#they better fucking get me at least the bed frame slats considering i did not get any birthday presents either bc we were too poor

[venomgender]

sent my parents my christmas list which is something i legit have not done in like 3+ years If they dont get me anthing at all im going to riot. because all that shit i put on it is just stuff i need. anything i just vaugley want is at the bottom. i need my bedframe to be fixed 5 months ago if they dont buy me At Least that. i'll explode.

[anonniemousefics]

Stars In The Darkness

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 9,042

****Rating: NSFW (aged up characters)****

This is the conclusion to The Trouble With Wanting series, companion piece to Wildfire

TW for PTSD, heavy angst. An obligatory quarantine fic cuz I was in quarantine when I wrote this, lol.

KAZ

No mourners. No funerals.

Kaz Brekker leaned over the new porcelain sink in the bathroom attached to The Slat. He clutched both sides, sweat pouring from his forehead.

No mourners. No funerals.

He’d been saying the phrase so long, it had started to lose its meaning. For that he hated himself. Did anyone at all even understand what it meant? Had he ever even told anyone?

No mourners. No funerals.

Jordie had died alone, forgotten. No funeral. Not a single mourner. And he’d loved Jordie. His big brother had been his hero, his whole world, and no one else knew what the world had lost.

This alone should have crushed him. It would have. Instead, he made it his calling card. Jordie Rietveld, the original Crow. He didn’t need mourners. He didn’t need a funeral. No one did.

Because if the world hadn’t mourned Jordie, why should it mourn anyone else?

His stomach was threatening to heave again, and he white-knuckled the sink, breathing hard. Fuck. It had been years since it had been this bad. He stared at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror, demanding he get a fucking grip on himself.

No mourners. No funerals.

He thought he had been free. He’d spent well over a year on the puzzle of Inej Ghafa, and he thought that could have been enough. She loved him, she’d said so. And, gods, he loved her.

He’d been a fool to think that would be enough.

Now reality was sinking in with every toll of the plague alarm. He hadn’t banished any ghosts. He hadn’t buried any bodies. All he’d managed was to condition himself like a dumb lap dog, performing a trick so he could get a treat. And all the while, the dead had waited. And all the while, Jordie had watched.

And now Ketterdam would have its pound of flesh. Because he could blame Pekka Rollins until he was old and grey, but what had killed Jordie Rietveld had always been the plague. And there was no fighting the plague.

No mourners... No funerals…

It sounded insane now, because what the fuck was he supposed to do when the plague took Inej, too? Was he really going to stand there, stoic and unmoving, while the bodymen took her away? Was he really going to go on living, knowing her final resting place was a mass grave?

He’d been a fool. Such a damn, stupid fool.

And now he really couldn’t breathe. He was a fish out of water, his vision blurring as his throat closed around every inhale.

“Kaz!” Someone was pounding on the bathroom door. “Kaz, let me in.”

How many days until the bodies started piling up? How long did he have? Was there any way to get them out of the city? They all needed to get out. Inej, Jesper, Wylan. Anika, Pim, Rotty, Roeder. It was the only way. The only way to keep from losing everything again.

“Kaz, I will break down this door. Answer me, damnit.”

The king of Ravka owed him favors. Maybe it wasn’t too late to call them in—

INEJ

Fuck it.

Inej threw all of her weight into a massive kick, just above the bathroom doorknob. The door rattled and bowed, and the flimsy lock ripped through the doorframe as the door swung open.

Inside, Kaz staggered back from the sink, pale and perspiring. She’d never seen him looking so sloppy in her life. He hadn’t changed out of his dark sleeping trousers from the morning, but had managed to throw on a white undershirt that was now sweat-stained. And if he was startled, it lasted only a moment before he glared at the broken doorframe.

“Did you forget how to pick a lock?” he growled.

“Did you forget how to unlock a door?” Inej retorted. “I’ve been here almost an hour – how long have you been in here?”

But when she took a step towards him, he flinched back, holding a hand out to keep her away, and it was like they were nothing but street trash teenagers all over again. A knife twisted in Inej’s chest as she saw how his breathing labored, his gaze wouldn’t meet hers. For nearly a year, he’d made slow, steady progress with touch – so much so, she’d almost forgotten what his suffering looked like.

Now, it was worse than ever. He was pressing himself back against the far wall, clamping a hand over his mouth like he was trying not to be sick.

“Breathe,” she told him, calmly. “Just breathe, Kaz. We’re here, together, safe in The Slat. Breathe.”

Kaz clenched his fists at his sides and drew in a stubborn, fighting breath through his nose. Outside, the plague alarms tolled.

“Those goddamn bells,” he rasped.

“I know, they’re awful,” Inej agreed. “When you’re feeling better, I’ll climb up and dismantle them.”

He opened his eyes long enough to shoot her an irritated glance.

“They serve a crucial function, Wraith.”

“Ok. I’ll leave them alone.”

“They’re preventing the spread of disease.”

“I said I’d leave them alone! Take a breath.”

And Kaz slid his back against the wall until he came to sit on the floor, defeated and spent.

KAZ

He was equal parts relieved she was back and terrified she was here with him. When he’d told her to get as far away as she could, he’d meant it. If she could get away from the necrotic infection that was his Ketterdam, she could live, and he could live knowing at least she was safe.

And now he was angry because why couldn’t she just listen to him? What did she know about firepox? What did she know about surviving a mindless, faceless killer?

He tried to heave a deep breath, but his throat felt like it was closing in. Bloated, dead flesh crowded against his ribs, his arms, his face, dragging him deeper toward the cold, unyielding darkness. He couldn’t stop shaking.

“I went to the docks,” came Inej’s calm voice. He was aware that she’d sat on the tile floor across from him, and he wasn’t sure yet if it made it better or worse. Just that morning, he’d had her bare and in his bed, writhing in his sheets and calling his name, and now he could hardly look at her without imagining her dead.

“You went to the docks,” he echoed, trying to find the present.

“Made sure the crew could find safe lodging for the foreseeable future,” Inej went on. “They’re saying it started in West Stave. Twelve new cases since yesterday. But I think our chances are pretty slim at this point. You’ve been chained to your desk for weeks, and I only docked yesterday. And we spent the evening arguing and pouting instead of going out.”

“I don’t pout.”

“It was me. I was pouting.”

“This is helping. Keep talking.”

“Bad news is they’ve shut down all businesses, so The Crow Club’s empty.”

“Fuuuck.”

“Good news is you and I now have unlimited liquor for the duration of this quarantine. And you look like you could use some. I’ve wanted to learn to mix drinks anyway. I could make you that fruity pink thing Sturmhond got sloshed on.”

“Dirtyhands doesn’t get sloshed on fruity pink things.”

“No one needs to know.”

His throat had opened up, and Kaz drew in a long, deep, shaking breath. The darkness had stopped its impending approach, and he was suddenly exhausted. His eyelids felt swollen when he opened his eyes again and looked over at Inej. His brave, brilliant girl. She was cross-legged in front of him, still dressed for the sea: tight olive-green trousers and a loose white blouse, her hands in her fingerless gloves and her long, oil-black braid resting over one shoulder. She was beautiful and commanding and alive, and it made his heart ache.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked. Her voice was softer now; she’d exchanged her light-hearted ribbing now that Kaz was no longer a gasping mess.

Kaz rubbed at his eyes. His mind was a fog, every thought spread out in disarray. He could only say the first thing that bubbled to the surface.

“You deserve so much more than this.”

“An admirable deflection, but that’s not it.” Inej slit her eyes at him, reading him like a book. Annoying. This wasn’t something he’d considered when she’d told him to take off the armor. He’d wanted to get laid; he didn’t want a damn mind reader.

That wasn’t exactly true, though, was it? But maybe it was a necessary lie. He was too attached, and this loss would not be one he could survive.

“You’re being a fool, Wraith,” Dirtyhands rasped.

INEJ

“Am I?” Well, well, well. So, this is how it was going to be, was it? Inej knew Dirtyhands when she saw him. She could tussle with this bastard all day. Sometimes she even liked it. “How so?”

Kaz’s pale face was set in a glare; he wanted a fight. And if he hadn’t tried this before, it may have even rattled Inej.

If anyone had seen their first kisses, they might have mistaken Kaz and Inej for an old married couple. The only kind of kiss either of them could handle was merely a brief peck on the cheek or the lips, as chaste as a greeting between relatives. Their bodies wouldn’t even brush. It had to look ridiculous, but Inej told herself it was good practice. Someday, they could have something like a real kiss, she told herself. For now, this was enough.

The last night before Inej was to set sail again, they sat opposite each other on the windowsill of The Slat, propped up against the frame, while Inej coaxed crows with breadcrumbs and made sure Kaz didn’t fall out the window. He’d had a couple drinks too many with Jesper and was more than a little amusing.

“I have a secret,” he slurred. He leaned his head back against the open window frame, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.  

“Just one?” Inej quirked an eyebrow. Kaz gave a drunken chortle.  

“Good point.” He pointed at her. “Clever, clever Wraith.”

“What’s your secret?” Inej asked, with an amused smirk. Kaz gave a sloppy nod.

“It is terrifying to me that you live on a boat,” he confessed with a slow blink. Inej frowned.

“You bought me the boat,” she said. Kaz kept nodding, wide-eyed.

“I did,” he said. “A whole damn boat. And it looks so good on you, Inej. So good.”

“Thank you.” Inej tried to hide a laugh.  

“But I spend every day trying to convince myself that you’re not drowning. It’s – it’s not fun, Inej. It’s the opposite of fun – what’s the word?”  

“There are many to choose from,” Inej shrugged. “Is this fear because of…?” She wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject. The night he’d told her about nearly drowning, of using his brother’s body to swim to shore from Reaper’s Barge, had been the first time she’d ever seen tears in his eyes. She wasn’t proud of it, but it had startled her. It had thrown the balance of her world off so harshly that she’d tracked down Pekka Rollins that very night and carved his skin until she felt the scales tip again.  

“Probably,” was all Kaz would admit, and he rested one cheek against a gloved fist.

Inej considered this while she threw crumbs to the crows. She cared for him, so very much. And any time she thought of him as that abandoned little boy in the harbor, her insides crumbled.

“You should come out on the water with me,” she told him. “Let me show you it’s not what you remember.”

“Pass,” Kaz announced, a little too loudly.

“We could start small,” Inej persisted. “Take a little skiff on the canals.”

“The canals are disgusting.” Kaz practically looked petulant, like she was forcing vegetables on him. “Do you have any idea how many drunks piss in those canals? I’ve taken a piss in those canals.”  

Inej grimaced with a groan, but she wasn’t giving up on this idea now that it had seized her.

“I’m a sea captain, Kaz,” she said. “I’ve got you. You will not fall into the canals unless I decide you’re going to fall into the canals. And I haven’t decided yet; it depends on how nice you are to me.” She gave a prim little tilt of her chin as she shot him a coy glance. He was smiling like a silly fool.

“I want to kiss you,” he declared, and even though she knew he was drunk, her face still burned.

“Maybe you should,” she dared.

And for a moment, he sat still and stiff against the window frame, and she thought he would change the subject. But then, he swung his legs back inside the room and limped to where she sat. He towered over her, leaning against the window frame as he gazed over her face, and Inej watched the darkness in his eyes, holding her breath, praying that this time it could go differently.  

Then, slowly, he lifted one gloved hand to her chin, tilting her face up just slightly. She shivered at the brush of leather, missing the warmth of his hands but conceding this for now. And it hardly mattered considering the way he looked at her, his eyes like languid pools of chocolate, melting her.

He cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing her bottom lip, and she drew in a breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a nervous swallow, and she hardly dared to move as he slowly bent down, the tip of his nose brushing hers for a brief moment, before he brought his lips to touch hers.

And Inej wanted to pull him closer, to taste his mouth, to know that he burned for her just as she burned for him, but instead she waited, terrified this time that she could spook him with any sudden movements. And for a moment, it seemed to work.

For a moment, his eyes slid closed. For a moment, he held her there, brushing his lips over hers, dipping in to meet her mouth completely. Thank the Saints, she thought, her eyes closing, giving in. Thank you, thank you.

But only for a moment.

Because a moment later, his whole body went rigid, and he startled the crows away when he wrenched away with a gasp. Inej had to grab the window frame to keep from falling and really destroying the evening. And Kaz staggered backwards, crushing his eyes closed tight with a hand clamped over his mouth. Inej leapt after him before he could tip backwards, as unsteady as he was with drink.  

“Don’t,” he growled, pushing her back instead as he swayed and regained his balance. “Stay back.”

And as harsh as it sounded, it was still improvement. It was more than they’d ever had before, and he wasn’t vomiting or fainting, even with a fair amount of kvas in him. The kiss, as small as it was, left Inej dazzled. She stepped back from him, holding her hands out so he knew he had his space.

