help. Maybe the world -- the universe needs my help.”

They stared at each other for a long time until his dad sighed. The thing of it was that there was no changing anything anymore. Peter was on the ship. He couldn’t somehow get off and head back to Earth. It was done -- he had snuck on and that was that.

“Fine, fine. You’re here, there’s nothing I can do about it now, kid. Although I think we might need another lecture on when you gotta just listen to me and do what I want you to do. If we make it--” he trailed off and there was a painful grimace on his face that Peter kind of hated. Tony opened his arm and motioned him closer. “Come on. We have a situation.”

He followed Tony until they could look down at something going on below them. The wizard was floating, tied up, and clearly being tortured by what looked to be a bunch of needles.

“See him down there? He’s in trouble. What’s your plan? Go.”

Tony tended to do that whenever they were training together. It was his way of getting Peter to really stop to figure out a plan before jumping into any situation. This time, it sort of also felt like Tony deciding to accept that Peter was there and that he might actually be useful in the situation. He just -- he needed to give Tony the right answer. They needed to save the wizard from the alien. And then, Peter remembered the last movie he’d watched with Sam--

“Um, okay. Okay. Remember when we watched that movie Alien with Sam?”

His dad rolled his eyes and then he nodded. “Yeah. I remember. That was a waste of time -- all of those movies are all the same. But why?”

“They’re not all the same,” Peter said, “and you watch like fifteen minutes of it.”

Tony fixed him with a look. “That is not the point? Why does that movie matter?”

“Right, right. Well, okay, if we create a hole on the ship then everything will be pulled out like in the movie. We just -- we have to make sure it’s just the alien that goes and not us or the wizard. We’d have to close it up too because depressurization...”

Tony nodded slowly. “The cape could be useful in getting Strange and keeping him in the ship,” Tony said and he seemed to be thinking it over. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.” They both glanced at the cape and the cape seemed to agree. “I’ll go and distract him, okay, kid, you just have to make sure Strange doesn’t get sucked out when I make the hole.”

Peter nodded. No pressure, then.

Tony should have known. He should have known that Peter was going to find a way to go against his wishes and not get off the ship. He hated that that was who Peter was. Maybe Tony should have told him to go home and protect Vision -- given him something to do which would have motivated him to actually go home. Instead, he was a stowaway and Tony hadn’t found out until it was too late. At least his plan to protect Strange was sound enough.

Tony didn’t want to admit it, but he was glad to not be all alone. Of course there was Strange -- but he was hardly company and he was a bit tied up at the moment. The only thing that Tony hated more than the prospect of being in outer space was that Peter was with him and that Tony just couldn’t be completely certain that they would make it out of this alive. And if they did -- could they make it back to Earth? Tony vowed to himself that if nothing else, he would certainly try.

He dropped down and the alien didn’t even notice him -- he was too focused on Strange and those weird needles that surrounded him. Tony caught some of what he was saying to him as he approached.

“--originally designed for microsurgery. And any one of them--” the alien noticed Tony, then, and actually turned completely to face him “--could end your friend’s life in an instant.”

“I gotta tell you,” Tony said, “he’s not really my friend. Saving his life is more of a professional courtesy.”

The alien seemed a little amused at that. “You’ve saved nothing. Your powers are inconsequential compared to mine.” And as he walked forward, he lifted his hands and just twitched his fingers and heavy metal objects moved forward.

“Yeah, but my kid’s seen more movies,” Tony said and fired the missile.

It went straight for a side of the ship tearing the metal or whatever the ship was made out of open and immediately the vacuum of space started to pull and suck anything and everything out including what the alien had been threatening to use on Tony and then the alien himself who hadn’t expected Tony to do that.

The cape did what it needed to do, grabbing Strange, but it didn’t manage to hold him and Strange was ripped away from it, flying after the alien. Peter was there to shoot a web at Strange and catch him. It happened way too fast -- one minute Peter had Strange and was pulling him away and the next it was Peter being pulled after Strange and Tony couldn’t seal up the hole fast enough before Strange was suddenly out of the ship. Peter threw a few webs back but they didn’t land and then the suit opened up the legs, they braced Peter on the edges of the hole before Peter could fall out through the hole and Peter who had had plenty of practice with them didn’t even react even though Tony was sure that he’d probably forgotten about them since the suit rarely had to bring them out except for when Peter was training. In seconds, Peter used his strength to pull Strange back inside and as soon as he was, Tony let out a sigh of relief and he closed up the hole.

