#or should i say wylan hendriks

[productiveandselfdestructive]

me doing literally anything: woah this is so wylan van eck coded

[dasiesanddarkness]

some emojis i think Wylan would use often:

🫡

✨ (random text because otherwise this one is huge for some reason)

🫰

☕️ (same here)

👀 (and here)

🖕 (aand here)

💪 (aaand here)

🪼

💣 (aaaand here)

💔 (aaaaand here)

💅 (aaaaaand here)

😗 (aaaaaaand here)

😔 (aaaaaaaand here)

(ps he has a different colored heart assigned to each of the crows)

[therealnuclearplatypus]

the fact that jack wolfe is probably queer makes his portrayal of wylan so much more special and meaningful to me

[magicandpizza]

Anika knew who Jesper Fahey was before she’d ever joined the Dregs. While Kaz’s name carries weight, and perhaps a small shudder of fear, Jesper’s name comes with a knowing smirk and some sort of comment on his sexual prowess. She’d deny it if anyone ever asked her, but the truth of the matter is that she has slept with him. Just the once, as is his way, and his reputation is entirely true. He is, unfortunately, a very good shag, and his list of previous bedfellows is probably longer than Anika’s entire arm.

It comes as very little surprise to her when a rumour starts circulating amongst the gang that Fahey had not only previously slept with their brand new demo man, but had also, apparently, forgotten about it. What is surprising, though, is that Jesper has apparently gone back for seconds (and thirds, and fourths…), because said demo man practically lives at the Slat nowadays, and the pair are frequently together.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Anika whispers. She’s sitting at a table at the Crow Club nursing a well-earned beer after finishing her shift.

Beside her, Pim raises an eyebrow but his eyes stay locked on the sight of notorious flirt Jesper Fahey contentedly sitting beside his… boyfriend? What is his name anyway? Henderson? Hen… something. It’s on the tip of her tongue. The demo man is tucked happily tucked up against Fahey’s side, grinning at him over the rim of his glass.

For the life of her, Anika cannot work out what it is about him that has Jesper so transfixed. Sure, he is objectively good-looking, though men with pretty eyes and delicate features don’t really do it for her, and he must be clever if he knows his way around explosives, but in their - admittedly limited - interactions since Hendriks joined the Dregs, she’s found him kind of meek. Unassuming.

“It won’t last,” Pim says eventually. “He’ll get bored. This is Fahey we’re talking about after all.”

Anika hums. She traces her fingers over the droplets of condensation running down the side of her beer glass, then takes a long drink. See, normally she’d agree with Pim. But the pair have already been to Ravka and back, and she has a sneaking suspicion that the messy-haired demo man - and really, what is his name? - might actually have fully moved into Fahey’s room.

“I don’t know Pim, I feel like this is different.”

-

A few weeks later and Anika is ready to tear her hair out. She’s never paid too much attention to the fact that her room is directly next to Jesper’s, but now that it’s Jesper and Wylan’s room, well, that’s another matter. To put it simply, Anika has overheard more than she ever needed to over the past few weeks, and it’s seriously starting to grate.

She glares at Jesper as he enters the living area at the Slat. He’s alone, but pours two cups of coffee anyway, taking both with him as he joins her and Nina at their table.

“You’re very loud, you know that?” Anika says around a mouthful of lacklustre porridge.

Nina snorts into her breakfast, but Jesper only grins with the self-satisfied smirk of someone who is having good sex and a lot of it.

“I could buy you some earplugs, if you like.”

Anika scowls at him. “You could try asking loverboy to keep it down.”

“I could,” Jesper says mildly with a shrug of his shoulders. He drums his fingers against the table as he raises his mug to his lips. “But I quite like the noises he makes.”

Anika seriously considers hitting him.

“It’s not just Wylan, they’re both as bad as each other,” Nina grumbles, stabbing at a piece of sausage a little too forcefully. “Do you know, Anika, I’m pretty sure I heard this one,” she gestures at Jesper with her fork, “begging the other night. Seems quite unlike you, what was Wylan doing, hm?”