But Kaz wasn’t as satisfied. Far from it. In fact, he gave a frustrated roar and then turned and put his fist through the wall.

Inej barely had time to give a startled yelp. If he hadn’t have been wearing his gloves, Kaz surely would have torn his hand to shreds. As it was, he was holding it gingerly in the other hand, and Inej couldn’t be sure if he’d broken fingers or not.  

“Why do you come back here?” Kaz shouted when he whirled back at her, his teeth bared in fury. Inej clenched her fists.

“We have a deal,” she said, coldly. It was the language Dirtyhands understood.  

Kaz scoffed as he tried to move his injured fingers.

“To what end?” he spat, and ground his teeth in pain. “How long will it take you to realize there is nothing here for you to save?”  

“If you weren’t interested in being saved, you wouldn’t have struck the deal in the first place,” Inej shot back. If he was trying to push her away to save face, she wasn’t going quietly.  

“I have nothing to offer you,” Kaz gritted. “I can’t even--” but he couldn’t look at her.

Inej held out her hands toward him, offering to take his injured fingers in hers. He hesitated, the muscle in his jaw ticking.  

“All I have ever asked of you was your honesty and your time,” Inej said. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to try.”  

And slowly Kaz turned, shuffling his weight off his bad leg, and put his wounded hand in hers, the leather dusted in plaster. She slowly started to pull back the leather to inspect the damage, and Kaz sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.  

“I’m very drunk,” he complained.  

“I know you are.”

“This hurts.”  

“Don’t punch walls next time.”  

His knuckles were already swollen and bruised, but nothing looked broken. Nothing ice and a good bandage couldn’t fix.  

“Mati en sheva yelu,” he slurred in Suli. This action will have no echo. And the sincere, painful look he was giving her when she looked up at him in surprise made her want to kiss him all over again. “You know—you say it,” he tried to wave off her adoration.

“I do. I didn’t know you were listening.”  

“I’m always listening, Inej. Inej.” He sighed hard, looking longing at her lips. “It’s going to hurt so much worse than this when this is over.”

Inej looked up at him in surprise.

“Why would you say that?” she frowned.

“You wanted honesty.” Kaz swayed a little on his feet. “I’m giving you honesty. Nothing survives the Barrel. Not even me. Not even you. And now look at me--” He squared his wide shoulders, taking a shuffling step closer, close enough that she could feel his body warmth, smell the tang of wine on his breath. She found herself staring up at the painful depths of his dark eyes, the ache he let her see. “No armor now,” he said, his voice low.

For a moment, Inej’s knees felt weak beneath him, but it was that smell of the red wine that brought her back.

“You’re drunk,” she reminded him. He gave a petulant frown, and maybe that was the reason she found the courage to say the rest. “And if you’re trying to blame me for some unforeseen pain that may or may not even happen, in some misguided attempt to protect yourself from actually feeling something, well, then you’re far crueler than I took you for. And I will not tolerate your cruelty, Kaz Brekker.”  

And so she knew this strategy Kaz Brekker’s demons employed. And she stared him down on the bathroom floor, daring him to go on.

“How so?” she said again.

KAZ

Jordie would have been twenty-five. Jordie never got to dream, to build a name for himself, to live comfortably. Jordie never got to have a girl, to know what it was like to be adored, to wake up next to the same face you dreamt of.

Because of the firepox.

Why did I live? Why did I live?

Kaz was pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Jordie was there, bloated, covered in sores, his vacant eyes glassy.

“How so?”

“The ship was your ticket out,” he rasped, finally, looking up at her. “I gave you the ship. I gave you your family. You were supposed to get far away from here before this happened again. You were supposed to leave.”

“I don’t believe you.” Inej shook her head.

“What do you want from me?” his voice strained, savagely. “Is it not enough to know that I love you and want you to live? You have to keep coming around here, endangering yourself and my crew--”

“Your crew?” Inej raised an angry, skeptical eyebrow.

“Look at me.” Somewhere under the fog of paranoia and haunted memory, Kaz knew he was nearing hysterics. “You are my weakness, a liability--”

But at that, Inej shot to her feet, and the very real threat of actually losing her was enough to shut even Dirtyhands up. She stared down at him, a glare laced with ice and pain and empathy all at once.

“I know you are hurting,” she said, “and I know this isn’t the reason. I know how impossible it can feel to find the source when the pain is all-encompassing. But that gives you no right speak to me this way. We have fought too long and come too far for this.”

The wash of guilt that followed crushed his chest, and Kaz sunk into the heels of his palms once again. She asked only for honesty, came a reminder from somewhere in his frenetic thoughts. Find the source, find the source. She was turning to leave the bathroom, and the dread of not having her voice, pulling him out of the dark, was far worse than any other horror his imagination could conjure up.

“Inej,” he said in a harsh scratch. His throat felt thick. She turned at the broken bathroom door, leaning her head against the frame. Waiting. Expecting.

He had to try.

“I can’t,” he started, and there it was. The source. His mind been twisting it all around in the fog, fumbling with it like a lock in the dark, when it was simple, really. “I can’t do this again,” he said at last, his voice breaking.

“Do what again,” said Inej, though she seemed to understand. She was going to make him say it.

He swallowed hard, his throat constricting.

“I can’t,” he pushed again, “I can’t lose everything to this again. I can’t do it.”

“You are not going to lose everything, Kaz,” Inej said, firmly, and she began to cross the tile back to him again.

“I can’t lose you to this.” He dared to look at her as she sat next to him, their backs against the wall. “Any of you. Jesper. Wylan. I can’t. I have so much more to lose this time.”

“You are not going to lose us.” Inej remained adamant, but Kaz gave a bitter, crooked smile even as he felt hot tears like pinpricks in his eyes. Jordie had made similar promises once. Jordie would have liked Inej.

“You can’t promise that.” His rasp was becoming a whisper. “You can’t promise any of that.”

And to her credit, Inej didn’t try to fight. It was firepox. It wasn’t a rival gang. There was no strategy. There was only the gamble. Outlast. Outlive. That’s all you could do.

Inej set her hand on his knee. He knew she would have liked to have done more, but he was grateful she didn’t try. This was enough.

“Then for tonight,” she said, “we’ll be scared. And we’ll be sad. And then tomorrow, we’ll pick up the pistols and the knives again. We’ll fight again another day.”

We. He didn’t deserve to be a We, but he feared the loss far more. And with a deep breath to summon his courage, he put his hand over hers. He had to wait a moment to allow the shudder to pass through him, but then he gave her fingers a squeeze in agreement. When he looked over at her, her big, brown eyes were glassy with tears.

“Kaz,” she said, softly, “tell me about Jordie.”

Kaz rested his head against the bathroom wall. There was so much to say about Jordie. He could have told her about the games he made up or the jokes he liked to tell or the useless toys he bought Kaz, just to see his little brother grin. He could have told her about his dangerous optimism or his blind ambition or his stupid hubris. He wanted to tell her how riding on Jordie’s shoulders had made him feel like an invincible giant, and what good were gods or Saints or Grisha if they couldn’t even protect a boy as deserving of life as Jordie?

Instead, Kaz Rietveld broke down and wept.

INEJ  

It was a long night, the first of many long nights. Inej wasn’t sure when Kaz finally fell asleep, but she awoke first and shuffled out of the attic in Kaz’s nightshirt, down to the empty kitchen of The Slat to percolate a kettle of strong black coffee. When she brought up cups, she found him sitting on the edge of the bed, bleary-eyed and disheveled. He couldn’t have slept more than two or three hours.

She handed him a cup of coffee without a word and noticed he avoided touching her fingers when he took the mug. She understood all too well how the tide of war against the demons of memory could shift dramatically with so little warning, and she was ready to tell him so when he let out a small, defeated sigh and leaned to rest his head against her stomach.

Had anyone ever seen the Bastard of the Barrel so broken? No one would ever know, the Wraith determined. She ran her fingers through the thick, soft hair at the top of his head, avoiding his scalp, and held him there against her. He gave no protest.

“I thought I had defeated this,” he said, after a long silence.

“The past can be tricky like that,” Inej replied. The dawn was golden over the tile rooftops of Ketterdam. “It has teeth, and sometimes it demands attention.”

“Suli proverb?”

“No.” Inej sighed. “Just the story of my life.”

Kaz was silent a moment as they both sat with their demons at the door. He lifted a hand like he wanted to hold her closer, but ended up tugging absentmindedly on the rolled-up sleeve of her nightshirt instead.

“You were ready.” The self-loathing in Kaz’s voice was palpable and twisted in Inej’s gut. “Yesterday, you wanted me to--”

“Kaz.” Inej stopped him and gave the back of his head a little tug so he’d look up at her. “Are you forgetting the terms of our deal? I want you. Mind, body, and soul. Those were your exact words. This,” she brushed back his sleep-disheveled hair with tender fingers and he closed his eyes, “this is all part of the deal. Your past, your memories, your fears – they are all a part of the man I love. I wouldn’t have you without them.”

Kaz was still beneath her fingers in his hair, but after a moment, his chest rose and fell with a sigh and he gave a little nod.

With the streets outside silent and abandoned, they spent the rest of the day in bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes talking, always a safe distance from each other. When night fell, however, Inej woke up briefly to find Kaz’s bare hand fitted to her the slope of her waist as he slept, curled on his side. She smiled to herself in the dark.

KAZ

The plague bells continued to toll every day, a regular reminder of the reaper that spread like wildfire through the streets. The first three days were near-constant torment. Inej did her best to try to distract him with card games and books. She even got desperate and showed him knife tricks that made even him feel uneasy that she was going to hurt herself.

“Seriously, that’s enough,” he finally told her at one point. “I can’t go out and bring back a Tailor for you if you lose a finger today.”

“I am not going to lose a finger.” But she stopped anyway. He was grateful. Every moment of the day, his heart was pounding and his mind was racing while he watched for telltale signs. She’d grow tired first, then lose her appetite when the fever began to rise, and then would come the sores that would erupt all across her perfect body. It would rot her beautiful face. Sometimes, lying in bed, eyes closed, was all he could manage to do to keep himself from losing it completely.

But as the end of the first week drew near, they were both still healthy, and Kaz found he could go an hour without imagining her death. Each day grew a little more normal, and each day brought a little more freedom. He could show her card tricks and live entirely in the moment her face lit up in delighted wonder, no fear of the future. Each night, Inej would flit across the rooftops of Ketterdam to the Van Eck mansion, returning to The Slat with news that Jesper and Wylan were well and bored and sent their regards, and Kaz’s unease settled a bit more. By the second week, he could lie across from Inej at night, and his mind would fill with tender memories instead of horrors. Instead of her dying face, he thought of the sun shimmering on her golden brown skin, the harbor winds in her black hair, the rose petal-softness of her lips against his cheek.

How she convinced him to let her paddle him through the canals of Ketterdam, he’ll never know. Maybe it was partially his own fault. He was growing desperate to make progress, to hold her how he wanted to hold her, and it was becoming apparent to him that he had to confront what the waters brought up in him.

She’d stashed away her own money and bought herself a skiff, the first boat she’d purchased on her own, and her eyes dazzled when she spoke of it, and Kaz knew he wanted to see her captain it. He’d walked the decks of The Wraith with her, his heart soaring with pride as he watched her in her element. Kaz loved to see Inej happy. He loved nothing more.

But all of that couldn’t prevent him from sitting in the exact center of the skiff with his arms crossed in defense – against what? – and his body so rigid, the first harsh jostle of the skiff could snap him in two.

“You hate this,” Inej observed. She’d stopped rowing and came to sit next to him, facing the opposite direction. The canal waters were still as the skiff drifted forward. They were in a quiet part of town where the narrow streets were largely ignored. A shopkeeper swept the cobblestones in front of their shop; an old man smoked a pipe on the steps of a pub.  

“I never said that,” but Kaz didn’t look at her.  

“You didn’t have to.” Inej raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take us home.”

“No--”

“I’m glad you tried. That means a lot--”

“Inej.” He touched her wrist, his hands bare, and looked up at her face as she was about to move back to steer the boat. Her skin shone in the sunlight as the breeze swept strands of her hair across her face. Her eyes in the sunshine were like caramels. Kaz didn’t want to go back. That was the last thing he wanted.  

“I need new memories of the water,” he rasped. “That’s all.”

“Better memories,” Inej agreed, and she turned her hand, fitting her fingers through his. He closed his eyes while he took in the warmth of her palm against his, alive and perfect.  

And then it happened. His eyes still closed, he felt the soft brush of her lips against his cheek. His heart stuttered and warmed. It hadn’t felt revolting at all. It had surprised him, and he’d liked it. He’d actually liked it. He opened his eyes to her sweet smile, and he wanted more.