“Yes!” Peter said. “Excellent.”

Tony gave a small shake of his head. This kid was going to be the death of him. But they were fine. Peter was okay and Strange was okay. He closed his eyes tightly and took the moment to himself before he let the suit pull back the face plate. He did admit to himself that he wouldn’t have thought of getting rid of the alien in this particular manner. Maybe -- maybe it would be worth to have Peter around. Tony just had to be sure that even if he didn’t make it out of this alive that Peter would. That and saving the stone -- that was his goal.

Chapter One Hundred Seventeen

#peter and tony #peter and tony fic #mcuwriting #mcu fic #iron dad #iron dad and spider son #stony #stony fic #marvel

[ladyfogg]

Sick Like Me - Part 12/20

Sick Like Me - Part 12/20

Fic Summary: With unfinished business hanging over your head, being locked up in Arkham is holding you back. However, you have your eye on a certain red-haired maniac, who may be just the person to help you escape and realize your true potential.  Fic Song. Fic Playlist. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Jerome Valeska/Female Reader

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, for a complete list of warnings, visit AO3.

A/N: Thanks for being patient! As the second half of this fic is pretty intense, I'm spending more time writing each chapter. So updates aren't going to be as frequent. Also I started an aesthetic blog for my fanfics. Take a look if you're interested: theladyslookingglass.tumblr.com.

The next morning brings the smell of breakfast and coffee. Your stomach growls, which forces your eyes open. Jerome is still fast asleep, arm and leg slung over you, the sun beating down on his pale, freckled body. His arms are decorated with angry scratches, teeth marks forming a ring around one shoulder. You take a second to admire your handiwork, before slowly untangling yourself from his embrace.

After using the bathroom and freshening up, you turn on the TV above the dresser, switching to the news. After watching for a bit, the only thing you hear about Arkham is a brief mention of the riot. Either the Commissioner is keeping things quiet, or they haven't been able to take a proper head count to see who’s missing. You're betting the latter.

Anxious to get things going, you crawl back into bed, sliding your hand up Jerome's ass. You give his cheek a hard slap and he groans sleepily.

“Later, Queenie,” he mumbles. “You'll get yours when I get mine.”

You giggle, leaning down to trace his ear with the tip of your tongue. “Good to know,” you say huskily. “But that's not why I'm waking you. We've got havoc to wreak, puddin’.”

“Oooo, I like havoc,” Jerome purrs, stretching underneath you. “What time is it?”

“Just after eight,” you say. “And so far we're still under the wire. There's no news of our breakout yet.”

“Even better,” he says. He rolls onto his back, sliding his hands behind his head. “Why do we need to go to your family’s company?”

You grin wickedly, raking your nails down his chest. They leave red irritated marks, which will sadly fade, unlike the others. He inhales sharply, arching into the pain. “Loose ends,” you respond.

Behind you, his morning erection taps persistently. You shift just enough to trap it between your thighs. Grinding down on him, you sigh with contentment.

“Why can’t we just go right for your stepmom first?” Jerome questions, breath catching in his throat.

“Don't know her whereabouts,” you explain. “I assume she's at the old house, but gotta know for sure before heading there.”

Your fingers traced the bite marks on his neck and shoulders, heart swelling with pride. You've claimed him. He's yours now. It'll be weeks before those markings fade and even then, you'll just give him new ones. Likewise, he stares at you intently, sleepiness replaced with interest and a hint of pride. He runs his hands up your torso, briefly cupping your breasts before moving on to drag his thumb across the dark bruises along your neck.

“If my calculations are correct,” you continue, growing slick along his length. “By the time we get what we need, they'll be just figuring out we escaped. We'll need something to distract the GCPD.”

Jerome hums, grabbing your hips and thrusting up roughly. “I have some ideas,” he grins.

