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auroravictorium · 4 months

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anti-hero (k.b.)

i wake up screaming from dreaming. one day i'll watch as you're leaving, and life will lose all its meaning (for the last time).

Summary: reader is awake and heads outside for fresh air. kaz questions whether reader still wants to be with him, and reader begins to heal.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~4.3k (!!!) Warnings: allusions to reader's recent trauma (kidnapping, torture, severe injuries), mentions of injuries (scars, cuts, bruises), mentions of sibling & parent loss/death, mentions of blood, mentions of kaz's haphephobia, mentions of violence (kaz bashing heads and dangling people of rooftops) Genre: fluffier angst? brief angst then fluff? Author's Note: i really gotta stop with these disappearing acts. anyway, i promised you guys the next part, so here is the next part at a whopping 4.3k. pls enjoy <3 masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur as you fought to recover from what you'd been through. Nothing aggravated you more than the stiffness of your muscles and the pain throbbing throughout your body; just a week ago, you'd been able to jump across rooftops and snatch a pouch of kruge from a man's pocket without any issue. Now, damn near everything ached, though the vertigo and throbbing in your head had eased thanks to Nina's work.

On one of the warmer days, where the snow had melted into the ground to form a muddy slush, you woke up feeling much better than when you'd been carried out of the warehouse. While the rest of the house slept, you slowly made your way out of the room you were staying in and down the stairs. You stuck to the edges, using the banister to support yourself as you avoided potential creaky spots. The house was in remarkably good condition, but you didn't want anyone questioning why you were up and about on your own. You needed to move, to feel the fresh air again.

To remind yourself that you were free, despite everything.

You slipped on your battered boots, your body aching as you hunched over to pull them onto your feet, then stepped onto the front porch, looking over the bleak, icy land sprawling before you. Crossing your arms to brace yourself against the cold, you stepped off the porch and stood in the snow. You let the muddy slush soak the material of your boots, chilling your skin even through your thick socks.

The air stung your lungs as you inhaled deeply, burned through your chest, and then you let it out slowly, the air fogging before you. To be standing outside felt like bliss; in the open air, you could forget the griminess of your captivity for a moment, the sensation of blood sliding down your fingers, the ringing of your ears as your friends had arrived in a flurry of action and chaos.

You gulped down more air to chase away the prickling hairs on the back of your neck as you considered all that had happened. Not now.

You realized then why it was easier to close off, to not think of the horrible things those mercenaries had done, that Rollins and his Dime Lions had done in Ketterdam over the years. Denial was easier than wading through the grief of what happened. Preferable, even.

Snow crunched behind you, but you didn't turn, your eyes still fixed on the empty, slush-covered fields before you. A gloved hand carefully wrapped a worn blanket around your shoulders and lingered for a moment before falling away. Kaz stepped beside you, his coat wrapped tightly around himself; there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his face was a touch paler from exhaustion.

You frowned at him. "You haven't slept."

"Neither have you," he said quietly, sliding his free hand into his coat pocket and looking down at you. He was silent, his icy blue eyes roaming up and down your form as he surveyed you. The look made you shiver, and you turned your gaze away, a blush unrelated to the cold rising to your cheeks.

Out of your periphery, you saw Kaz slide his hand from his pocket, and you felt the brush of his fingers against your arm, loosely wrapping around your wrist. You glanced up at him, and you let him gently turn your arm so that your forearm was to the sky; he pushed your sleeve up carefully, tenderly, and his gaze lifted from the bandages around your arm to your face, waiting.

"Go ahead," you said softly. You didn't want to hide your pain and your scars from Kaz, even though instincts told you to shield it from him. You ached to hide your weakness like when you first arrived on Ketterdam's streets, to settle into denial and rage. But this was Kaz. You trusted him to catch you if you fell.

Kaz undid the bandages with practiced ease, and you wrinkled your nose as cold air hit your wounded tattoo. The flesh was nearly healed thanks to Nina's hard work, but most of the ink itself was destroyed, only a few dark remnants remaining at the edges of what had once been the crow perched on the cup. Shiny scar tissue lined your forearm, and Kaz ran a gloved finger over the skin. The gentlest of touches, but enough to make you hold your breath and look away.