This was what he would always consider their first real kiss. He turned his body and wrapped one hand at her waist, holding her close. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shrink back. No, she leaned in. She wanted. He tilted his head to meet the slant of her lips and lost himself in her sweetness, with the sun bright overhead and the lazy lapping of canal water against the sides of the skiff.  

INEJ

“They’re lifting some quarantine measures,” Kaz told her over coffee one morning. Inej looked up at him, eager, as he scanned the headlines of the Ketterdam Ledger. The days had become routine in the microcosm of their world, and she desperately needed to tend to The Wraith.

“The harbors?” she asked.

“They’re not opening the harbors yet,” Kaz shook his head, then shot a glance at her, catching her frustration. “Not that that should stop us,” he said, folding up the paper.

A smile began to creep along Inej’s lips.

“Are you sure?” she questioned. In the first days of the quarantine, Kaz didn’t even want to leave the room. He’d laid rest to many demons since then, but his exhaustion was still fresh in her mind.

But the smile he gave back to her was a Dirtyhands smirk, and her stomach fluttered pleasantly.

“Figure out the quarantine guard shift change at the harbor,” he told her. “We’ll go tonight.”

The Wraith threw back the last of her coffee and made a mad dash for the rooftops, like a bat out of hell.

That night, they dressed the part. It was a little silly, Inej realized, strapping on her knives over her leggings, when this wasn’t anything like a real job. But a forbidden midnight dash into the cordoned harbor was far more entertaining than the same old card games, and Inej was mad for some excitement. As she watched Kaz suit up out of the corner of her eye, she suspected he felt much the same way. They were both ready for some semblance of normality.

They tied makeshift masks over their faces before slipping into the abandoned shadows of Ketterdam’s alleys. Kaz’s limp was more pronounced after weeks of being holed up in The Slat, and while Inej didn’t point it out, she still kept to the darkness so he didn’t have to rush. After a few blocks, his muscles loosened, and their pace quickened, and when they neared the harbor, Inej stopped them, her back against the brick wall of a building, and held out a hand for Kaz’s pocket watch. The chain clinked as he handed it to her, and she checked the time.

She pulled the mask down to her neck as she handed the watch back.

“We’re early,” she whispered up at him. “Few minutes still.”

Kaz nodded beneath his mask as he pocketed the watch. Suddenly, Inej’s heart thudded as she looked him over. It had been weeks since he’d worn one of his tailored black suits, and the thrill of seeing him looking like himselfagain overtook her.

When her eyes traveled up to his face, she saw that he’d noticed her staring, and he lifted his dark eyebrows.

“See something you like?” he asked, his rasping voice muffled behind mask. Inej pressed back a smirk.

“Cheeky bastard,” she shot back.

“You’re the one who likes cheeky bastards,” said Kaz, and took two shuffling steps closer, leaning on his crow’s head cane, so close their bodies were nearly touching.

“Just this one,” Inej replied, and gave a little tug on his mask to reveal his crooked half smile.

Inej drew in a breath as Kaz took one more step and she felt the brace of his body against her. She’d never say it, but she had ached for him all these weeks – so close to her, and yet so out of reach. To her delight, he leaned his cane against the wall and wrapped both gloved hands around her waist. She held on to his shoulders as he pressed against her, taking her lips, softly at first, and then with insistence.

Thank the Saints, Inej thought, not for the first time, and let herself melt into him.

She ran her hands up his shoulders and around his neck, crossing her wrists behind his head, and let him press her back against the wall. It was as if he was making up for lost time, and his touch drove her mad, in the best way possible. He parted her lips with his tongue, and a soft moan escaped her throat as his fingers twisted in the fabric of her vest.

“Gods, I’ve missed this,” Kaz rasped when they broke apart finally, lungs aching. His chest was heaving, breathless, as Inej dragged her fingers under the lapels of his jacket, over the hard muscle beneath, pulling him closer.

And she gasped as he dipped his head and pressed his lips to the soft bit of skin just below her ear, and she was ready to forget the world entirely when his teeth grazed her neck, his hands roaming her hips, except at the last minute, she remembered the time. While he cupped her ass, she slipped her fingers into his waistcoat pocket.

“Now,” she said, pulling back, suddenly. “We have to go now.”

“Did you just pick my pocket?” Kaz realized, a little dazed, as Inej replaced his pocket watch. But she was already soundlessly running for the docks.

The Wraith waited at Fifth Harbor, looking no worse for wear, as they scaled its sides in the dark and leapt aboard. Inej walked its decks in the moonlight, shining full beyond the tall masts. She knew that weeks in the water with no maintenance, the list of chores that needed to be taken care of had grown long. For one thing, the decks were covered in bird shit. There were sails that needed mending, hulls that needed shucked of their barnacles, cannons that needed cleaning. She at least needed to take stock of the work ahead, so she could quickly divvy up the load among her crew when the quarantine was lifted.

She could sense Kaz’s eyes on her, almost hungry since their exchange in the alley. And now that they had evaded the quarantine guards, she found she liked it. She gave him a provocative glance the next time she noticed his predatory gaze.

“You picked my pocket,” he repeated, slitting his eyes. His dark eyes in the silver moonlight made her heart skip. She turned to face him at the base of the mizzenmast.

“And whatever will you do about it, Brekker,” she challenged.

He tapped his cane against the wood of the deck three times.

“I have some ideas,” he rasped, a quirk of a smile on his lips, and Saints she wanted him to press up against her again.

It was as if he read her mind. He let his cane drop with a clatter as he took her in his arms, pressing her back against the wood of the mizzenmast, and she lifted onto her toes to hungrily take his lips with hers.

He wasn’t slow and methodical now. He was like a drowning man gasping his first breath of air. He was kissing her as much as he could, her lips, her cheeks, her throat, his hands digging into the back of her shirt, nearly lifting her off her toes. She brought her hands to either side of his face to hold him still, to kiss him deeper, to breathe in his scent like she hadn’t in weeks. Her Kaz. He wasn’t gone. He could fight his way out of any hole, no matter how black. And how she loved him for it.

One of his hands slid from her back, raking up her rib cage to cup her breast, and she gasped into his mouth as he kneaded it with his long fingers. There was warmth pooling between her legs, desire like a steady tide rising in her veins. She pressed her hips against his and found he was already hard. Her cheeks warmed. More, she needed more.

“I want you,” she gasped. She’d let go of his face, running her hands over his shoulders, as he left a train of kisses down her neck.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he groaned. And it was all the permission she needed: she started pulling at the buttons of his waistcoat, his white shirt, tearing some, pushing her fingers through to his hot skin and muscles underneath.

He wasn’t running. He tore at her shirt, his lithe fingers dancing through buttonholes as her blouse fell open to him, and he bent his head, pulling at the center of her back, to bring his mouth to her cleavage.

“Take those damn gloves off,” she demanded, and, as he did, she threw off her shirt and the useless mask from her neck and undid the bindings that held in her breasts. Kaz’s shirt was still hanging open, his hair he’d finally worked hard to put in place now falling in his eyes, as he stepped back to her, running his bare hands up her back, over her neck, to caress her breast.

She nipped at his earlobe, raking her hands down his torso, to that fine line of hair at his beltline. And as he kissed her again and again, she undid the black leather belt. He drew back with in a sharp breath as she pushed past his wiry curls and wrapped her fingers around his hard length.

“Is this what you want?” he rasped, as she began to stroke him. He released a low breath and leaned a little harder against the mast at her back.

“I want everything,” she told him in a husky voice, and he looked at her with those half-starved black eyes, lips slightly parted, before slipping his own careful fingers into her leggings.

Her head fell back against the mast and she tightened her grip on his cock as she felt his clever lockpick fingers slid over her clit. Her breasts heaved with a deep sigh, and Kaz let out a stuttering breath when she did, his eyelids fluttering.

“Careful,” he groaned with a gasp. “I don’t know if I can – shit, Inej, really, you could end this too soon.”

“I want you to feel what you make me feel,” she breathed, slowing her strokes.

“But I don’t want this to end,” Kaz gritted out, and looped his spare hand around her wrist, pulling her hand back. And just as she was about to protest, he slid both hands beneath her leggings at her waist. He wanted her bare again, she realized, and she was desperate for release.

She helped him slid her leggings to the deck, and before she could wonder what he was going to do next, he knelt before her, one hand on either thigh. With his careful eyes watching her always, he took one of her legs over his shoulder, bringing his soft lips to kiss her folds.

His breath was hot against her, and Inej raised her arms over her head to grab the mast behind her to keep her knees from crumbling under her.

“Where did you learn this?” she gasped, her heart racing. She shivered as he ran a hand over her core and her navel, stroking her tense muscles.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Kaz mumbled against her cunt, and the harsh rasp of his voice sent a wave of pleasure through her.

“I have to know--” Inej could hardly finish her sentence as he stroked his tongue slowly up the strip of her pussy. She would know, but it certainly didn’t matter now. Her legs were giving out under her, and he wrapped his strong arms under her thighs as she held onto the mast, his hair, anything to ground her.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, and he certainly seemed to have no intention to. He used one thumb to caress her clit as he sucked and stroked her folds, and her whole body was alight at his touch. The tension was building low in her abdomen, and she couldn’t hardly believe this was happening right here on her own ship. She gazed down at her Kaz, his perceptive eyes trained on her, the eyes that saw her and saved her and endlessly loved her, and she brushed his hair back as she felt the wave of orgasm nearing.

The trapped girl she’d been in the Menagerie could never have dreamed this could be her life. The trapped girl in the Menagerie might have slept easier knowing this day was coming.

“Kaz,” she breathed out his name in a soft moan as she came, wave after wave of sensation rolling through her core. “Thank you,” she was whispering, again and again. “Thank you.”

She was catching her breath as he straightened himself to his feet, kissing her softly while she came down from her high. His belt buckle was still undone, and she ran her fingers around the bare skin at his waist.

“How did you learn how to do that?” she asked him as she looked up at him, dreamily. He just shook his head with that sneaking, crooked smile. Well, fine. She could get him to talk.

She looped her hands through his belt and turned him so that his back now pressed against the mast, and then dropped to her knees.

“Fuck,” she heard Kaz whisper, and she quickly undid his trousers, dropping them to his ankles.

She’d seen him naked many times before, but this was the first time she’d decided to do something about it. His length stiffened just from her proximity, and when she glanced up at him, he looked like he was hardly daring to breathe.

She slowly brought the tip to her lips. Kaz drew in a breath.

“Tell me where you learned how to do that thing with your mouth,” she whispered with a smirk.

“Oh, that’s how this is going to be?” Kaz looked confident, but she saw how he already gripped the mast behind him. She dragged her tongue up his length, and he cursed again.

“You should tell me.”

“Holy fuck, Inej.”

This was going to be fun. Inej wrapped her lips around him, and he let out a low sound she’d never heard from him before. She worked her mouth up and down his length, relishing the pleasure she brought him, how she could turn this dangerous man into a gasping mess.

His thighs were already tensing as he struggled to hold himself upright. He’d been right; this wasn’t going to last long. He’d leaned his head back against the mast, chest heaving, and once he looked like he was going to cry out something, but instead he came with a grunt and a shudder, his fingers curling in her hair. She swallowed the heat that filled her throat, watching him quake and moan as she did, and only then did she release him.

“Nina told me.” Kaz was gasping, eyelashes fluttering as Inej stood up. “I wrote Nina for advice, and she told me about the thing I could do with my mouth. Holy shit, Inej.”

“You wrote Nina?” Inej wasn’t sure if she should be horrified or laugh. “I wrote Nina.”

Kaz opened his eyes at last, looking unconcerned.

“Well, I wasn’t about to ask Jesper for advice. And Wylan’s never even seen a vagina.”

“We will never hear the end of this.”

“She’ll raise us from the dead just to talk about it again.”

Inej thought for a moment before concluding: “Worth it.”

And because they were bored of The Slat, they curled up for the night in Inej’s captain’s quarters, the full moon filling the porthole window and lighting up the night. Sometime in the night, Inej awoke, caught a glimpse of the sea from the window, and poked Kaz in the side until he woke up.

KAZ

“What is it?” he whispered.

“The sea,” she told him.

He wanted to whine. He rarely slept soundly, and had she really just woke him up to look at the damn sea?

Of course she had.

She brought him above deck and shimmied down the ropes to The Wraith’s rowboat, gesturing for him to follow. Kaz felt like he was moving through a dream, but even in dreams, he would follow his girl to the end of the world.

She took the oars of the boat and told him to lie down in the center of the little craft. Kaz gave a relinquished sigh and did as he was told, letting her row them out into the dark harbor, slipping past guards’ watch lanterns, and out into the still waters of the open sea.