“Mmm, thought you might.”

He's just about to tug you down into a kiss when you hop off him.

“Nope, no time,” you giggle at his angry noise. “Was just trying to get you up.”

Jerome kicks away the blankets, gesturing to his hard cock. “Oh I'm up!” he exclaims. His grin is dangerous and you take off running just as he bolts from the bed.

Laughing, you dodge his attempt to grab you, trying to scramble over the bed to get away. Unfortunately, your foot gets tangled in the sheets and Jerome takes the opportunity to dive at you, pinning you onto your stomach.

“No time, huh?” he asks, sucking the spot just below your ear.

The chase has you all kinds of worked up, and the weight of Jerome's body makes your toes curl. “Fine. Make it fast,” you order, spreading your legs. “But if I don't come, there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Jerome salutes.

And then he's inside you, and you swear loudly. You're sore from last night. It has been a long time since you've had sex, and going so rough right away probably wasn't the smartest. You tense, and Jerome stills for a second.

“No, keep going,” you urge, arching your back and grinding against his lap.

“Think you can handle it?” Jerome mocks, slowly sliding out so only the tip is teasing your hole.

You slam backwards, impaling yourself on his cock. The intense pleasure overpowers any discomfort. Jerome actually gasps with delight. Glancing at him over your shoulder, you grin. “Wanna question me again?”

“Nope!”

Fuck, why did you wait so long? You could have been having his dick for a week now. Oh well, that just means you'll have to make up for lost time.

Draped along your back, Jerome fucks you with deep, quick thrusts. Amidst the sighs and grunts the two of you are making, you hear a soft knock on the door.

“What?!” you call with annoyance.

The door opens and one of the servants pokes their head in, immediately averting their gaze. “Oh! I'm so sorry, Miss-”

“Spit it out! What do you want?” you groan, fisting the sheets as Jerome hits that spot inside. “We're a bit busy.”

“Um, uh, b-breakfast is served per your instructions,” the servant stammers. “Your meeting is in less than an hour.”

You throw your head back and Jerome grabs your neck, hot breath panting in your ear. “Yeah okay, thanks,” you mutter.

The servant hurries away, slamming the door behind them.

Jerome sucks on your shoulder, his other hand worming between you and the bed. As his fingers start to teasingly circle your clit, you catch what the news anchor on TV is saying.

“We have a breaking story that the riot in Arkham may have resulted in the escape of several inmates.”

You can’t help but laugh. Jerome does the same, filling the room with breathless laughter, and skin slapping skin.

“No official word yet has been released and Commissioner Essen could not be reached for comment. We will have more details as the story develops.”

Jerome lets go of your neck to grab your hair, holding you firmly down against the mattress. Being completely at his mercy, all you can do is moan and lay there.

You call his name when you come, jerking violently against the bed, before collapsing boneless underneath him. Now that you're taken care of, he braces himself with his hands on either side of your hips, fucking you with complete abandon.

Without warning, he comes inside you.

You can feel the pulse of his cock, the warmth of his seed, and the sudden rush of wetness. It makes you whimper. He keeps thrusting, only stopping when there's nothing left, at which point he promptly falls on top of you. Both of you try to catch your breath, though it’s a little difficult with Jerome squishing you. But he’s nuzzling your neck and stroking your hip, so you don’t mind. Eventually, you know you have to get up if you’re going to get to the meeting on time.

With a groan, you push yourself onto your hands, forcing Jerome to roll off. You get to your unsteady feet.

Jerome lounges on the bed, cheeks red and eyes bright. “These have been the best twelve hours of my life,” he admits.

Chuckling, you stretch, wrinkling your nose as you feel his release sliding down your thigh. “They have been spectacular,” you agree. “Question, did you really carve J plus Q into Sionis’s chest?”

Jerome grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “You know it, gorgeous,” he says, sitting up. “Now, you said something about wreaking havoc?”

“Ah yes, we have places to be.” You gesture to the closet door. “Get dressed. I'm gonna wash up.” You head for the bathroom.

“Wait!”

You roll your eyes and turn back to Jerome. “Jerome, baby, come on. We have to do this now while we’re still under the radar,” you say.