"I'm sorry," Kaz said, breaking the silence with his raspy voice before you could speak. Though he deemed his investigation complete, he didn't release your arm. Instead, he carefully wrapped the bandages again and secured them in place, his leather touches nothing more than a whisper against broken skin.

You shook your head. "It's not your fault," you said, looking up at him. You were startled to find his gaze already on you, and your breath caught as you saw the raw emotions flickering there. Concern, anguish, guilt. A raw mix of vulnerability he would never let anyone else see.

Kaz looked back down at your bandaged arm, still in his hold. Black leather gloves against pale white bandages, a stark contrast that he hated. He'd caused this. He was at fault, whether you would say it to him or not. The moment he'd crawled out of that harbor, determined to make the city pay for taking his brother, taking his name, taking his dreams, he'd set everyone around him on a path to harm.

"Kaz," you said, turning your arm in his grip so that you could grasp his. Your breath fogged in the cold air between the two of you, a warning of the winter storm brewing above that you elected not to heed. "Tell me what you're thinking. Please."

He let out a breath, and he wanted to turn away. Your gaze was intense, reaching deep into his soul and threatening to pull out every word he'd stashed away where nobody could ever find them. Most believed he didn't have a soul, and he liked it that way; it was his treasured hiding place of all the things he wanted to say but never would, because Dirtyhands wasn't tender. He wasn't kind or caring. He was ruthless, selfish, and brutal. He bashed skulls into stone floors and tortured men on rooftops.

Yet you seemed to break down his walls with only a look, stripping away the layers he'd created to become Kaz Brekker. You saw him, the boy who grew up on this farm, who fell asleep every night with the threadbare blanket currently wrapped around your shoulders, who believed in goodness in the world.

He struggled to reach into that hidden, tucked away part of himself, to find the words he longed to say to you. I love you. I'm sorry. I am not the man you should want. I love you. I thought I'd lost you. I am a liar. I love you.

I love you, and I thought I had lost the chance to say it.

"Do you still want this?" he managed to say, the words nothing more than a rasp, the sound of sandpaper against wood. Even as Kaz Brekker longed to take steps back, to fling up those walls and fall back into the comfort and safety of being ruthless and harsh, the ground beneath his feet had him rooted in place. The Rietveld farm, where the ghosts of his father and brother lurked in the house just feet away. They were watching, begging him to do better. To be better.

He could be.

"Yes," you said without hesitation, your grip on his arm steady and your gaze unwavering. "I made my decision a year ago. I stand by it." Your words were firm but not unkind, leaving no room for argument or misinterpretation.

A lot of horrible things had happened in the past week. Kidnapping, torture, interrogation, and scarring you hoped would one day heal. And despite the urge to collapse, to fall and give in, you wouldn't. Your friends wouldn't let you. Kaz wouldn't let you. And you wouldn't let Kaz wade into the guilt he was feeling. You'd haul him out by his coat collar if you had to. You wouldn't blame anyone for what had happened to you aside from those who deserved it; the guilt lay with the mercenaries and with Pekka, left behind in that warehouse.

Kaz was quiet for a few long moments. He let your words play over and over again in his mind, searching for any whisper of deceit, any hint of blame from you that would reinforce the guilt that pressed down hard enough on his lungs that he felt like they might be crushed beneath the weight. When he found none, he pushed a slow breath past his lips, trying to ease that pressure. "Alright," he said.

Because as much as he did blame himself, it was your choice. Your decision to stay with him, despite his belief that you would only get hurt again. And he wouldn't take that choice from you, even as everything he'd taught himself screamed at him to distance himself from you until you changed your mind.

He would be better.

Kaz swallowed, realizing he still held your arm in his grasp. He looked down at it again, his hand gently cradling your injured arm, and he slowly shifted his hold until your hand was held in both of his, his cane resting against his hip so it didn't fall into the slush. He could feel the coldness of your fingers through his gloves, and he trapped your fingers between his palms to try and warm them up.