He’d long past given up on worrying about Inej’s decisions. If there was a reason she wanted them out in open waters in the middle of the night, it had to be a good one. He closed his eyes and listened to the lapping of the water, willing back old memories and thinking of Inej. His sea captain. He wouldn’t fall to the waters as long as she had him.

Eventually, she stopped rowing, dropped an anchor, and came to lie beside him in the center of the boat.

“It seems like I’m supposed to understand what’s happening,” Kaz said, their shoulders next to each other.

“I wanted you to have a new memory,” Inej said. “Just be still and look around.”

And Kaz raised himself up onto his elbows to look at the sea around him. It was at that moment he understood her love of the sea.

The black sky wrapped around them as far as the eye could reach, glittering with countless stars from horizon to horizon. The surface of the water stretched out all around, a perfect mirror of the sparkling lights in the heavens. Kaz drew in a breath in wonder, suddenly without words. If there was ever magic in the world, this was it.

He looked down at Inej, her hands under her head, as she gazed up at the sky, the picture of contentment.

“Maybe now you’ll think of this, too, when you remember the firepox,” she said, as she gazed softly up at him.

He would. Oh, he would.

He bent over, cupping her cheek, and kissed her fully. His girl. His Inej. His magic. His whole heart. She turned to him on her side, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts against his chest, unbound beneath her thin shirt. Desire coursed through him as he felt the puckered drag of her nipples across his body. His fingers slid through her loose hair, deepening the kiss, and blood rushed to his cock for the second time that night. What surprised him more was her hand dipping down, pressing against it through his trousers, as if she could coax it out.

“Again?” he wondered aloud, and kicked himself for it immediately. But Inej smiled against his lips and touched her nose to his.

“Better memories,” she whispered.

She slipped off her leggings while giving him a pointed glance at his tented trousers. It took a moment to understand her meaning. She wanted him to take them off.

He slid out of his trousers and then the rest of his clothes as Inej did the same, the cool night air brushing against her nipples and hardening them. He wanted to lose himself in them again, kiss them and taste them and –

Just as he was imagining the many things he was about to do to her breasts, Inej pushed him down again onto his back at the center of the rowboat. Slowly, she crawled on top of him, and his cock throbbed, begging, pleading.

This had to be a dream. Surely this was a dream. He only ever had dreams this good.

But the sigh she let out when their bodies connected was very real. And her tight heat sliding over his cock had never felt so good in his sleep. She guided herself down slowly, her hands on his torso, and Kaz released a shaky moan.

He’d convinced himself for years that this was impossible. The angry monster he’d been had locked every fantasy of this away. The broken boy he’d been was sure he’d never deserve this.

Here he was anyway.

Inej rocked over his length above him, taking her time, leaving slow, languid kisses on his mouth. He fitted his hand to the curve of her waist, her long hair brushing over his fingers. The desperation he’d felt on the decks of the ship had passed, and now he could float among the stars, his mind blank, giving his body wholly to the girl who loved him.

Every grim eventuality Kaz had conjured in his mind about the future seemed to dissipate there beneath the stars. He could be wrong. They would have time. They could live like this for years. There was nothing in their way. He had time. He had time.

When Inej quickened her pace, she was as slippery and wet as a minnow, and soon Kaz couldn't help writhing beneath her, arching, exulting, her name on his lips, his heart in her hands. He loved her; he’d love her til the end of time, and he said so, and he was nothing if not true to his word. And when he crumbled beneath her, he was unaware of anything but her her her, and when the wave subsided, there were stars all around her.

She kissed him again and again before lying beside him and mussing up his disheveled hair, grinning up at him with eyes that glittered in starlight.

“That was unexpected,” he panted, and looked over at her. “You’re not worried about – you know--” He gestured at her womb, fumbling for words.

“Nina told me how to prevent it, don’t worry.” Inej was breathing hard, too.

“We have got to stop talking about Nina when we’re naked. It’s getting weird.”

“Agreed.”

And though they knew they’d have to return to the ship before first light, Kaz tucked her close to his body anyway, tracing her curves with his fingertips, watching the stars above them. As he did, he thought of the future once more, only this time, he didn’t see death.

He saw an expanse as limitless as the infinite, starry horizon, as open to him as the sea.

[banditthewriter]

Trust Is Earned - Charles Vane - 1

For someone who is taking a break from writing, I sure wrote a lot in a short time frame.

This is a 34.4k word fic broken into 10 parts. It is what I consider to be a “fuck canon” kinda fic so there’s that to enjoy. 

Warning: Slow burn. I’m sorry.

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

One of the largest draws of Nassau was the freedom. There was still poverty and strife, people who fought every day to survive, but the freedom was something that couldn’t be ignored. Women free of societal views that required them to be the property of either their father or their husband. Men free of the shackles of polite society, free to sail the seas and create chaos. 

Freedom did come with a price though. The pirates ruled the seas and demanded respect with a fist of violence, but that was nothing compared to the rule of the Guthries. They ruled the island with their commerce, able to make and break not only the pirate crews but also the merchants on the island. 

For you, freedom was many things. Your store, though small and off the beaten track, was lucrative and gave to you a life of comfort if not leisure. Your parents were gone but their love still resided in you. They had left behind a gaggle of friends that loved and protected you as you asserted your independence. 

Freedom was also the choice of who you took to bed. There had been a few men over the years, but none you considered special. The closest to a meaningful relationship you got was the continued dalliance with one of the pirates from The Walrus, the boatswain Billy Bones. 

The sex was more than enough to please you, but the man was simply easy to spend time with. The two of you laughed and talked about a myriad of things. He was a learned man and the two of you had plenty in common.

It wasn’t love though. That was one thing you weren’t sure you would find in Nassau, but that didn’t stop you from hoping. 

You wanted connection, intimacy, passion. You wanted a commitment, a love that consumed and freed you. As much as you enjoyed Billy’s presence, he wasn’t that for you.

If you never had a love like your parents had, at least you had your store. Affectionately called the General, it was a place where most of the people on the island started their search for things. If you didn’t carry it, you had the means to find it for them. For a price, of course.

Plus you made the best candles on the island. You were sure that not one ship left the bay without candles from the General.

The life you had in Nassau was a good one, a comfortable one. If only you’d known that that was all about to change.

------

There was a man and women in the store, both of them speaking low as they looked over the shelves against the far wall. Normally you wouldn’t have paid them any mind, but you had seen the look on their faces when they first walked in.

Good things rarely followed Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny when they looked like that.

You focused on the pages in hand, orders from various people on the island. You needed to find more mouse traps for the madam of the brothel, Mrs. Mapleton. One of the cooks from one of the ships needed better utensils. The butcher needed—

“Y/N. We have our order ready.”

You put the papers down and held a hand out to accept the piece of paper that was in Rackham’s hand. He held onto it for a long beat while staring at you before he released it. He turned his body towards Anne who was purposefully cleaning her nails with a long knife from her boot.

“Let’s see what I can do for you,” you said as you looked over the order. “Most of this is here in the store, but there are a few items I’ll need to get for you.”

As you gathered the items that you had on hand, you tried to ignore the two of them. Candles of various sizes, an inkwell with an extra pot of ink, a few quills, a thing of chalk, charcoal, paper… 

Every item you grabbed from your shelves or cabinets and placed into the canvas bag for the two of them, some wrapped to keep from being damaged. Some butcher paper was packed into the bag for extra security.

As you went about marking the items you still needed to get for them, you noticed that they had approached you once more.

“Is there something else I can help you with Mr. Rackham?” you asked in a polite voice as you scribbled a few notes regarding price, adding up how much you’d need to charge The Ranger crew.

“Oh, nothing in particular. Although now that you mention it,” he said as he tapped his fingers on the counter that separated the two of you, “I believe I heard through the grapevine that you were together with the boatswain of The Walrus.”

“Is that what you’ve heard? How intriguing.” You tore off the half of the page with the amount due and handed it over. “Here’s what’s owed. As always you just pay for what’s being taken today..”

He narrowed his eyes at you before he accepted the paper. You watched as he handed it to Anne Bonny who tugged out a pouch with some coin in it.

“Should I take you avoiding the question as an affirmative?” 

You glanced away from Anne and back over to Jack at that. As you were one of the best stores in Nassau and The Ranger was one of the biggest crews, definitely one of the best crews, you had dealt with the quartermaster and his quiet companion often enough. In your time dealing with them, however, you’d never been interrogated before. Your conversations were usually limited to the sale and maybe some idle chit chat.

This was a change you weren’t sure you appreciated.

“There wasn’t a question posed to me. You simply reiterated something that had been observed. However if it had been a question,” you amended because you didn’t want to piss these two off, “I would tell you that no, we’re not together. We simply enjoy each other’s company.”

“Is that right?” He cast a glance at Anne and gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

The woman handed over the correct amount of coin as well as a tip which wasn’t required but definitely helped. You thanked them both as you pushed the bag towards them.

With the bundle in his arms, the two left your store without another word. You weighed the coin in hand before you put it in the hidden compartment where you stored the rest. 

It was a strange interaction with the pirate pair, but you shook it off. There were more important things to focus on. Like a stack of orders you needed to work on.

------

With the door to the store locked, you headed to the hidden door that led to your rooms. It was made to look like part of the wall so no one knew where it was. You had just touched the handle when what sounded like an entire army began banging on the door to the shop.

At this hour it probably wasn’t an irate shopper or townsfolk. This had to be an emergency. That in mind, you made your way over to the door and pressed your ear to it.

“Y/N? Open the door. It’s me, Billy.”

This was highly unusual, but it was Billy. You trusted him.

You undid the locks and lifted the wooden slat that barred the door. Then you quickly opened it. Billy rushed in with someone behind him, a shorter man with curly black hair. He gave a charming smile that seemed at odds with the look of concern on Billy’s face.

The two of them shut and locked the door and then went about herding you towards the back room. Billy then opened the hidden door that led to your rooms, earning an interesting look from the other man.

“Do I want to know what’s going on? Or who this is?”

The man turned to offer you his hand, that charming smile back on his lips.

“I’m John Silver, a newly acquired… cook on The Walrus.”

You looked between John Silver and Billy who kept shooting glances at the door that led to the shop as if it was going to blow open at any second.

“I don’t have any cookbooks on hand if that’s your reason for coming by after I’ve already closed up shop, but I can find some. Other than that, I think I better demand an explanation.”

Billy came forward, his hands raised as if he was trying to calm down an enraged wild animal.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” he began, flinching when you crossed your arms over your chest. “The Ranger crew was getting ready to set sail and uh, it seems they aren’t able to at the moment. Things got a little heated on the beach and we thought it’d be a good idea to find somewhere to lie low until the heat died down.”

You let that sit for a moment as you looked between the two of them. Besides the fact that John Silver didn’t look like he’d spent a second cooking in his life, Billy looked much like he had the first time you’d caught him with one of the whores in the brothel.

You explained that you didn’t mind, preferred it really. While you cared for Billy, you knew that you’d never fall in love with him. You didn’t particularly want to fall in love with a pirate. Since then both of you were comfortable enough to find companionship where it came without guilt.

It worked for the two of you. But that first time he’d looked so guilty.

Just as he did now.

“Bullshit. Now I’ll say this again just in case you didn’t hear me the first time. I demand a fucking explanation.”

Billy winced again.

“Y/N–” but you didn’t let him get out whatever pitiful excuse he had prepared.

“You’re a pirate, Billy Bones, and I’ve never known you to run from a fight. If things were heated on the beach, you wouldn’t be up here hiding. You’d be down there with a sword in hand and your brothers at your back. So whatever is going on, I want to know right now, or you and your cook can go fuck yourselves and leave.”

You watched as Silver opened his mouth, obviously about to tell Billy that they should leave, but you knew that that wouldn’t be happening. Billy had brought the two of them to you for a reason. He might be stubborn—he was a pirate after all—but he was far from stupid.

And he knew that you were right.

“It’s a map,” he said over Silver’s objections, “a map that they had that leads to some potentially big prizes. Silver stole it.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose before you looked at the other man.

“You stole… a treasure map… from a pirate? Not just any pirate, but Captain Vane?” You let out a little laugh and then looked over at Billy. “Where did you find this one? The bottom of the ocean?”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Silver tried to explain as a way to divert attention from his folly. “I am currently in possession of something that The Ranger crew desperately want to get back. My plan is to… give it to Captain Flint but he’s not here. Therefore we’re not as protected as I originally thought we’d be.”

The way he said that he was going to give the map to Flint made you think that had originally not been his plan. If the map was for some large prizes, it was likely he had originally meant to sell it to the highest bidder. 

Maybe he was a pirate after all.

“And so you thought to bring him to me. Did you think I could hide him under the pit where I make the candles?” 