He makes a square with his fingers, admiring you through it. “I just want to remember you like this,” he says.

“After last night, don't you have enough mental images of me naked covered in your jizz?” you ask.

“Blasphemy!” Jerome exclaims. “There'll never be enough.”

After finally cleaning up and getting dressed, you and Jerome meet the others for a quick breakfast. You don’t have time to enjoy the home cooked meal because you’re on a bit of a deadline, but you do have time to appreciate how it feels being free again. To not be shadowed by guards, to be able to come and go as you please. At least for the moment. Once your faces are plastered everywhere, you’ll have to be careful.

Driving through the streets of Gotham in a limo certainly isn't the most inconspicuous. However, the tinted windows offer maximum privacy. Greenwood and Dobkins look uncomfortable in the business clothing you made them wear, while Aaron seems indifferent. Jerome looks stunning and is more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. Though there is a bit of that twitchy energy there. He’s anxious to get out do SOMETHING, but is patient enough for the time being.

The members of the board are already gathered in the conference room when you're escorted inside. Chuck stands at the head of the table and he smiles as you enter, greeting you by name.

“Please, call me Queenie,” you insist, accepting his hand to shake. “First, let me start off by thanking you for helping me. It has just been unbearable!”

“Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say that we're just glad you're safe and that this firm will remain in the family,” Chuck says. “We've just brokered a huge deal for Wayne Enterprises and--”

“That's fantastic,” you interrupt. “I apologize for being rude, but unfortunately this meeting with have to be short. I can't be seen, as you can understand.”

“Oh, of course,” Chuck nods. “Please, have the floor.” He ducks out of the way, allowing you to take his place at the head of the table.

You stand in his place, smiling sweetly at the board members. Chuck lied. No one at the table looks glad to see you. The men all seem visibly uncomfortable with your presence.

“Gentlemen, as I said my time is limited, so I'll be brief,” you say. “My first question is, why aren't there any women directors?”

Of all the questions, you can tell they weren't expecting that one. They all fidget under your scrutiny and try not to meet your gaze.

“Well,” Chuck speaks up, nervously tugging his collar. “Your stepmother was for a brief time, but after your father’s mur...death...we felt her ideas weren't suited for the direction we wanted the company to go in.”

“So you just kicked her out?” you ask.

“She left on her own,” Chuck assures you. “Decided to stay retired and renovating her home.” At your raised eyebrow he hurriedly adds, “I'm sorry, your home.”

“Probably for the best,” you say. “Alright, well, hopefully the next board of directors will have women.” At the confused looks you smile at the men. “Which brings me to my next order of business.”

“Are you firing us?” one of the men demands angrily.

Chuck even looks pale, but you hold up your hand to silence the protests that have already begun.

“No, no, no,” you say. “I'm not firing you. I just need you as a distraction.”

There are several clicks as Jerome, Aaron, Dobkins, and Greenwood all draw pistols, pointing them at the various board members.

Chuck is angry and takes a step toward you. “Hold on, you said--”

Reaching under the back of your blazer, you draw your own pistol out from the waistband of your pants, jabbing the barrel right under his chin. “I'm still talking,” you say, eyes trained forward.

He freezes. You glance over to Jerome. His smile grows wide with excitement. You wink at him.

“Now,” you say to the rich men at the table. “We're going to take a little field trip to the roof.”

The building is much higher up than you remember. Binding the board members with straitjackets is the easy part. Getting them all up there quickly does take some time. But you and your boys manage just fine.

By now, the police know you're missing. Which means they are probably going to be expecting you to go right for your stepmom. However, they can't keep tabs on her if they're busy cleaning up after you guys.

The wind picks up and you close your eyes, enjoying it as you hear Greenwood shaking a can of spray paint.

“You know what this moment needs?” you call to Jerome, opening your eyes once more.

He regards you curiously. “What’s that?”

You hold up your phone and press play. “Music!”

Jump by Van Halen starts to blare and you put the phone down so you can dance to the tune. Jerome bounces excitedly, rushing over to dance with you. Together you move to the music, while the others shove the members of the board across the roof. Greenwood begins to spray letters on the men's chests and backs.