You stepped closer to him, realizing how cold you actually were, even with the tattered blanket around your shoulders. The heat radiated off him in waves, and soon you were nearly chest-to-chest with him. You tilted your head up to look at Kaz, your heart slamming in your chest as you dared to step into his personal space. He smelled like city smoke, like faint remnants of cologne. Home. Comfort.

"I thought I lost you," Kaz rasped, the words almost inaudible, even as you stood mere inches from him. He almost choked on the words, but he owed it to you to say that. To say so much more. "I thought Pekka had won."

"He didn't," you said quietly.

"I killed him."

"I know."

His breathing turned ragged. "I should have done worse. I should have made him suffer more."

You shook your head, turning your hand in his palms so you could lace your fingers with his. "You did what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. That's all that matters." You tilted your face up, taking in the emotions in his eyes.

"Before you left, you said..." Kaz's eyes slipped shut. Just say it, you fool. Say it. "You said you loved me."

The words didn't burn on his tongue like he thought they would and didn't taste like salty, bitter seawater. It didn't make his teeth chatter or his clothes feel stuck to his skin. It felt blissfully warm, burning in his chest like it might ignite him from the inside out.

You didn't answer, not wanting to interrupt him as he fought to speak. You had a feeling you knew what he wanted to say, why he looked like he was somewhere between keeling over and taking off across the property to disappear into the treeline. So, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him, feeling your heart pound as he spoke again.

"I should have said it back," Kaz said. "I should have told you I..." The words stuck in his mouth like the sticky candy he'd shared with his brother on this very property, the sun beating down on their heads. "I should have..." He faltered again, his brows creasing as he grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to spit the damn words out.

Kaz sighed, the breath rushing out of his lungs and clouding in the air before he managed to force out, "I should have told you that I love you." As the words passed his lips, a feeling of peace came over him. The knot in his chest eased, and the heavy weight within his chest became easier to bear. Taking the chance, he continued, his voice quieter. "You could have died, and all I thought about on the ride here was how I didn't say it back. I just turned away like a fool and sent you into the lion's den."

He was grateful for that temporary moment of relief. At least if you stepped away and changed your mind about wanting this, wanting him, the last thing he would remember of the two of you would be this moment of respite with your hand in his and the knowledge that he'd finally told you what he felt. That would be some consolation before the bitter taste of pain rose.

You stepped closer, cutting off his train of thought by pressing his gloved hand against your racing heart, his palm resting just beneath your collarbone. The words he'd just spoken suddenly seemed far away, and his mind went completely blank as he felt the hammering of your heart against his palm. A stark reminder that you were still alive, and he didn't have to think of the 'what ifs' anymore. You had chosen him. You hadn't changed your mind, after everything.

"Don't torment yourself," you said quietly. Your gaze met his, a simultaneous fierceness and gentleness visible there that almost knocked the breath from Kaz's lungs. "Do you remember what I told you? Your pace?"

The words reminded you of an evening that felt long in the past. The two of you, sitting on Kaz's tiny bed in the Slat and working through his fear when you told him you love him and that he didn't have to say it back until he was ready. Your pace, Kaz.

"I remember," he said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of his breathing as he dropped his hand from your heart and twined his gloved fingers with yours once more. Once he was sure he wouldn't hyperventilate or collapse into the icy mud like a fool, he opened his eyes again.

"I love you," you said softly, giving his hand the gentlest of squeezes. The words felt right, just like every time you'd said them, tasting like shots in the Crow Club and snow falling over the city, like a heady bliss you wanted to feel again and again, as though you might never get enough. Though the words felt right, you realized you started trembling after you said them. From the cold? From the vulnerability strung between the two of you? From the anticipation of his response?

Your fingers were cold between Kaz's, and before he realized what he was doing, he caught both of your hands in his this time, clasping them between his gloved palms to warm them up. Only a few inches separated your faces now, and your tangled hands were wedged between your chests. Selfishly, he wanted to close that distance completely, to remind himself of how your lips felt together. It had been six months, and though he thought about that moment in the alley outside the Crow Club every single day, he found that the feeling had begun to drift from his mind.

"We should go inside," he rasped, despite the thoughts warring in his head. You were freezing; that much was obvious. The old blanket he'd brought to you hadn't done much to keep you warm in this bitter weather, especially as a fresh flurry of snow prepared to blanket the ground.