“We just need to keep our heads down until Flint is back from the interior. It should be tomorrow sometime.”

As you started to say that they could stay there, you remembered something from earlier that morning. At the time Jack Rackham’s questions had seemed harmless if a little strange. Now you had to wonder if there had been a reason to them after all.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. This morning I had some of The Ranger crew in here for an order. An order that came with the extra benefit of questions regarding my relationship with the boatswain of The Walrus.”

While Billy usually tried to be civil and polite around you, he didn’t seem to have that issue just then. 

“Fuck. Fucking… fuck.”

“Eloquent,” Silver remarked and then nodded when Billy gave him a glare. “I know that this is my fault, but I think you’re forgetting how important this map could be. And that Captain Vane and the rest of The Ranger crew would gladly cut off our heads to get it back.”

You rubbed your temples, urging back the headache that started to grow there. The day had started with such promise and had only gone downhill. 

“There’s a door in the back that leads to the woods. If you walk about ten minutes you’ll come to a split where you can either go back to town or to the interior. You’ll need to find a different place to hide.”

Silver shook his head.

“The door to this part of the building was hidden. We could stay here.”

You fixed Silver with a glare that made him step back.

“This store is my livelihood. If the pirates even suspect that you might be here, they’ll tear this building down to the very last nail. I won’t have that happen over your stupid decision, do you understand me? If you are in this building when The Ranger crew gets here, I’ll happily direct them to the very crevice you’ve hidden yourself in.”

You turned to Billy, still fuming over the turn of events.

“I’m sorry Billy. You know in other circumstances I’d do anything to help you, but this isn’t something I’m willing to risk. Not for you, not for some man I’ve never met. I can’t be part of that.”

Billy nodded that he understood. He stepped forward and placed a hand on your shoulder to calm you down. 

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that. We’ll take the passage out and head back to the beach. If the crew comes, just tell them we were headed to the interior to look for a Mr. Blackwell. That’ll get them off your case.”

You peered up at him cautiously.

“Is there a Mr. Blackwell in the interior?” You didn’t want to send a bunch of angry pirates after an innocent man.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he admitted with a grin. 

He leaned in to kiss your forehead. When he pulled back, he grabbed Silver’s shoulder and yanked him in the direction of the back door you had told him about.

Once the door was shut and you were left alone once more, you took a deep breath. If the questioning was due to the map, you wanted to be prepared. If Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny came back to your store, you were going to be prepared for them.

After this, Billy would have a lot to make up for.

------

The sun had barely started to rise in the sky when the pounding began. You looked up from where you had been preparing tea. It sounded like the door of the shop was going to cave in any moment and you wouldn’t stand for that. You slipped into the shop and shut the hidden door quietly. You made sure everything was in position before you went to the door to let in whoever was out there.

It turned out to be Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, as you had assumed, but they weren’t alone. In front of them was a man you’d never formally been introduced to, but everyone in Nassau knew who Captain Charles Vane was.

And as he stormed past you and into the shop, you were impressed that for once the stories seemed to be true. He was silent as he directed the other two to start to search your shop, a passiveness on his face that you were sure was faked.

As the other two pirates made their way around the shop, you simply folded your arms over your chest.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about or am I to guess?”

The captain didn’t even glance in your direction but Rackham did.

“Surely you don’t think playing dumb will help you. You admitted to me that you were close to Billy Bones, he stole something from our crew, ergo…” With that he ducked into the backroom to search for Billy, a sword drawn.

“Billy Bones is twelve feet tall, where do you think I’ve hidden him? He wouldn’t exactly fit in the cabinet.”

This time it was Bonny that spoke. 

“You live here, don’t ya? Maybe you have him stashed in your bed.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I won’t qualify that with a response.” You looked past the redhead and over at the captain who was still ignoring your presence. Or pretending to at least. “If Billy had come by here, what makes you think I would’ve let him stay?”

“You’d turn away someone you’re bedding in their time of need?” That was called to you from your own backroom. Jack’s voice was muffled, but still clear enough to be heard.

“If I sheltered every man that I’ve fucked when he’s pissed off some pirate crew or other, I’d be running a halfway house. This is my place of business and as I am supposed to be a neutral entity, yes, I would’ve turned him away.”

That drew the captain’s attention. He stared at you for a long moment before he spoke.

“Jack.” It was just one word but the tone made you stand up a little straighter. 

That wasn’t him calling Jack back into the room. That was him letting Jack off the leash.

Suddenly a loud crash came from the backroom. It was followed by more. It took only seconds to realize what was happening. 

He was destroying your merchandise.

“You fucking bastard,” you yelled as you tried to launch yourself in that direction but an arm around your middle stilled you. 

Out of the corner of your eye you could see the brown hair that hung nearby telling you that the culprit was the captain rather than Bonny. You had half a mind to try to land a fist in his face but you figured they wouldn’t be inclined to let you go if you did that.

“Billy, the cook, and my map. Tell us where they are and this stops.”

Now it was Bonny’s turn to start wrecking your shop. While Rackham wreaked havoc on your backroom, Bonny tore reams of paper and broke quills.

“Make them stop and I’ll tell you, but damaging my store won’t exactly make me inclined to tell you the truth otherwise.”

The arm around your middle squeezed as if in warning before he barked out an order for the two of them to stop. You waited for Rackham to join the rest of you before you tried to pull away from the captain. He didn’t seem inclined to let you go just yet so you stopped fighting it and just slumped a bit.

“There’s a path around the back of the shop. Ten minute walk and you’ll see a sign that points towards the interior. They said they were going to a Mr. Blackwell for help.” You said the name as if you were remembering it rather than just relaying it in hopes that it would help your act. “They left just after dark last night so you might want to hurry.”

A knife was swung out and pointed at your throat, courtesy of Anne Bonny. She pressed it tight enough that it probably drew blood.

“Why should we trust you? You could be lying to us.”

Of course you were but you weren’t about to tell her that.

“What part of neutral entity do you not understand? I sell to everyone on this island so having favorites wouldn’t get me anywhere, would it?”

You finally were able to pull out of the captain’s grasp. You marched towards the backroom and scowled at the mess. Then you went around to your counter where you pretended to look over the damage that Bonny had caused.

“If you are lying to us, we’ll be back,” the captain promised in a deep voice that told you this would just be the beginning.

You shrugged a shoulder as you grabbed the pistol you’d left under the counter. You raised it level at the three of them. You might only have one shot, but you’d make it count. Rackham reached for his sword but Vane shook his head and stopped him.

“I’ve given you the information you need, now get the fuck out of my shop so that I can try to repair the damage that’s been done.”

Vane jerked his head towards the front door that they had stormed through. As the three of them slipped out into the morning air, aimed for the back of the store so that they could try to hunt down Billy and Silver, you watched as Vane looked over his shoulder at you for a long moment before he shut the door behind him.

Once you were sure that the three of them had gone, you slumped against the wall and put the pistol on a shelf. 

“Really hope that map is worth it Billy,” you mumbled to yourself.

Then you went about fixing your shop.

X

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[shinsousbedroom]

Stars and their Distance

Daiya no Ace misawa FWB AU, 1/10 chapters

Miyuki Kazuya, a depressed, workaholic catcher in the NPB, and Sawamura Eijun, a frustrated influencer who just got dumped, are both looking for temporary distraction. The casual, no-strings-attached friends with benefits thing they stumble into is exactly that.

Well, it would be if either of them knew how to do casual.

[Read on AO3.]

Chapter 1: Spinning

Excerpt from “Ace of Hearts: a blog about when love comes outta left field!; Q&A: Bad Break-Up Blues”

“[…] Think of relationships like this. You’re a pitcher on the mound and there’s a line up of batters waiting to knock your ball outta the park. These are your dating prospects. When you’ve gotten hurt pitching before—tore a tendon, drilled the batter, balked, whatever it was—you might not wanna pitch again, right? But the only surefire way to lose the game is to not throw the ball at all. 

“You might be thinking, ‘But Eijun, if the batter hits a home run off your pitch, aren’t you losing the game?’ Well, if you think the point of the game is to win, sure. But to me, the point of baseball isn’t victory. It’s playing the best game you can with the best players you can. The same can be said for love. Some batters will foul out early, and some runners will never make it all the way home. But when you make that connection, when that bat slams the ball out of the park and the whole field feels the electric rush of a phenomenal play that you helped make—isn’t that a beautiful moment to chase after? Isn’t that feeling worth the risk that comes with love?

“So no matter how unlikely a batter steps up to your plate—and there will be batters you didn’t anticipate—throw the pitch! I promise, every strikeout and home run just makes you a better pitcher and brings you a step closer to a beautiful game. […]”

***

“Did you have to move right after the end of the season?” Kuramochi wiped off the sweat from his face with the bottom of his blue shirt. The whole thing was already drenched dark, consistently doused with water the whole day through as Kuramochi drained bottles over his head to beat back the unseasonably hot September day. “Take a fucking break first, Miyuki.”

Kazuya spat out a handful of screws. The bitter, metallic aftertaste clung to his mouth. “Why delay?” he said, tossing the instruction manual for his shelf to the side in frustration. It skittered across the hardwood floor and into Chris’ calf. 

Chris plucked the booklet up and thumbed through the pages of mildly helpful pictograms, eyeing them warily against Kazuya’s clear lack of progress. “Yeah, Miyuki. Why delay?”

Kazuya shot Chris a sour look and flopped back onto the ground with a groan, defeated. “Not like we’re busy during postseason this year.” 

They sighed in unison, united in the bitterness of loss. 

At least Chris’ team had been only one out from the Climax Series. The Swallows hadn’t come close, and even though it was expected from a rebuild year, the loss still rankled. Small mercies, though: Kazuya could rub in the fact that the Swallows hadn’t been last place in their league unlike the Mariners. 

Suck it, Kuramochi. He’d take his victories where he could.

Kazuya stuck his hand into the air, spreading his fingers wide as the overhead lights filtered between them. “Anyway. Moving is work, and you all banned me from working for the next four months. So really, I’m being responsible here.” His hand flopped down next to him with a hard thunk. 

Kuramochi trudged over, heavy steps echoing through the empty apartment, until his head popped into Kazuya’s vision, arms crossed and scowl fierce. “If you wanna try to fight this again, just give me a fucking reason to pin you into a headlock until you’re crying for mercy.”

Kazuya grabbed at his ankle, rolling onto his stomach for a second swipe as Kuramochi danced out of reach. 

“You can’t pull a fast one on the cheet—AH!” 

His ankles caught the edge of the shelf boards, knocking Kuramochi onto his ass. The wooden slats scraped across each other as they slid out of their neat stacks, thumping and scratching the floor until they were criss-crossed between Kazuya cackling into the floor on his stomach and Kuramochi, shocked and sprawled across the debris.

“Fucking build your furniture, Miyuki!” He cradled his foot in his hands, holding it up to inspect as he twisted it every which way. “We’re not doing the same thing as last time, when it took you a full year to finally put all your shit together.”

The weight of apathy slid back into Kazuya’s limbs, edging out the laughter that had given him a moment of relief. “What if I just didn’t?”

“Is that what you want?” Chris replied evenly.

He lolled his head towards Chris. Despite the heat, Chris had spent all day in a black turtleneck, never once hinting he was even mildly uncomfortable even at the peak of the day’s heat, lugging in heavy boxes from the sun-warmed streets. Now sitting on the floor among bubble wrap and crumpled paper, legs kicked out in front of him and waves of brown bangs framing his face, he still looked as wholly put together as ever. 

Even when Kazuya knew beyond a doubt Chris was the epitome of keeping a stone face even when he was going through the worst of it, he still couldn’t help but be jealous. 

Kazuya went back to staring at the unfamiliar gray tiles on his new ceiling. “It would be pretty funny to leave my apartment unfurnished to spite Kuramochi.”

“Finish the shelf.” Chris tossed the manual back. 

“Kominato’s the one who left the task half-done,” Kazuya said, closing his eyes, overwhelmed in a sudden wash of fury and helplessness. 

He opened his eyes to see Kuramochi and Chris hovering above him again. Both their brows were furrowed, Kuramochi’s fist clenched at his collar, Chris frowning mildly. 

“I’m fine,” Kazuya said brusquely.

They glanced at each other, then back at Kazuya. 

He sat up, forcing the other two to reel back to avoid knocking their heads together. “I’m 27, not 7,” he said, testily. “I don’t need to be put under a watch, I’m a grown ass adult.”

“We aren’t gonna—we can’t sit to the side and watch you nearly kill yourself from overwork again this off-season.” 