“He has very talented fingers,” Jesper says, pointedly ignoring the gagging noise Anika directs at him. “And don’t take it out on me just because Kaz hasn’t smuggled Matthias out of Hellgate yet. You should be happy at least some of us are getting laid.”

Nina opens her mouth to respond, but quickly shuts it again when Wylan drops into the empty chair next to Jesper, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as he does so. Anika scowls at him too for good measure. Surely, she thinks, it can’t get any worse than this.

She is proved disgustingly wrong when Nina’s Fjerdan slab of fur moves into the Slat a week later, and the pair upgrade to a bigger room. Surely all the Saints must hate her, because the room they move into is directly above hers.

[rose-sophia-isabella-rogers]

A Tale of Stolen Hearts: Chapter XIII - No Matter What Will Happen, My Heart Beats for You

Chapter Summary: What fate will the King decide for you?

Pairing: Aleksander Kirigan/Reader, Wylan Hendriks/Jesper Fahey

Characters: Aleksander Kirigan, Reader, Zoya Nazyalensky, Tolya Yul-Bataar, Kaz Brekker, Wylan Hendriks, Nina Zenik, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey

Word Count: 3838

A/N: moi tsar – my ruler, king sankta – saint Inspired by prompts: https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089577824/ https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089533269/ https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089577829/ https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089533253/ https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089550803/ The last scene in this chapter contains plot from the 5 episode of season 2.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@budugu

@intothesoul

@mizelophsun11

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

@zeeader

You are finally brought to the Throne Room in the Grand Palace. Your hands are bound, obviously, and spread apart. The whole chamber is filled with people, both Grisha and otkazat'sya. You even notice some familiar faces. You'd wave at them if you could.

King Alexander is sitting on his throne with his wife Tatiana next to him. You can see their sons, Vasily and Nikolai standing behind them. Only Nikolai, the youngest son, is not sending daggers at you with his eyes. He's looking at you more with curiosity. You stare back at them all calmly, bravely.

'You know why you are here,' King's voice silences all whispers. 'You are accused of treason, murder of a member of the royal family, my nephew, Pyotr Landsov. To escape punishment, you faked your own death and lived in hiding. But the justice finally caught up with you. The First Army caught you-'

'After I saved their asses,' you put in. You swear you can hear Tatiana's snicker masked with a cough.

'Do not interrupt your King!' Alexander III booms.

'I just think people here should know all the facts, before you convict me, you know?' you ask. 'Like, for example, what happened that day?'

'Nothing you have to say would justify such crime,' the King says, glaring at you. You raise your chin and give him a challenging look.

'How about this?' you ask. 'Your darling nephew tried to force himself on me.'

Some people gasp. The Queen stops glaring at you. Nikolay's eyes go wide. King freezes at those words.

'Oh, you haven't heard the best part yet,' you say, looking around at the gathered people. 'He said it's a normal thing in his party. That he "tests" all women in there this way.'

Your eyes find a girl you remember seeing that day. She looks down. You notice her fists clenching.

'No one ever said about such thing before,' the King dismisses you. You bark a humourless laugh.

'How could they?' you ask. 'Most likely instead of getting help or having this put to stop, they would be thrown out of the army… or worse. Or the usual thing would happen. They would be told it was their fault. Because that's how it usually goes. Rape victims are blamed for what happened, instead of getting help. What I did was a crime, I don't deny that. But he at least suffered for a short time. His victims may still be traumatised because of what happened. I still have nightmares about what he almost did. Because the rape doesn't end for the victim when their abuser is done with them. They have to live with the memory of that forever.'

'Show some respect to the dead!' the King booms.

'He showed me none when he was alive,' you spat with venom but then your look softens. 'I don't say he deserved what I did to him. I didn't mean for that to happen. But fear of what he tried to do caused me to lose control of my abilities for a moment. And that was enough for a disaster to happen. I'm sorry I've caused you and your family grief. Yes, I ran that day. I've been running for most of my life. But I'm done with that today. I'll take consequences for my actions. Just remember, before giving me my punishment, I'm not the only one to blame for what happened.'