"I'm fine," you responded, though the growing numbness of your nose and ears said otherwise. You were caught in his gaze, trapped by the heated look in his eyes. You'd seen him angry, distant, and vulnerable at times, but the look he wore now was one you hardly recognized. It was one you'd only seen once before, moments before he'd kissed you outside the Crow Club like he'd die if he didn't get the chance.

"That's what most say before dying of exposure," Kaz deadpanned, but even his response couldn't tamp down the burning in his chest. He didn't recognize it, the looseness in his muscles and the burning in his chest. For once, no terror rose in response to your closeness, ready to shove him away with cold, invisible hands.

You rolled your eyes at him. "I can assure you, the cold won't take me out that easily." Still, you shivered just a bit as a slight breeze kicked up to remind you both of the incoming storm, making your words much less reassuring than you wanted them to be. Traitorous nature. But Kaz (and the wind) was right, the two of you should head inside, even if you wanted to bask in the vulnerability and simmering feel of his gaze for a little bit longer.

Taking a step back, you moved as if you might disentangle your hands from his and head back toward the house. Once again acting before he could stop himself, Kaz caught you, his fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. "Wait," he said, his voice almost inaudible. He took a shaky breath as terror sunk its fingers into his flesh again, making his words come out more unsteadily than he intended. "Can I?"

He could win against his fear again, could push himself past the newfound comfort of holding hands with you. He'd done it once, even though it had kicked an unfortunate series of events into motion. But maybe... maybe that wouldn't happen again. It was just the two of you and the cold. No witnesses, no traitors amongst you except the bone-deep terror that threatened to rear its head every time he dared to challenge it.

Confusion briefly flashed across your face, and then your mind went blank with recognition. The memory of the alleyway, a kiss tasting like bitter liquor and snow, flashed through your mind.

Oh. Oh.

You nodded, just as you had before, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the cold.

As he stepped closer, closing the last few inches of distance, you wanted to ask him whether he was sure. He'd opened up to you so much already; you didn't want him to feel obligated to do so further. But he'd initiated it, and you trusted him and his newfound confidence in his ability to heal.

You were proud of him.

His lips met yours, tentatively at first. They were cold, chapped slightly from the weather, and he waited for the icy terror to yank him to the ground and drown him right there on land. While his legs felt unsteady, pushed and pulled at by his own fear in its twisted form of pale, dead hands in the harbor, he felt like he could keep standing as long as he focused on you.

It no longer felt like the midst of a Kerch winter. As snow fell down and started to kiss your cheeks, you could imagine it was a morning drizzle on a summer day, before the sweltering heat kicked in and was compounded by the smoky air of the city. You felt warm, maybe too warm, and you freed one of your hands to move up and grasp the back of his neck, standing up on your tiptoes to keep the distance between you closed.

Kaz startled at the touch, his hand moving to grab your arm out of instinct as his heartbeat picked up at the feel of your hand on his skin. The touch was foreign, soft, and hesitant, but not unwelcome as he steeled himself against letting his fear take over. He wanted to be able to kiss you, to accept your touch and affection without feeling like he might collapse.

His determination fueled him to press even closer, his hand releasing your arm in favor of cupping your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, pretending he could feel the softness of your skin beneath his touch. You shivered, and a surge of warmth ran down his spine, making goosebumps rise beneath your hand on his neck.

Distantly, he felt his cane fall from where it had been propped against his hip, thumping against the frozen ground. But his focus was on you. You, your lips, your nose bumping against his as you settled into this still-new feeling, your hand on his neck, your other moving up as if to join the other before chancing it, sliding into the mussed strands of his hair that he hadn't bothered to slick back before joining you out here.

You fought the heat running throughout your body and forced yourself to pull back, gasping a bit and looking up at him. "I'm-" you began, already starting to retract your hands. What if you'd pushed him too far? You'd felt how he tensed beneath your touch for a moment, felt him go somewhere else for just a moment. What were you thinking, Y/N? His pace, remember?