“Don’t exaggerate—“

“You said you had it together last year, but you didn’t. So you’re getting strict rules this year,” Kuramochi tugged at his hair, a frustrated sneer on his face. “The Swallows and your agent both know not to let you pile on more than your bare minimum until preseason. And the rest of us are going to check on you regularly because we care about your health, even when you don’t. Got it?”

“It’s not overwork,” he said, falling into the same argument that had been chipping away at him for a year now. 

“Then what is it?”

The only coping mechanism that works. The only way I can pretend to feel anything off the diamond. The only thing that makes me tired enough to sleep at night without baseball 24/7.

He settled on: “It’s just work. Making a living, some might say.”

“Hard to do that when you’re stuck in a hospital bed.”

“That won’t happen again. I was just stressed and tired and a bad day caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, it won’t again because we’re gonna help make sure the off-season doesn’t wreck you again after a long history of hiding your fucking problems until they explode.”

“At least you can’t take conditioning away from me.”

“Follow the plan your trainers set for you.” Chris’ voice cut into Kazuya’s stubbornness. “Please don’t joke about this with me.”

After a moment, Kazuya nodded his head, brusque.

Kuramochi rubbed the back of his neck, trying to break the awkward air that had sprung up between them. “Isn’t exercise supposed to help depressed people? Boost your serotonin up or some shit like that?”

“Just my luck it doesn’t,” Kazuya muttered. He cleared his throat. “Can we go back to harassing me about how bad I am at unpacking?”

“We wouldn’t harass you if you just did it.” Kuramochi stood back up and kicked at a box as he went back to sweeping the floors. “Unpack before the season starts up again. You have nearly five months. If you’re feeling feisty, try decorating your apartment, too.”

“My entire personality is baseball. I don’t care about interior design. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“You used to. Pick up your old hobbies. Bring out that telescope you had at back at Waseda. Read a memoir. All the shit you can’t do during the season, drag ‘em out into the open again.”

The wrong answer, he knew, was to reiterate that he didn’t care about any of that anymore. Seriously. “You two are busy-bodies.”

Chris handed him the power drill then returned to the pile of securely wrapped glass kitchenware. “It’s called friendship,” he said, bubble wrap crinkling.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Just try, Miyuki. Please.”

“Sure,” he said, flippantly, knowing the lie didn’t pass unnoticed from the sag in Kuramochi’s shoulders. He thumbed through the instructions, pushing aside the guilt welling into his throat. Kazuya needed this conversation to be over. “Chris-senpai, where’d you put the drill bits?”

***

“Hjnhbgfgvbhnjmknjbhgvfdbghnjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj” wasn’t the most eloquent start to Eijun’s next blog post. Of course, Eijun normally didn’t start his articles by rolling his face across the keyboard in frustration, but considering how little he’d written in the past week, this was as good a draft as any.

Eijun’s eyes flung open as the laptop shifted from under his face, tipping his head off to thunk into the table. He rubbed at his forehead, and blinked up to find Harucchi tapping delicately at the keyboard while the other hand balanced the device in the air. “Eijun-kun,” said Harucchi, peering from around the screen, “not your finest work.”

Eijun sat up and scowled, the lines of his face scrunching against the keyboard indents on his skin. “What would you know about it?” 

“I’ve been editing your posts for years,” Harucchi said. He settled the laptop in front of Eijun, then settled into the chair across from him. “If you’d like me to stop now, I can happily use that time in other ways.”

The dishes rattled when Eijun slammed his palm onto the table. “You’re not allowed to ditch me like that!” 

Harucchi raised his eyebrows. “Says the man who’s been avoiding me.”

A double blow of panic and then confusion struck him. He frowned and swiveled his head around. Snaking line at the counter, coffee scenting the air, a low hum of incomprehensible chatter: this was definitely the coffee shop he’d just discovered this morning and came to by himself and didn’t tell Harucchi about. “How’d you find me?”

“You should stop posting your location on Instagram if you don’t want to be found,” he offered with a gentle smile.

“You don’t live anywhere near here.”

“A teammate just moved to the neighborhood. It was pure luck I happened to be there while you happened to be here.” He ran his fingers against the edge of a plate by Eijun’s elbow, empty of all but crumbs. “It’s a cute shop. New haunt for you?” he asked, a touch too casual.

Eijun averted his eyes, lips pinching. He knew what Harucchi was really asking. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

“I’m doing fine,” Eijun insisted. “Really.”

“I’m glad you stopped feeling obligated to go to the other cafe.” His voice was barely loud enough to reach Eijun, covered by the clatter and call of employees, and a particularly rowdy group of seven students packed at a four person table next to his little corner.

“The old place got too many baristas who sucked,” Eijun lied. As if Harucchi didn’t already know that he’d only just shoved his pride aside enough to accept he’d lost his favorite coffee shop to the break-up. “Had to find a new one.”

Harucchi pried open the plastic lid to his coffee, blowing at the steam rising from the cup. He drew in a long, slow slip of his drink. “Maybe a fresh start here means a fresh start with the blog. Talk about grinding new beans, or something…?” Eijun blanched, well aware that Harucchi’s innocent reputation was a front. 

“If you think I am going to subject my loyal followers to love advice using bean grinding as the topic—”

“You’ll have to excuse me if you had an idea in mind already. I’d thought from the keysmashing that you hadn’t.” Eijun aimed a kick at his shin under the table. Without looking, Harucchi crossed his legs, as if he’d planned on it for that exact moment all along instead of the attempt to dodge Eijun’s ire that it really was. “Is there a reason you can’t find an appropriate topic for your next post?”

Eijun cheeks puffed out, determined for two whole seconds not to tell Harucchi the truth, before blurting out, “I promised Wakana we’d wait a few months before officially announcing we broke up.” And yep—there it was, that classic Kominato passively skeptical look that circled past nonjudgmental so thoroughly that it ended up aggressively intimidating. The one that meant Harucchi was seconds away from bulldozing through all the nonsense he was seeing ahead of him. Eijun lived in terror of it. “She wanted to give us a chance to recuperate in private first,” he muttered, defensive. 

“Eijun-kun.”

“I know, I know! A smart idea for people like Wakana, but I don’t…like wallowing like this. I can’t keep sitting here thinking about how much she doesn’t want me, and it’s all I want to write about. But I can’t post any of it. It’s been nearly two months, and I haven’t moved on. I’ve just gotten madder.”

“You two didn’t consider posting a small announcement saying you were over but you needed time? Space?”

“I couldn’t ask her.” Eijun subsided, spinning his teacup in its saucer with a single finger hooked through its tiny handle. “I owe her, Harucchi. The only reason I started lifestyle and romance blogging was because Wakana got me into it. I made my start on her profiles with her followers. Talking about her now? Why we broke up? Even if I want to, it sounds like betraying her. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m trying to talk shit about her, when we’re both in the same influencer circles.”

Harucchi tilted his head, and when Eijun didn't continue on after several seconds, he prompted, “There’s more.”

So much for the dumb jock stereotype.

“If I write it, then I feel like I’m giving up on her. On us ever being something together, again.” He crossed his arms onto the table, elbows shoving the dishes and laptop uncomfortably close to the edge of the small table, and laid his head on his forearms. He closed his eyes, and said quietly into his chest, “I still love her, Harucchi.”

“I know, Eijun-kun.” A warm hand squeezed his elbow. Between their silence, the monstrous table of college students packed up and left, and suddenly the shop settled into a calm Eijun needed. 

He poked his head up from the comfort of his arms to stare at Harucchi. He was steadily sipping his coffee, one hand resting on Eijun’s elbow. His pink hair had pulled out of the bun at his nape and fell into windswept wisps framing his face and neck. He’d long since stopped wearing Ryou-san’s hand-me-downs in favor of softer, luxe sweaters and slacks, the only true expense he indulged in despite his lucrative status as a rising star for the Swallows.

Altogether, he looked gentle, dangerously so. On the diamond or off, it was easy to be lulled into a sense of security right before he whacked an unpleasant truth out of the park. 

Harucchi pulled his hand back and apologized with a glance. Eijun wasn’t sure why…until he started speaking. “You make a living off of posting about your life—and romance, in particular. You’ve never hidden your past relationship troubles from your followers, however difficult it was to express. It’s part of your brand at this point.”

Eijun’s mouth twisted as he sat up. “Wakana isn’t a branding tool.”

“No one is saying that,” Harucchi said patiently. “What I am saying: you underestimate how much of your own work goes into your success. Aotsuki was certainly helpful—but your personality and your words are why people stay. People trust you.

“You’re good at what you do, Eijun-kun. You’re honest and kind in your observations, to yourself, to your partners, to strangers, despite how difficult and personal love is. When the time comes, whatever you post about Aotsuki will be the same.” Harucchi shrugged. “Also, I’ll edit out anything that makes you sound insensitive.”

Eijun let out a heavy sigh, stretching his arms into the air and shaking off the melancholy. “Thanks for not letting me fall on my own sword.”

“What are friends for?”

For all that he felt better, though, Eijun was still stuck staring at a blinking cursor at the end of a line of drivel. “That still doesn’t solve my problem. I don’t have a clue what to post next. The schedule I followed is trash now without personal updates of me and Wakana. I haven’t been able to binge any of the manga or shows I wanted to review, either. All I got left is the advice column, but if I keep that up with nothing else, I might as well change the blog name to Dear Eijun instead of Ace of Hearts.”

Harucchi stared at him, calculating out something as he took in Sawamura’s restlessness. “You don’t have to keep writing about romance.”

“That’s what I started the blog for.”

“But that’s not why you started writing and recording back at Seidou. You’ve had success with your baseball analysis and tutorials on YouTube and Instagram. You could even say you’ve been neglecting them to chase after romance.”

Eijun groaned, loud and theatrical enough to make the meek businessman behind him jump in shock. “Maybe if I got as much engagement talking about how stupid the idea of celebrity athletes are when it’s a team sport—”

“See?” he cut in, tilting his cup toward Eijun. “You already have a topic to post about.”

“Baseball is my hobby, not my job,” he said mulishly, jaw jutting out. “My dad wrecked his love of music that way! I’m not gonna risk hating baseball after he spent my whole life yelling at me not to ‘monetize my interests’ while holding me in a headlock. That’s asking for the biggest lecture of my life!”

“You can always stop if it’s not the direction you want to go. You’re not getting married to the idea.”

“Don’t bring up marriage, I just got dumped!”

Harucchi pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Fine, don’t think of it as a marriage,” he said. From Harucchi, the sliver of impatience he let free was the equivalent of hauling Eijun by the collar and shaking him down. “Flirt with baseball. Go on a few dates. Get a benefit or two out of it. Does the metaphor suffice now?”

Eijun gasped. “Harucchi! You’re too innocent for that sort of talk!”

“My brother is Kominato Ryousuke, and my best friend writes a blog about romance and sex that I edit,” he said, even as his quiet voice went squeaky and his face mottled bright red from embarrassment. 

“Maybe I should change my blog to save you the embarrassment.”

“I also admit I have a request of you,” Harucchi said sheepishly, pressing a hand to his cheek. “The Swallows want me to get more heavily involved in PR this offseason, and I could use your help figuring out what I’d actually like to do instead of going along with every idea they propose. I’ve seen what they make the other players do, and I’m not interested in doing the exact type of promo they’ve done the past few seasons.”

Eijun crossed his arms and leaned back, chin tilting up defensively. “If you’re trying to convince me by pretending you need help—”

Harucchi shook his head, bangs bouncing across his forehead. “I hope you’ll find value or inspiration in it, too, but I was going to ask, regardless.” He grimaced into his cup. “The players who carry most of the strain of Swallows marketing are…otherwise occupied this offseason. I was volunteered to step in; management’s been wanting me to raise my profile for a while. I can’t really say no, so I may as well make the most of it.”

“I don’t want a pity job.”

“Please, be reasonable.” Harucchi smiled the shy, dreamy, polished smile the Swallows had been trying to splash across their advertising since he joined the team. “It’s a pity favor.”

Eijun snorted, relaxing into his chair again. “Fine,” he said, pulling open a clean document on his laptop. “Let’s brainstorm.”

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 16

Read on AO3.  Part 15 here. Part 17 here.

Summary: The horrors of Gilead are too much to bear. You've been selfish.

Words: 3100

Warnings: Handmaid AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Guys... Ren knows she's missing... what the fuck is gonna happen...

(I know but I'm not telling.)

Thank you everyone for your interest and attention to this story. I have no words to express how grateful I am. I love y'all so much. <3

The rest of the house was surprisingly plain, considering its underbelly. Rey and Finn slept on the second floor, and Poe, as their driver, had an adjoining room on the first floor. The facade was one of a normal, functioning Gilead household, with Angel, Wife, and their help all existing in perfect harmony. Part of you wanted to know more about Finn and Rey’s marriage--did they love each other, was it arranged, how had they managed to create the Resistance--but you couldn’t think of a polite way to ask.