You can hear whispers in the room. You face the emperor bravely. He's almost steaming with rage.

'There's only one possible punishment for what you did,' the King says. 'And it's death!'

'Moi tsar, if I may…' you hear a familiar voice. The King almost sighs, you can hear it.

'General Kirigan,' he says, nodding his head, but it's clear he's not happy. Kirigan steps out from the crowd and joins you. You don't look at each other, not wanting the gathered to know about your relationship. It could cause you more harm.

'I don't claim what Miss [L/N] did wasn't wrong or justified,' Kirigan starts. 'But she's right that we should take the circumstances into consideration as well. And like she said, she didn't intend to kill him. It was… more of a self-defence. Could she control her abilities more? Maybe. But let's not forget she didn't train in the Little Palace, she was self-taught. Control of emotions is hard to accomplish by yourself. That said, I don't believe she deserves to be executed for what she did.'

'Why do you defend her so much, General?' the King asks, tilting his head to the side. 'You barely know her. You spent what? Weeks together?'

'I know her enough,' Kirigan says. 'She's impetuous and daring, a little too bold and way too fearless.'

You shrug. That sounds about right.

'And most importantly… she's not a murderer,' Kirigan says and points at the Grisha. 'On the contrary, she's a hero. All of those people are alive right now… because of her. She's the one who risked her life and destroyed the device meant to doom all Grisha. Fjerdans were about to use it in the battle we had two days later. We would lose very quickly if it had happened. We were close to losing anyway. And we didn't because of her. If we're talking today about her actions, let's not forget about those as well. Because, quite possibly, we all are alive here today thanks to her.'

Silence fills the room. The King looks around the room. He doesn't like some stares he gets. Because Kirigan is right. You did save Ravka. For most you are a Saint. Killing you now and after you revealed you did it because you had been almost raped… would just make you more of a martyr for the people.

'Very well,' the King finally says. 'General Kirigan is right. We can't forget how you helped save Ravka… for which we are grateful. However, it does not absolve you of your crimes. Hereby, you are banished from Ravka. You have a month to settle your matters and a day to leave Os Alta. If you are found on Ravkan territory after that… death awaits you.'

Banishment. Better than death but… you still can't have what you really want.

'Thank you for your mercy, moi tsar,' you say, bowing your head. You almost vomit saying those words. The King waves his hands. You are taken out of the Throne Room. Only outside you will be freed from your bonds. While you're leaving, you cast a glance behind your back. Your eyes meet Kirigan. The sadness in his eyes is as deep as the one in yours.

*

A month has passed. You were preparing to leave the Ravka. That requires a trip through the Fold. The King truly was cruel. But hey, you came back from the dead, so what are a few Volcras to you, right?

On the day you are about to set out to the Fold, Kirigan arrives to bid you goodbye. You welcome him in your (for a few more minutes) apartment with a smile.

'How are things in Os Alta?' you ask. He takes off his coat and puts it on your armchair.

'Half of the kingdom wants you dead,' he sighs.

'Wow, a month ago it was the whole kingdom,' you say and grin. 'Things are looking up!'

'Please, stop joking about it,' Kirigan says, glaring at you. You shrug.

'You know it's my defence mechanism,' you say. But you allow your walls to drop. Kirigan looks at you softly, seeing how vulnerable and scared you are.

'At least you are alive,' he says, walking toward you. You send him a weak smile. He takes your hands in his.

'Thanks to you,' you say. 'I didn't get to say it then, so let me now. Thank you. If it weren't for what you said, I'd…'

'I promised you, remember?' he asks. 'That I'd fight for you.'

You can feel tears in your eyes. You try to blink them away. Kirigan notices it and lets you go. You walk away and busy yourself with gathering your things, while also drying your eyes.

'What are you going to do now?' Kirigan asks after a moment.

'I'm heading to Ketterdam,' you answer. 'Sounds like a good place for me. Then… I'll see. Maybe I'll move to a different town. Maybe I'll travel. Maybe I'll spend there the rest of my life, however long or short it would be.'