“I get up! And nothing gets me down!” you sing along. “You got it tough. I've seen the toughest all around. And I know, baby, just how you feel. You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real!”

Aaron manhandles the first person forward, a pudgy guy with the M sprayed in red on his chest. Aaron pulls him towards the edge of the roof.

“Oh can't you see me standing here, I've got my back against the record machine,” Jerome joins in, taking your hand and twirling you around. “I ain't the worst that you've seen. Oh can't you see what I mean?”

The board member is struggling against their straitjacket, terrified screams muffled by the duct tape.

“Might as well jump! Jump!” you sing, kicking the man right in the back. He goes sailing off the edge, falling to his death. “Might as well jump.”

The second man is dragged over, after Greenwood draws a red A on his chest and back.

“Go ahead, jump. Jump!” Jerome follows up, shoving the next man over. “Go ahead, jump.”

He lands next to the letter M and Jerome takes your hands again, dancing with you in circles.

“Aaa-ohh Hey you! Who said that? Baby how you been?” you both belt out. Aaron grabs the man with the N, and you motion for him to throw him over, just like the others. “You say you don't know, you won't know until you begin.”

Dobkins is clapping excitedly to the music, while Greenwood just grins.

You and Jerome stand back to back, playing air guitar. “Well can't you see me standing here, I've got my back against the record machine,” you both sing. “I ain't the worst that you've seen. Oh can't you see what I mean?”

The letter I is next, which you allow Aaron to throw.

“Might as well jump. Jump!” Another board member with the letter A is sent to their death. “Go ahead, jump.”

This time you jump onto the ledge to look down at your handiwork. Jerome joins you as Aaron places the second to last board member in between the both of you.

Jerome motions for him to move the man a bit to the right.

“Might as well jump. Jump! Go ahead, jump.”

You and Jerome shove the man at the same time and he goes sailing to his death. As the music amps up, you look back to see Chuck is the only one left.

“What should we do with the spare?” Dobkins asks.

“Ooo! I know!” Jerome grins. He hops down from the edge and strolls over to the man, while you continue to dance along with the music.

You watch him draw an exclamation point on Chuck.

“Aaron, would you kindly?” Jerome asks.

Aaron grabs the man and lifts him as if he weighs nothing, carrying him over to where you're still dancing.

“Sorry, Chuck,” you say, patting the man on the head as Aaron lifts him high. “Nothing personal.”

Aaron throws him and you suddenly get the humor in the situation. You start laughing and Jerome does too.

“Hehe, ‘chuck',” Jerome giggles.

Chuck lands perfectly next to the others, spelling out: Maniax!

Jerome holds his arms out and you jump into them, letting him help you down from the ledge. “Now that's a headline,” he grins.

Over the music, you hear the sounds of sirens and your laughter is gone as quickly as it came. “Time to go,” you order, turning the song off. “Enough fun for one morning.”

You hop on Jerome's back and the group of you hurry away before the police swarm the building.

#jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska fanfiction #sick like me #ladyfoggdrabbles

[suudonym]

ah do you have any tips on planning/writing long fics that you'd be willing to share? bc you do a great job of it and I've only ever written stuff like oneshots before so it's a lil itimidating ahh... thank you Q-Q

aahh I never know if any of the advice I can provide about writing is useful at all but I’ll try and see if I can come up with something decent!!

let’s seee I think the first thing you can do to reduce the intimidation factor a bit is to think of it less as a long story and more as just…. a story. ‘cause at the end of the day that’s really all it is: a story that would be a bit too much to read all at once so you’re breaking down into more easily digestible chapters