Perhaps that was more conditioning. You couldn’t remember if questions like that had appeared unimportant before Gilead.

“Anyway, that’s all for the house,” Rey said. “You’ll likely only be here a few days, but we think it’s important you know where everything is, should anything happen.”

You blinked. “Happen?”

She waved her hands dismissively. “Not that anything has! Or that we expect it to. But it’s better to be prepared.”

Somehow, this did little to ease your nerves. The reality of being involved with a treasonous group of rebels was starting to settle. Of course you could never be a spy for them. You were trying to save your life. You’d done enough risking it at the end of Kylo Ren’s cock.

Rey led you back through the den, a large room lit with tall, dim lamps and a crackling fire. Bookcases packed tight with spines adorned each wall, reaching the ceiling, and a couple of massive leather sofas framed a heavy, carved coffee table at the center. The hardwood gleamed at your feet, reflecting the flames from the fireplace. Rey trudged forward, heading toward the hearth.

“This is a little cliche, I know,” she said. “But we couldn’t think of a better deterrent than fire.”

She pulled a brick out from the side of the fireplace and tugged out a pair of thick, black gloves that went up to her elbows. After pulling them on, to your horror, she reached into the fire, digging into the logs, and yanked at a lever. Nothing happened. But she didn’t seem deterred. Next, she tore away the thick, Persian rug at the foot of the hearth, pushing back one of the slats of hardwood and using it like a handle, wrenching open a rectangular slab of wood, wisps of smoke escaping as she revealed another hidden entrance.

You shrugged, heart skipping again. “You guys have a lot of these, huh.”

Rey smiled, replacing the gloves in the brick. “Just these two. This is the more important one, though. Come on!”

With quick feet, she disappeared down the tiny staircase, the walls closing even tighter than the ones before, compressing your frame like a compactor. You weren’t as fast, surveying your path, noticing the open grate in the ceiling that hung under where the fireplace was positioned. The air was stifling, almost woolen.

“When the grate is open, it becomes pretty much impossible to breathe.” Rey was at an iron door at the end of the staircase, now, spinning the combination lock above the handle. “We hope that in the event of an emergency, it would give enough time to allow for evacuation.”

Swallowing, you nodded, as if you wanted to be worrying about an emergency. Then again, your entire life had been an emergency for the past few years. What did the change of scenery really matter? The lock clicked, and the door opened. Rey waved you on. Holding your breath, you snuck down with your skirts bunched above your ankles, crossing the threshold and into a cooler, open room. She followed, and the door clamped shut behind you.

In front of you was another area illuminated with the same battery tap lights as you’d seen in their war room, accompanied with those similar eggshell crates. Beds lined the walls, some of them occupied, others barren. At the end of the room was a closed door, light peeking out from the frame. As you glanced around the space, each time a pair of eyes landed on you, shame leapt from inside your chest and swallowed you whole. You counted three strangers corralled here, total, all dressed in sweatshirts and jeans that looked about a decade old. And inside the gazes of these strangers, you saw yourself: terrified. Desperate. Alone.

“We have a new addition today, everyone,” said Rey. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Throwing a half-hearted wave, you mumbled your name. “Hello.”

“Right!” Her hand at your back again, she ushered you forward. “Clockwise, that’s Louise, Audrey, Gabrielle, and…” She snapped her fingers. “Where’s Sarah?”

“In the washroom,” said the one named Louise, pointing to the closed door.

“Got it.” Hand still guiding you, Rey turned you toward the door and walked you through the locking mechanism and how to get up to the main house, if necessary. “And if anything should happen--these girls know this--pull this lever right here. It opens both grates underneath the fire place. The fire is always burning. After you pull it, you all must escape through the piping in the washroom.” She looked over the room again. “You all remember that?”

The other woman called out their assent. Rey nodded, gripped your shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to get comfortable. There’s a set of clothes underneath one of the open beds. We’ll probably be serving dinner in a few hours. We bring it down here. I hope that’s okay.”

You shifted on your feet, crossing your arms. “So… I’m stuck down here, now?” Shadows stretched across the concrete floors, the tap lights too pitiful to banish them.. “Great.”

Her face fell. “I know. It’s not ideal. But…” She sighed. “Our primary goal is to keep you all safe until transport. We’ve smuggled out dozens of Handmaids with our protocols the way they are.”

“Yeah.” You nodded.

The knowledge that Ren would soon know you were gone was crushing you tighter than the walls themselves. You couldn’t imagine him honestly razing everything within 100 miles just for you--after all, you were just a Handmaid--but then you recalled the last time you’d spoken with him. The ache in his eyes. The despair.

Not one like you.

You haunt me.

A chill cast over your intestines, goosebumps sweeping over your flesh. Your tongue was dry. “When did you say the transport was, again?” You tried to wipe your sweating palms on your skirts.

Rey’s nose twisted in consideration. “We have a contact willing to collect a shipment at the end of the week. So it probably won’t be for a few more days.”

You coughed, trying to clear the dust from your throat. You hoped you’d last that long. “Okay.”

“Everyone all right?” Rey asked, casting a glance across the room. When no one responded, she grinned, and left through the iron door, sealing it tight behind her.

A long, heavy sigh left you, and you turned back to the room, again meeting the anxious gazes of the other women. You shuffled over to an empty bed, reaching underneath it, finding, to no surprise, a pair of baggy jeans and a large sweatshirt. You sat down with a loud squeak, mattress deflating like marshmallow underneath you. Every bed in here was covered with mismatched sheets, the frames combinations of screwed together steel bars and wooden slats.

You regarded the set of clothing with some degree of confusion. The thought of putting them on your body seemed foreign. Wrong. The red dress of your captivity didn’t seem right, either, but at least it was familiar.

“I promise that once you put that stuff on, it feels so much better.” One of the women approached you--the one named Audrey. Her dark hair was short. Very short. She must have cut it the second she was free.  “It’s totally weird at first, though.”

“Yeah.” The sweatshirt was grey, stained, with colorful stripes across the chest area that had faded with time. “I don’t really want to change in front of everyone, though…”

“Don’t!” she said. “Sarah will be out in a second. You can change there.”

You nodded, glimpsing the other women watching you. “How long have you… all of you been here?”

“It’s been about a week for me,” Audrey said with a laugh. “My Commander hasn’t given a shit that I’ve been gone.”

“We both came in the middle of the night a few nights ago,” Louise said, gesturing between herself and Gabrielle. Louise had a crooked nose, and her long, blonde hair was tied in braids and piled on top of her head. “I didn’t know if she’d make it!”

Gabrielle shrugged. “You basically bullied me into it.”

“Oh, please,” Louise said. “Don’t act like you weren’t desperate to get out of Dopheld’s house.”

She sighed. “You’re right.” Gabrielle looked at you. Her eyes were dark pools. “I was just scared.”

Audrey nodded. “We were all totally scared.”

“Well,” you said. “That makes four of us.”

“Five.” Louise tilted her head toward the washroom door.

“Has anyone checked on Sarah?” Gabrielle’s nose wrinkled in concern. “She’s been in there a while.”

You blinked. “Checked on her?” It seemed rude to just… check on someone because they were taking a while in the bathroom. Everyone had their bodily struggles.

Audrey stood. “I’ll do it.” She crossed to the door, rapping it with a single knuckle. “Sarah? Are you okay?”

Frowning, your gaze switched between Louise and Gabrielle, hoping they’d provide you with some sort of context. The hesitation in their expression tightened your chest. Dread loomed over you again, a creature ready to consume.

“What is it?” you whispered. “What’s going on with Sarah?”

“Sarah got here last night.” Louise’s voice floated in the air. “She… She’s having a hard time.”

Audrey rapped again. “Sarah? Open the door, hon.”

A tiny whimper rippled from beyond the door. “Leave me alone.”

“Come on, Sare. You’ve been in there for an hour. You’ve gotta come out at some point.”

The hidden voice was tattered, like fabric with more holes than weave. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” Louise called, frowning. “There’s a new person here. She needs to get comfortable too.”

“A new person?” A loud sniffle, and shuffling behind the door. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know--”

Audrey stood back from the threshold. “It’s okay, hon--”

The door swung open, revealing a young woman--perhaps the youngest out of all of you--in a sleeved shirt and sweatpants, her long hair swarmed in a nest around her head, her cheeks a furious red. She sniffled again, which stoked the uneasiness in your heart, but what set it aflame was the rest of her appearance. Her hands were shredded, knuckles purple and puffy, and her right eye was an ugly, dead black, swollen shut, accompanying a massive knot at her forehead. A scab crept over a split in her lower lip.

Your jaw dropped. Sarah plodded out of the bathroom, gaze trained on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know someone else was here.”

“Don’t--uh, don’t apologize,” you said. “I… I only just got here, so…”

She nodded, plopping down on her bed. You sought out direction from the other women, feeling helpless. To get up and just go change seemed a little sociopathic at the moment.

Audrey sat next to Sarah on her bed. “How are you feeling, hon?”

Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I see him out of the corner of my eye.” She was blank, numbed to her surroundings. “My… my other eye, I mean.”

“I know.” Audrey offered a sympathetic smile, rubbing her back. “You’re free, now, though. You won’t ever have to go back to his house again.”

Something slithered from the depths of your psyche and seized you, coiling around you, strangling the air from your lungs. Guilt.

“Your… uh, your Commander did this?” Your voice was stretched like film over your throat.

Sarah peeked at you, nodded. “When he learned I wasn’t pregnant.”

Guilt now snaked its way into your vessels, stuffed you with its presence. “I… I’m really sorry.”

She shrugged, face blank once more. “I just want to be able to sleep through the night again.”

“Me too,” said Gabrielle. “I get so tired of looking over my shoulder every day.” She shivered, shaking off a memory.

“Ooh, I know.” Louise reached up and pulled her braids from their spiral. “And to never have to smell his breath again.”

“Or just see his face in general!” Audrey chuckled. “I’m tired of being called a pig.”

“A pig?” You blushed when you realized it was you that had spoken. “Sorry. That’s terrible.”

Audrey shrugged, offering a wry, pained grin. “Wasn’t as bad as when he slapped me.”

With every admission of abuse, more oxygen escaped your body. Of course, your situation was no more enviable--you knew this, logically--but there was something different about your desperate, impassioned rendezvous with Kylo Ren in comparison to these women who were literally being beaten. And worse. Kylo Ren was possessive, manipulative, controlling, perhaps even heartless--but at least you’d wanted every single finger he laid on you.

In the end, you were running because there was a dark, awful part of you that wanted more than just sex, and the battle with your desire put your life at risk. These women were running because they wanted less--less of all of it. The realization lit a match to the kindling of your guilt.

“Do other Commanders know about this?” For some reason, you wanted permission to be enraged. “That this happens?”

Gabrielle snorted. “Of course they do. Some of them even team up, if you’re unlucky enough.”

“Team up?” Your jaw tensed.

“Whatever you take that to mean,” Louise said, “that’s what it means.”

Gabrielle leaned forward, scanning you. “You can’t really be that ignorant,” she said. “You lived it, too.”

“Come on, now. Her Commander must’ve been one of the low-ranks,” said Audrey. “Who was he?”

You looked between them, face hot. The words wouldn’t come out of your mouth. You were ignorant. There was no one to blame but yourself. You’d wrapped yourself in the protective sheet of your Commander’s attention, so twisted and obsessed with your own misery you’d never taken time to truly consider his role in maintaining the system. Kylo Ren hadn’t just subjugated you--he’d subjugated all of Gilead, propped it up on false limbs and shielded it from criticism. By default, he protected each one of the men that these women were running from. By default, he was complicit in, an agent of their power. By default, he was corrupt.

By default, he deserved to be brought down.

“Hello?” Louise waved. “Anyone there?”

You snapped to attention. “Sorry!” you said. “What, uh, what was the question?”

“I just asked who your Commander was,” Audrey replied. “You don’t have to--”

“Kylo Ren,” you replied, and found yourself standing. “Please excuse me.”

“Kylo--” Gabrielle stuttered. “Isn’t he right under--”

“Yeah, he’s Commander Snoke’s right-hand man!”

“She’s his Handmaid? She got away?”

“Doesn’t that make it more dangerous for us?”

“It totally doesn’t, we’re already running.”

Your brain was too busy spinning with newfound purpose. You’d walked over to the door, hands quaking as they worked to unlock the exit as Rey had instructed. Behind you, the other Handmaids were chattering, their stares like weights on your back. Blood rushed by your ears, pulse thumping at your temple, beating with a burgeoning power. The door opened, and you slipped beyond it, holding your breath through the hot tunnel to the main house. Your limbs were moving faster, shoving open the hatch, punching away the heavy rug, and you scrambled out, tripping over your feet as you stumbled through the house.