'You are a powerful Grisha,' Kirigan says. 'If you use your powers often and master them, who knows? Maybe you could be immortal. Or nearly immortal.'

'No, no, no,' you quickly say, turning to him. 'I don't want to become immortal! Who'd want to live with themselves for that long?'

Kirigan barks a laugh. You grin at him. Then you look at your things.

'Right,' you say. 'I think that's about it.'

'Let me help you,' Kirigan says and walks to you. Together you take your things outside. There you pack it to carriage your sister got for you. Or rather your luggage. You're going to ride on Hector. Elizabeth claims he's grown fond of you. You just think she wants to get rid of him, because he doesn't listen to anyone.

'Right, time for me,' you sigh and turn to Kirigan. 'You know, my life really took a turn from a year ago.'

'I know,' Kirigan says, taking your hand in his and then pulls you to himself suddenly. 'You thought you were insatiable but then you met me.'

'You think too highly of yourself,' you say, raising your eyebrows. Kirigan smirks.

'Am I not everything you wanted?' he teases you.

'I wanted a little less arrogance,' you answer. Kirigan laughs. You grin. But then your smile becomes sadder.

'I've missed that laugh,' you say. 'And I'm going to miss it again.'

'I know,' Kirigan says quietly, his eyes filled with sadness as well. 'I wish… I wish you told me about your plan. Then I…'

'What?' you ask. 'You'd come with me?'

'Maybe,' Kirigan answers, shrugging. 'We will never know, because you robbed me of that choice.'

You bite your lip. You shake your head.

'I was really considering it, you know,' you say. 'Telling you of my plan and asking you to run away with me. But… I couldn't do that to you. Because I know how hard you work to keep all Grisha safe. If you had run with me… all of that would have been for nothing.'

'So, that's a "no" to considering allowing me to go with you now?' Kirigan asks. You smile sadly.

'You would hate it, Kirigan,' you say. 'And maybe hate me again after some time.'

'I don't think I could,' Kirigan says after a moment. 'Hate you again. There's no coming back to how things were between us. And… call me "Aleksander".'

You smile. He smiles back and cups your face.

'One day… you will be able to return,' he says. 'I promise.'

'Or maybe one day the war will be over and you will be able to come to me,' you say. Aleksander chuckles humourlessly.

'After all that time?' he asks. 'I doubt it.'

'Never lose hope,' you say. Aleksander nods. He leans to you, closing his eyes. You close your eyes and answer the coming kiss.

'I still hate your lips on mine,' you whisper and he chuckles. 'I will miss it so much.'

'Never lose hope,' Aleksander says your words back to you. You roll your eyes and pull away. But you cup his cheek.

'I love you,' you say, causing him to smile. 'Remember that. Nothing will change that. I will always love you.'

'And you remember, that no matter what, my heart is yours,' Aleksander says. 'It beats for you. Only for you.'

You smile. How you wish you could have more time… Alas, the rich and powerful just love to make people like you miserable.

'Time to go,' you whisper and move away from Aleksander. You mount Hector and look at Aleksander. He grabs your hand for a moment longer.

'Farewell… Aleksander,' you say, trying not to fall apart.

'Not "farewell",' he says, shaking his head. 'It's: see you next time.'

'See you next time, then,' you laugh. Aleksander forces a smile. He takes a step back.

'May Saints be with you,' you say.

'I only want one Saint to be with me,' Aleksander says. You roll your eyes.

'Oh, you will not let me live this one down,' you say. Aleksander smirks.

'Not likely,' he says and his look softens. 'Be careful.'

'You as well,' you say, forcing a smile. You look at the driver of your carriage and nod. It's time to set off. You wink one last time at Aleksander and make your horse turn around. Then your smile falls and tears well in your eyes. You cry as you ride away from Caryeva, your life… and the one you love. This time, you don't turn back. It would be too painful.

*

'So, what exactly are we waiting for?' Tolya Yul-Bataar asks.