"Don't," Kaz said roughly, knowing precisely what you were thinking. He kissed you again, chasing the euphoria of your lips against his. He surprised himself with how hungrily he kissed you. The feel of your lips was better than any liquor. Better than any drug, or high in the aftermath of a successful heist. He liked the feeling of kruge passing into his hands, but this feeling had quickly surpassed that.

You made a noise of surprise but didn't protest or pull away, sliding your hands back into his hair and through the dark, silky strands. There was a bubble of something in your chest, the urge to chase this and press further, but the burning in your lungs and throbbing of your wounds in response to the worsening cold forced you to pull back far sooner than you wanted to.

You opened your mouth to speak, ready to ask if he was okay, or what he was thinking. A million emotions were flickering through his eyes, and you were having trouble pinpointing any of them. Just as you recognized one of them as longing, Kaz's face went neutral, the emotions disappearing before you could blink as the front door to the house creaked open. Your head turned, and you saw Nina, who had just woken up judging by the wayward hair framing her face.

"If you two are done frolicking, I figure I should tell you the storm is about to hit," Nina called from the porch, leaning against the doorway with a smugness on her face that made you blush and take several steps back from Kaz.

Tightening the old blanket around your shoulders, you glanced at Kaz as he grabbed his cane off the ground. His cheekbones were flushed pink, and there was a purse to his lips that gave away his embarrassment at being caught. But as he straightened up, his cane firmly in his hand again, there was a sparkle in his eye as he met your gaze and offered you an elbow to help you back inside.

"Not a word, witch," Kaz said to Nina, eyeing the wicked grin on her face as he tapped his boots against the steps to free the snow and mud from them. He kept his arm extended for you to hold onto as you did the same, noting the winces of pain as the impact sent shocks of pain through the bruises and scrapes on your legs.

Nina gave Kaz an innocent smile. "Of course not." She reached up to pinch his cheek, and he batted her hand away with a sharp glare. "Can't ruin your terrifying reputation, can I?"

"No bickering before breakfast," Jesper groaned from the couch, pushing the blanket away from his face and yawning. "I can't add any witty commentary on an empty stomach." He sat up and rubbed his eyes before grimacing and hunching his shoulders. "Now, will you please close the damn door? It's freezing out there."

You suppressed another smile, stepping into the house and setting your shoes to the side. As Nina and Jesper bickered, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, sharing a brief glance with Kaz as you settled next to the fireplace to warm up. A flicker of something soft passed through his eyes before disappearing as he carefully leaned down to add another log to stoke the flames.

Inej padded down the stairs, putting the finishing touches on her braid as she investigated the commotion. If she noticed the faint blush on your cheeks or Kaz looking anywhere but you, she didn't say anything. Instead, she pushed Jesper's legs off the couch to make room to sit, ignoring his groggy protests.

Though you weren't sure anything other than time could heal what happened, being surrounded by your chosen family was a good start. A warmth unrelated to the fire settled over you, a comfort and security that eased the tension that hadn't lifted since your capture. You would heal. Wounds would scar and fade, memories would become less vivid, and the ink along your arm could be replaced one day.

In the meantime, you'd bask in that warmth, even when your return to Ketterdam inevitably tried to chase it away.

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criminalamnesia · 1 year

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Dancing With Our Hands Tied

summary: Nikolai confronts you about unspoken feelings.

warnings: fluff, no use of y/n, not proofread, no gendered pronouns used (that I know of), grisha!heartrender!reader

author’s note: dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift inspired this! also listen I love zoya and nikolai but nikolai is just sooooooo ksjfjsjs I wanted to write a reader insert for him.

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What you had with your captain was something no one understood– not even the two of you.

Sturmhond– or Nikolai, as you knew him in secret– was your friend. Your captain. But he was also something more.

He was a rogue ship, and you were a lighthouse guiding him home. He was a dangerous sea, threatening to drown you if you tested your luck– and oh, how you were so close to seeing what would happen if you did.

You shouldn’t even know his true identity. But, as fate would have it, he needed a heartrender with a specific set of skills that you just happened to have, and you needed an escape.

You were his tailor– disguising his appearance and turning him into the infamous Sturmhond. That was the only reason you were allowed to see him without his mask– you were the one to put it back together.