“Rey?” you called. “Finn? Poe?”

It was strange, how threatening silence could be in this world. You crossed through the den, peeking around the corners, searching like a hound. There was something boiling inside you, like a geyser, ready to explode through your skin, wrench you apart with its insistence. You could feel the words on your tongue, taste them, and they were begging to be given life, to find release.

“Rey!” you shouted up the stairs. “Finn! Poe!”

Still no response. Dread again, descending onto your shoulders, hijacking your heart, your breath coming faster, cycling through your lungs. If something had happened, making a ton of noise likely wouldn’t help. You sucked in a deep breath. You hadn’t checked outside. Gathering your skirts, you slunk to the back door, popping the locks and prying it open, inch by inch. Voices hit your ears. You froze. You couldn’t see them--they were around the corner, in the garden.

“We did rush the transport.” It was Finn. Relief tugged at your mind--but he sounded concerned. “The contact still says they won’t be able to make it for another 48 hours.”

“Dammit.” That was Poe. “And no response from bunker?”

“They’re full,” a voice you recognized as Rey’s replied. “They just took in another on emergency.”

“Shit!” A frustrated sigh escaped him. “I thought we’d at least have half a day to figure out where  we’d move her.”

Your stomach flipped. Her. You?

“Well, this is Ren we’re talking about,” Finn replied. “We knew how he might get.”

Now your stomach lurched. Yes, you.

“We still have a few hours,” said Rey. “According to our intel, he’s only just now received report his Handmaid was taken off the streets for re-education. Even assuming he abandons his post, he’ll still need to figure out she never made it to a Red Center and find out who took her.”

More nagging guilt. How hard they were working, just to keep you safe. To keep you from him.

���Should we file the missing report to the Eyes?”

You didn’t want to be rude. But new guilt was morphing, too, liquefying to rage in your belly.

“I’m already on it.” Finn sighed. “Let’s just go with the plan as-is, for now. We don’t know what his intentions are. He might not even come here.”

Your fists clenched. You wanted him to.

“This would’ve been so much easier if she had agreed to work with us,” Poe mumbled.

You trembled, roiled through with fury for the women in the basement, for your saviors, for Johana and Emma and Rose, for--hell, yourself. All of you pinned underneath the monstrosity built by Ren and the Commanders like him, some of you struggling with trembling knees, others collapsing, devoured by the machine as they strained to support its weight. Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the backyard.

Rey sighed. “Well, she didn’t--”

“Wait.” Your voice was cold and foreign. Finn, Poe, and Rey turned the corner from the patio, mouths parted in shock. “I’ll do it.”

A smile cracked Poe’s face. “You will?”

“Really?” Rey grinned.

“Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll be your spy.”

A flock of birds scattered from the yard, taking off into the dusky sky.

[littlespoonevan]

make this feel like home

i wanted to write evak moving in together and @dahlstrom wanted evak trying and failing to put a bed together so this is the end result aksjdhsakjfhsa 

happy skam day, my friends <33

*

The initial decision only takes two minutes to be made.

(Isak flops down on his bed with a long-suffering sigh, snuggling into Even’s welcoming arms. He’d been waiting twenty minutes to brush his teeth before bed. Noora had already been standing outside the bathroom door when he got there while Eskild had been locked inside in the middle of his night time routine.

“Five people in a three person apartment isn’t as cute as sitcoms make it out to be,” Isak grouses, burying his face in Even’s neck and feeling Even’s chest rumble underneath him as he laughs.

“It is a bit of a tight squeeze,” he admits.

“How many times have we almost been late for school because we’re all trying to get ready at the same time?” Isak asks rhetorically, cringing at the fact that he’s had to start setting his alarm fifteen minutes earlier so they can stagger their bathroom schedules.

Even goes quiet and Isak is almost convinced he’s fallen asleep when he hears a quiet. “I can leave, you know?”

Isak immediately tightens his hold on him, hooking one of his legs over Even’s to keep him in place. “No,” he says steadfastly, relaxing a little bit when Even starts rubbing his hand over his back in soothing circles.

“You could come with me,” he suggests softly and that makes Isak pick his head up.

“Like move in with your parents?” Isak asks.

Even doesn’t meet his gaze, staring down at where Isak’s hand is braced on his chest instead. “Or we could get our own place?”

Isak pauses, letting the words sink in.

Their own place.

Actually living together – not just Even spending the night and never really going home. But them consciously building a home together. It’s- it’s a lot.

“Do you think we’re ready for that?” he asks slowly.

Even shrugs, “I’ve been pretty much living here since December and we haven’t had any problems so far.”

“But that’s with three other people acting as a buffer.”

“We don’t have to,” Even says quickly and Isak doesn’t like the vulnerability in his expression or the way he won’t really meet Isak’s gaze.

“No,” he says, surprising himself at how much he means it. “I want to.”

Even’s eyes snap up to his, quietly hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Isak says fervently, feeling a smile spread across his face as he says it. “Yes, let’s move in together.”

Even’s response gets lost between their mouths but his kiss is answer enough)

The actual process takes a lot longer.

It’s a lot of long conversations.

First, with Eskild to hear his opinion on the matter, since he’d been the one to take Isak in in the first place and lived with him the longest. He raises a lot of realistic obstacles for them to consider but ultimately tells them if it feels right they should go for it – before tearing up when he tells Isak how proud he is to be his roommate. Isak wipes his eyes when he thinks neither of them are looking and vehemently denies crying.

The second conversation is with Even’s parents. It’s an arduous talk about their ages and the pressure of school and Even’s bipolar and all the other responsible, adult things they have to bring up. But ultimately they give their blessing with one main condition: their apartment has to be close by. They’re willing to give Even (and Isak) their independence but they want to be around in case anything happens. Isak doesn’t have a problem with it – he’s honestly a little comforted at the thought they’ll be there if they need them. After that’s settled they help Isak and Even search for apartments and sort out their finances and generally just make the whole thing a reality.

Isak talks to both of his parents separately and the conversations go better than expected. His dad says he’ll continue to help Isak out with rent money and says he can take any of the old furniture in the garage if he wants it. His mom hugs him and whispers that she’s happy for them. It’s a good conversation.

The conversation with the boys is the shortest and by far the most enthusiastic.

The longest conversation of all is between the two of them. Up for most of the night talking through all their fears and concerns and what they’ll do if it goes wrong. But beneath it all is a conviction tough as steel. They want this. They can do this. And so they do.

Which leads them to now.

Standing in an empty one-bedroom apartment a few streets over from Even’s parents’ place, surrounded by cardboard boxes and plastic bags.

“I’m starting to think we shouldn’t have sent the boys away,” Isak says, surveying the mountains of things that need to be unpacked. Jonas, Mahdi and Magnus had stayed long enough to help them lug the heavy furniture up to the apartment before clapping them both on the back and saying their goodbyes. They’ve unpacked the kitchen and the bathroom since those two required the least amount of effort but now they’re faced with the mess that’s supposed to be their living room.

“Magnus was afraid we’d start christening the apartment while they were still here,” Even replies, sending Isak a smirk when he glances his way.

Isak snorts, shaking his head. Like Magnus has any fucking room to talk. He still doesn’t want to know what he and Vilde did in the kollektiv’s bathroom at the Christmas party.

“So roomie,” Even says pointedly, stepping closer and draping an arm over Isak’s shoulders. “Two rooms left, which one?”

“Bedroom?” Isak suggests hopefully – christening the apartment doesn’t sound half bad right now.

Even raises his eyebrows, biting back a smile. “Any particular reason?”

Isak shrugs nonchalantly. “Just don’t wanna end up sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Even nods, a knowing grin on his face that says he definitely doesn’t believe him. “We better get to work then.”

Isak is two steps down the hallway when Even starts humming “Work From Home” under his breath.

*

So it turns out, putting a bed frame together is really fucking difficult and definitely more than a two person job. Neither of them are particularly adept at building things and screwing in the wooden slats proves to be a near impossible task.

Isak is just about to get the slat secured on one side after ten minutes of trying to position it right when Even moves, accidentally pulling the bedframe with him and making the slat fall. Isak drops the screwdriver, craning his neck to glare at him over his shoulder.

“Sorry?” Even offers sheepishly.

Isak rolls his eyes, pushing himself to his feet and stepping out from the skeleton of their bedframe. “I’m getting a drink.”

“Baby, I’m sorry!” Even calls again, catching Isak as he tries to get past and hugging him from behind. He kisses his neck, and his cheek, and his jaw, over and over again and it really doesn’t take long for a smile to take over Isak’s face.

He sinks into Even’s arms, leaning his head back against his shoulder in a vague attempt to meet his gaze. “You know I’m not mad at you? I’m mad at the bed.”

Even laughs, eyes twinkling, and punctuates his, “I know,” with an assuring kiss to Isak’s lips.

“Looks like we’re actually gonna be sleeping on the floor tonight,” Isak sighs, eyeing the half-finished bed frame with disdain.

Even laughs again, right by Isak’s ear, and the vibrations of his chest make Isak’s spine tingle. Then he slowly swivels them toward the mattress taking up most of their bedroom floor. “We’ll get it done,” he promises soothingly, nudging the backs of Isak’s knees and making him walk towards the mattress. “You need to de-stress, baby. We could take a nap?”

Isak escapes the circle of Even’s arms to drop down onto the mattress, leaning back on his hands and eyeing Even speculatively. “Or you could take off your pants?”

Even barks out a laugh, landing on his knees between Isak’s legs, hands planted on the mattress on either side of his hips. He leans into Isak’s space, only stopping when their faces are centimetres apart. “You gonna make it worth my while?”

Isak’s gaze drops to his mouth and suddenly all thoughts of furnishing their apartment go out the window. “Always,” he replies, curling a hand around Even’s neck to reel him in and crush their mouths together.

They don’t get the bed made but at least they know the mattress works.

*

After testing out their new shower Even declares they need dinner which would be great except for the fact there’s literally nothing in their fridge. He leaves for the shop with a kiss to Isak’s cheek and a promise to bring back sustenance.

Isak tidies up a little bit while he’s gone, mostly just moving boxes around in an attempt to de-clutter the place. The kitchen and bathroom are finished, at least. He figures the bedroom and living room are probably gonna have to wait ‘til tomorrow.

Even returns with a six pack, a loaf of bread, a block of cheese and fucking cardamom.

Isak silently raises an eyebrow at him when he empties out the contents of the paper bag onto the counter.

“You said you wanted beer,” Even says innocently by way of an explanation.

They end up sitting on the living room floor, beer by their knees and toasties served on napkins since neither of them can be bothered doing dishes.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve been here before,” Isak says as he takes the final bite of his toast.

Even can’t speak with his mouth full so he settles for a frown and a vague noise of confusion. It’s stupidly adorable.

“On your floor, eating cheese toasties with beer,” he elaborates.

Even leans in, shaking his head. “Our floor,” he corrects, dropping a kiss on Isak’s cheek before he sits up straight again.

Isak smiles and is secretly grateful no one but Even is around to see it because he knows it looks unbearably fond. “When we were in your room that day, did you think we’d end up here?”

Even pins him with an exasperated look. “Isak, I had to lure you to my house by pretending to forget my fucking ID; I was still trying to get you to actually look me in the eye.”

Isak huffs and looks away in an attempt to hide his blush, “I was fucking nervous, jesus christ.”

The corners of Even’s mouth turn up and he shifts closer, hand curving to fit against Isak’s cheek. “You still make me nervous,” he whispers, expression warm and mouth even warmer as he captures Isak’s lips in a kiss.

Isak’s breath hitches as he pulls away, nosing at Even’s cheek to keep him close for just a second longer. “I didn’t think we’d end up here when we were in your room that day,” he confesses quietly. “But when we were in my room two weeks later. I knew then.”

Even’s finger touches the underside of his chin to tilt Isak’s head up again. “How’d you know?” he asks, and there’s something about his expression, something bright and brilliant but also private. Something that’s theirs.

“You were already picking out the colour of our curtains,” Isak answers with a teasing tilt to his mouth.

Even blinks in surprise before letting out a quiet laugh. “Ah yes, the yellow curtains.”

Isak nods, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair back off Even’s forehead. “That’s when I knew.”

“I think I knew too,” Even murmurs. “It felt different with you; it always has.”

Isak nods in agreement, closing the last bit of space between their bodies and tucking himself into Even’s side. Even leans back against the couch behind them to support their weight and then Isak is wrapped up in his most comfortable place in the world – Even’s arms.

“What did it feel like?” he asks once the silence has settled around them. He doesn’t need to clarify, he knows Even understands what he’s asking. Even kisses his forehead before resting his head on top of Isak’s and then, very simply, he replies:

“Home.”

*