'For information about the Neshyenyer,' Kaz Brekker answers. 'And if my contact, who's also the best thief I know, agrees, she will also help us if it would be required to steal it.'

Zoya freezes. She frowns, as she connects the information from Kaz. She. Best thief. Here in Ketterdam.

'Saints,' Zoya sighs. 'Do not tell me…'

Before anyone can ask her what she means, Kaz straightens up, seeins someone behind Zoya and Tolya. They turn and Zoya curses under her breath.

You walk into the building and look around. Locating Kaz, you head toward him, smiling.

'That was fast,' he comments once you're close.

'Please, I'm the fan of that theft,' you say. 'I just needed to check a few details.'

Your eyes fall on Zoya and you stop talking. She looks at you with a smirk.

'From all the people I expected to see here, you're far on that list,' you say.

'Long time no see, [Y/N],' Zoya says. 'It's been years.'

'It's the moment you say you didn't miss me, right?' you ask.

'Well, maybe a little bit,' Zoya admits. You grin at her.

'I take it you know each other,' Kaz says. Ah, yes. He hates to be ignored.

'We've spent a few weeks together,' you say. 'But now back to business. What I found out is for all of you?'

'Yes,' Zoya confirms. You nod.

'So, as you probably know the Neshyenyer at Ahmrat Jen is fake,' you say. 'It's been stolen by a thief known as The Disciple. My personal hero, but about it later. He had a penchant for stealing Saint-related relics while on jobs.'

'So he's a thief and a collector?' Wylan Hendriks asks.

'And retired,' you add. 'But he has since put a few pieces of his collection on the black market.'

'So, to get to him, we go to his fence,' Tolya says.

'Ohval Saran,' you say, nodding. 'She has a tea shop in Bhez Ju. To speak with her, we have to order yellow chrysanthemum tea, off-menu. That's all I know. The rest is up to you.'

'Wouldn't you want to help?' Kaz asks. 'We may need to steal it, worst case scenario. Think about it, stealing from the Disciple.'

'Mm, don't tempt me, Kaz,' you say, smiling.

'We could use your skills,' Tolya says. 'It's really important. Prince Nikolay will pay any price.'

'Prince Nikolay?' you ask, your smile fading. 'This is who you are getting the sword for?'

'We are getting it for Alina Starkov, but on Prince Nikolay's orders,' Wylan answers. You frown.

'Why would Alina Starkov need it?' you ask.

'To destroy the Darlking's indestructible army of shadow monsters,' Tolya answers. Zoya, who for the past few minutes has been trying to get them all to stop talking, hides her face in her hand. She misses the way your body freezes.

'The Darkling… he's alive?' you ask.

'And kicking,' Tolya confirms, nodding. 'He won't stop at nothing to get what he wants.'

It costs you everything to calm your heart. You didn't want to believe the news. That Aleksander has expanded the Fold. That he died. That he gave his heart to Sun Summoner for her to reject him. But now you hear that all of that is true. Well, you're still not sure about the last one.

'I don't want gold,' you say after a moment of silence, during which everyone in the team has been watching you. 'I want something else.'

'Name it,' Tolya says. 'Prince Nikolay is a man of his word.'

'I want my banishment from Ravka revoked,' you say. Nina Zenik's eyes go wide when it clicks for her.

'Hold on,' she says. 'You're a thief, your name is [Y/N] and you were banished from Ravka? You're her, aren't you?'

'Sankta [Y/N],' Tolya says in awe, connecting the dots as well. You grimace.

'Please, don't call me that,' you say.

'But you are, aren't you?' Tolya asks. 'You stole the device that threatened all Grisha from Fjerdans. And then killed almost all of them during the battle.'

'You also told the King some nasty words during your trial,' Nina says and chuckles. 'I wasn't there at the time, but someone told me all about it. I was your number one fan from that day, I swear.'

'Why were you trailed and banished from Ravka?' Wylan asks. Silence falls around your group. You look at Wylan, your face blank.