I think a good way to approach a multi-chapter fic is with a sort of open-ended idea that can be expounded upon easily. like, the entire concept behind chf was “I want to write a story about a stalker,” and for tata it was “man the time loop aspect in re:zero is so cool I wanna write about something like that.” they’re both really simple concepts that COULD be handled as one-shots but become longer and fuller the more you want to put into it

so, for me, once I have that sort of vague concept in mind, usually I start thinking about different scenes and events that I’d like to write. for example, lately I’ve been thinking about the holy knight story in the back of my head and thinking that I want to have Totoko in some kind of active important role (not really sure what yet, the natural route is to have her be a songstress like Nyaa-chan but then what significance does that have to Kara and the story in general hmmm). anyway it’s hard to describe but what I’m trying to get is like... just..... think of a ton of shit. anything that relates to your base idea and appeals to you, doesn’t necessarily have to be connected or even coherent at this point

personally I find it easiest to get going when I have a very very loose sequence of events but still know generally what order things go in. usually I have a series of scenes that I’m really really really looking forward to writing, like so much. and it’s good to have those milestones to have something you want to aim for. most of the time I don’t really have a very good idea of what happens after a certain point towards the end. like I have a vague idea of “and everything after this is the ending” but what actually happens in said ending? anyone’s guess until I actually get to writing it. that’s where I’m at with plans for tata right now in fact

re: scenes that you can’t wait to write - some people like to jump around and write the things that come easiest first, and for some people that works really well! I don’t have any luck with it myself, I prefer to write completely painstakingly chronologically because sometimes plans change along the way and I just HATE writing things that ultimately don’t get used, plus it’s good motivation for me to get through boring parts when I know I’m eventually going to get to write the stuff I’ve been imagining since the beginning. some folks don’t operate as well that way and actually it just occurred to me that this probably isn’t an issue that’s unique to multi-chaptered stuff and you probably already know your preference from writing one-shots so NEVER MIND

something that helped me a LOT with chf and is helping a LOT with tata is having people you can talk to about your work. they can help keep you motivated and get through the boring stuff that you don’t feel like writing as much and figure out things that you’re stuck on or things you’re not sure about and find unexpected ways to make things better in general and just. endless benefits. that’s another “for me personally” thing though, I’m sure there’s plenty of writers who go it alone and it’s certainly perfectly possible to do so!

mmm okay lemme try to like summarize important points in roughly chronological order

find yourself an idea that can be expanded a lot (actually thinking about it now you probably already have one of those which is why you asked about planning/writing long fics and not about coming up with ideas for them so again, NEVER MIND)

think about it until you’ve got some scenes in mind that you really like and want to write

think about it a bit more until you know more or less how you’ll probably go about getting from point A to point B

choose a starting point and dive in!

deal with it in parts, aiming for one milestone at a time. keep yourself open to change and don’t worry about shuffling events around or changing them or even discarding them altogether if you think it makes the story better/more fun to write

consider giving yourself a daily word quota? I find it useful to pick a number that feels doable based on my current condition and aim for it. a while ago my daily quota for tata was 1000 words, then I cut it down to 500, and right now I’m... finding it difficult to even get to 150, but even five words a day is still progress! heck even just thinking about writing is its own kind of progress, the important part is that you keep on taking steps forward - even if it’s only the smallest of steps. and don’t beat yourself up if you slow down or get stuck because the process of creation is huge and challenging and you can expect to feel more of that enormity the longer you spend trying to bring the same thing into existence. probably. I admit that I lost my train of thought a bit just now.

commit! do what you gotta do to stay invested! for me, it’s posting it on ao3 because I get a huge guilt complex over abandoning projects after making them public. probably not an effective tactic for everybody and I’m sorry to say that I don’t have much else to recommend in that regard but if not that then I’m sure there’s somethin out there that’ll work for you when you find it!

uhhh come to think of it that huge pile of words is probably not doing much to dispel the intimidation but despite the fact that I just rambled for who knows how long about way too many intricacies the simplest way to go about is just to do what feels the most natural! I imagine it’s probably a bit weird switching from one-shots to something that takes much more development but really, in the end what is a long fic but a one-shot that got way too out of hand? that’s.... not a good analogy actually, you can probably more or less ignore that.

ANYWAY best of luck anon! multi-chaptered stories can be a bit tiresome but in my opinion they’re also a lot of fun and really rewarding to build and create! I hope you’re able to pinpoint a process that works well for you and can tell the story that you want to tell in a way that makes you happy!! (❁´◡`❁)

#eeeeeh sorry for the length I really just don't know when to stop myself #hope there is something useful to you in there somewhere! #saydonym