“You’re not surprised?” He had asked you the first night your services had been requested.

The ginger hair of Sturmhond had faded. The crooked nose had straightened, but the same smug grin was still present.

“No,” you had said. “I know that heartbeat. I knew it was you a mile from your ship.”

That took him aback. How did you know his heartbeat?

You had laughed, your eyes twinkling with something he found mesmerizing. He didn’t know you– he was sure of it. He wouldn’t forget a face like yours.

One of your hands was on his shoulder, holding him still. The other roamed his face, fingers dancing across his skin as you worked.

“You’re staring,” you stated, your fingers moving to his messy blond hair. “Trying to figure out how I know you?”

“Yes,” he admitted, eyes watching your face intently. “Were you at the Little Palace?”

You nodded. “I was.” The blond of his hair started to turn red. “But I spent most of my time in the Grand Palace.” You paused, your hand leaving his shoulder to move to his chin, tilting his head to the side. You could hear his heart beat a tad bit faster.

“The Darkling gave me to your mother, as he did with Genya. I was her apprentice. She taught me how to tailor.” You told him.

“I didn’t suffer the same fate she did, if that’s what you’re wondering. Your father had eyes for her, not me.” You couldn’t help the bitterness in your voice. Nikolai flinched.

“You were rarely home– but I met you once, when we were both still small. That’s why I know your heartbeat. The only one of the Royal Family to have a good heart– not a sour one. It stuck with me, I guess you could say.”

“I don’t remember you,” he admitted, and you gave a small laugh. His blond hair was almost completely red now.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re not the only one being tailored, Captain. The First Army can’t take me back if they don’t recognize me, now can they?”

“Are you listening?”

Nikolai’s voice broke you from your thoughts. He was sitting on the bed in his quarters on the ship. You stood between his knees, your hands on his face as you changed him back into Sturmhond.

“Mhm,” you hummed. You weren’t. This routine was something you could do in your sleep, and truthfully, you found your mind drifting off more and more whenever Nikolai required your assistance. It’s not that you found his company dull– quite the opposite, actually. But you didn’t want him to know that.

“No you weren’t,” he gave a small chuckle, one of his hands moving up to grab one of yours. He pulled it from his face as he intertwined your fingers.

“Nikolai,” you hissed, pulling your hand from his grasp. “Do you want me to mess up? I was in the middle of reforming your nose.”

He sighed, his hand falling back to his lap as you raised yours once more. You avoided his eyes, knowing you wouldn’t like what you saw in them.

Between the two of you, he was the more open with his feelings. For the past few weeks, he had continuously tried to corner you and get you to talk about whatever the two of you were. To try and figure things out. You had successfully avoided him thus far, but you knew you were dancing on thin ice.

It was only a matter of time before he recruited one of the twins to subdue you while he forced you to listen. You wouldn’t put it past him, and you knew for a fact Tolya would help him. Curse that hopeless romantic.

“You’re insufferable. And exhausting,” he told you as you grasped his chin gently between your fingers, turning his face this way and that to examine your handiwork.

“I know. You tell me quite often,” you remarked, nodding to yourself as you moved to focus your sights on his hair.

He sighed. Silence engulfed the two of you. It was almost smothering, full of unsaid words and the tension between the two of you. You were suddenly aware of how close you were to him– his knees caging you in as you stood between his spread legs. His face in your hands, his hands now on your waist.

“We keep dancing around this,” he said. You didn’t reply, choosing to focus more intently on the roots of his hair. “The whole crew thinks we’re sleeping together.”

That caught you off guard. You gave a snort, rolling your eyes. “Of course they do. You call me to your quarters in the night, every week. You always stare at me, especially when you think I’m not looking. And you’re handsy– you’ve always got a hand on my back or my shoulder or something.”

Nikolai chuckled. “Well, you’re one to talk. Every time you laugh at something I’ve said, you grab onto my arm and go ‘oh Sturmhond!’. And don’t act like you don’t stare, too.”

“I do not say ‘oh Sturmhond’,” you said, looking down at him. He grinned that same crooked smile.