'I killed the King's nephew,' you answer, causing him to flinch. 'In self-defence. He tried to force himself on me. It was a… an instinct. I didn't control my abilities as a Heartrender at the time.'

Wylan nods slowly, a bit unsure. You look at Zoya and Tolya.

'So?' you ask. 'Can you guarantee me I will be welcomed back in Ravka after I help you?'

'Like I said, Prince Nikolai is a man of his word,' Tolya says seriously, nodding. You shrug.

'Great,' you say and look at Kaz. 'Consider me convinced, then.'

'Good,' Kaz says but then something behind you distracts him. You turn and see his two friends walking down the stairs – Inej Ghafa and Jesper Fahey. Kaz walks to talk (or rather argue) with Inej. Jesper notices you and grins. He walks to you.

'[Y/N], are you coming with us?' he asks.

'Yes, I'm promised I can go back to Ravka if we succeed,' you answer. Behind you Tolya and Nina walk away together, talking about something.

'Already bored with our beautiful Ketterdam?' Jesper asks, smirking. You smile slightly. You can feel Zoya's eyes on you. You shake your head.

'I simply have something to come back to,' you answer. You feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn your head and see Zoya. She points with her head to her right, letting you know she wants to speak with you in private. You nod and follow her to the side.

'Don't do it, [Y/N],' she says quietly. 'He's not worth it.'

'Don't do what?' you ask. Zoya scoffs and crosses her arms.

'I know you want to come back to Ravka to see him,' she says. 'You love him, don't you? I saw the way you looked at him when you were taken away from the Throne Room that day. And how he looked at you.'

You stare at Zoya silently. You don't know what to say to that. You know she had feelings for him, too.

'He's not the man he wanted us to believe he is,' she says softly. 'Anyway, you spent only a few weeks with him. You can't risk everything for such short acquaintance.'

'I didn't spend only a few weeks with him,' you say, raising your chin. Zoya frowns at you. Her mouth parts when the realisation dawns on her.

'Every time he was leaving the Little Palace and was gone longer than he should… he was crossing the Fold to see you,' she guesses. You nod and smile sadly at the memories of seeing Aleksander during the past few years. But it falls quickly.

'He stopped at some point, though,' you say. 'Around the time the rumours about the Sun Summoner started.'

Zoya stares at you silently. She can understand your pain of being casted away, because she felt it when Alina showed up. And earlier when she was travelling to Fjerda with you.

'I don't think he really loves her,' she says. 'When I saw them together… it was like he was trying to make her like him. Around you he was more natural.'

'Thank you for saying that, Zoya,' you say with a small smile. 'Did you… Did you two during those years…?'

'Yes, but I always thought it was more to keep up an appearance,' Zoya answers and sighs. 'Maybe you really stole his heart. But he's still not worth it, [Y/N]. What he did… and what he wants to do…'

'Deep down, do you still care about him?' you ask. Zoya flinches. She sighs and nods.

'He was the first person that made me feel loved,' you say, looking at her pleadingly. 'If there's a chance I can get through to him, save him… I have to take it. Or just see him one last time.'

'What if you don't?' Zoya challenges you. 'What if we have to kill him?'

You bite your lips. What would you do? Would you let them? Or would you protect Aleksander?

'I don't know,' you answer honestly. 'I really don't know, Zoya.'

Zoya stares at you. She sighs after a moment.

'Fine,' she says. 'I'll help you save him. Or convince others to let you do that. If anyone can actually stop him, it's you.'

'Thank you!' you say and surprise her with a hug.

'We're still not friends,' she says and pulls away. You smirk and wink at her.

'Tell yourself that,' you say. Zoya rolls her eyes but smiles slightly.

'Pack what you need and meet us here,' she says.

'Already packed,' you say, shrugging. 'Ever since I faked my own death, I have the essentials packed. You know, in case I need to run.'

'Alright, just this time, please, don't bring assassins with you,' Zoya says and heads toward the rest.

'Don't worry, every assassin in Ketterdam now knows better than to go after me,' you say, grinning. Jasper laughs.

'Oh, I remember that,' he says. 'It was both hilarious and terrifying.'