“I know you’re thinking it. Probably thinking some other things, too. Like how you’d like to–”

“Shut up, or I’m going to give you a black eye.” You hissed, pulling his hair harder than you should’ve.

He laughed. “You wouldn’t. You like my face too much.”

“Im sick of it, actually,” you remarked. “I see it everyday.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.” He replied.

“You say that as if you’d let me leave. I’m the only tailor you’ve got.”

He shook his head. “That’s not the reason I wouldn’t let you leave, and we both know it.”

You dropped your hands as the last of his blond turned red. Your job here was done. There was nothing stopping you from bidding him goodnight and excusing yourself to your own cot. You knew he would drop it and let you go without another word, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You didn’t want to say anything.

“So now you’re keeping me prisoner?” You said, suddenly all too aware of his hands squeezing your waist.

“Maybe I am. At least until you admit you like me,” he said, and you scoffed.

“If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be here–” you began, but he cut you off.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

He moved to stand. You tried to step back, but his hands on you kept you rooted to the spot. You looked up at him, heat rising to your cheeks. Your chests were touching now, and there were only inches between your lips and his.

“When are we going to stop playing this game?” He whispered, one of his hands moving from your waist to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“You like it too much to stop.” You retorted.

“I’d like honesty more,” he said, and you shook your head. “As much fun as playing cat and mouse is with you, I’m growing tired of chasing. And we both know you’re tired of running.”

His hands were on your hips as he swung you around the deck, a laugh on his lips as you clung to his shoulders. You couldn’t help but smile as he dipped you, your eyes meeting his. There were unspoken promises in his gaze– too many feelings, and you had to look away.

Others danced around you two as a few of the crew played some song you’d never heard on makeshift instruments. Laughter and conversation made it hard to think straight. Spirits were high– you’d all just succeeded in breaking through a Fjerdan blockade– and that called for a celebration.

“They’re all going to think we’re together,” you had told Nikolai as he grabbed your hand and pulled you to the dance floor. He had laughed, leaning in close to whisper “let them” in your ear.

He had kissed you for the first time that night, after the party had subsided and everyone was asleep but the two of you. You had been talking quietly, watching the stars and listening to the waves, and he had kissed you and you had melted.

“Nikolai..” you sighed, your hands moving to rest on his shoulders. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“I don’t care,” he told you, and his heartbeat was as steady as it had ever been.

“I do,” you told him, meeting his gaze. “You can’t play pirate forever. What happens when you go back to Ravka, back to your family? You can’t marry me. I’m nobody– not a princess, not a diplomat. I’m an escaped servant who knows too much and would be imprisoned or executed for escaping.”

“Privateer,” he corrected, and you rolled your eyes. “And I’m the second son– a bastard second son. I’m already a disgrace in their eyes,” one of his hands moved to the small of your back, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your shirt. “I can’t disappoint them any more than I have.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think of you now, they still won’t let me anywhere near you.” You replied, and he shook his head.

“Why are we even talking about this?” He asked. “We’re not in Ravka. We’re in the middle of the ocean, and no one cares what we do.”

He was right. You were far from Ravka and his family and your pasts. You were someone new, and he was, too. You weren’t an escaped servant– you were Sturmhond’s first mate. You were his most trusted friend– besides the twins– and you were the one he wanted.

And you wanted him, too.

“I don’t care about details,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t care about families or consequences or rumors. I care about you, about that little smile you always get before you win at cards, about how you let me drag you onto the dance floor while the crew stares, and how you put up with me more than you should.”

You didn’t say anything, too stunned for words.

“I would do anything,” he began, his face slowly inching towards yours. “To dance with you again. To kiss you again. To not hide behind stolen glances and little jabs at each other.”

“Nikolai,” you murmured, your eyes flitting down to his lips.

“Yes?” He asked as your eyes found his once more.

“Just shut up.” You said, and you closed the gap between the two of you, your lips meeting his.

Maybe nothing he said would be true in the morning. Maybe he would realize this was all a big mistake, but you didn’t care.

He was right. You were tired of running, and you were so glad he was tired of chasing.

And as you kissed, that heartbeat that you’d remembered after all these years– that you’d always remember– soared.

And you knew he wasn’t lying.

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