'I don't want to know,' Zoya sighs. 'What about the ones in Shu-Han?'

'Well, it's my first time going there, so no one wants me dead there,' you answer.

'Yet,' Zoya says grimly. 'They will want the moment they meet you.'

You stick out your tongue at her. She scoffs and shakes her head. You look at your team and smile. Maybe together you will manage to get that sword. And save Aleksander from his own stupidity.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts! Reblog, like and comment if you could.

This can also be found on Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47256868/chapters/120506770

[milo-my-beloved]

meet-cute

@bookishbunnies asked for a fic about the night Wylan and Jesper met in the show canon, so here you go!!

Summary:

meet-cute noun (in a film or television programme) an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them.

One meet-cute isn't enough for Jesper and Wylan. Here's the story of their first two.

Read under the cut // Read on AO3.

The first time Wylan lays eyes on Jesper is at the tannery.

Wylan thinks he's hallucinating. The bosses don't waste their profit by providing masks or goggles for their staff, so his eyes are blurry from stirring the bubbling vat of chemicals in front of him. This tall, grinning Zemeni man belongs in his dreams, not his workplace. But when he blinks away his tears, the man is still there, one hand tucked into the pocket of his lime plaid waistcoat, and the other perched on the pearl handle of a revolver on the hip of his yellow trousers.

His second thought, after pinching himself to check this is real, is that his father has sent another man to kill him. In broad daylight.

Instead of threatening his life, the man says, "Hear you know your way around a chemistry set."

"What?" Wylan expected him to shoot him, not ask him about his marketable skills. "I... yes. A bit."

"Just a bit?"

"I have a background," he hedges.

"Then come to this address when you get off work tonight." He holds out a folded piece of paper, a lazy smile on his face. Wylan takes it, his hands shaking as he looks down at the carefully arranged cursive and then back up at the stranger. "We have a job for you. A real job."

Wylan glances down at the tangle of letters. "I — I don't know where this is."

The man sighs. "You're not from here, are you?" Wylan shakes his head. "Fine. I'll come fetch you, because clearly I don't have anything to do with my time but squire new lilies around town. Wylan, right?"

He nods.

"Wylan what?"

"Wylan... Hendriks."

"You know much about demo, Wylan Hendriks?"

Sometimes, he swears the Barrel has its own language. "Demo?"

The man's grin widens. "The boom, the bang, the flint and the fuss," he says, gesturing wildly.

Wylan doesn't point out that such a vague explanation is entirely unhelpful, because this conversation feels important, somehow. "Sure."

"We'll see. Be out front at six bells. And no guns unless you want trouble."

"Of course not." Is it the chemicals or the insanity of the situation making him light-headed?

"Kaz has got to be out of his mind," the man mutters, before sauntering away, leaving Wylan alone with his chemicals and a head full of questions.

*****

Just past six bells, Wylan meets Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa for the first time. Desperate for enough cash to stay in the terrible boarding rooms he found on his first night in the Barrel, he agrees to make a handful of phosphorus bombs.

It should be a simple transaction: explosives, in exchange for enough kruge to see him through the next two weeks and a promise not to involve him in any more schemes. Like most things in Wylan's life, though, it complicates itself.

"I'm starving," declares Jesper once the meeting is over. They're standing outside the Slat and are definitely in the way of the Dregs coming and going, but neither of them are keen to leave. "You should come with me to get dinner."

Wylan's brain stops working. "What?"

Jesper rolls his eyes. He seems to do that a lot around Wylan. "I'm starving," he repeats, "and you must be hungry after working all day, so the solution to both of these problems would be..."

"Dinner," he finishes, slightly dazed.

"Exactly."

He has to crane his neck slightly to look up at Jesper. The light from the doorway illuminates one side of his face in a magical glow that has Wylan's fingertips itching for a paintbrush. But although Jesper may not have been sent to kill him, he's still dangerous. The Barrel is where the criminals and conmen come out to play, and Wylan isn't stupid enough to believe a man as handsome as Jesper Fahey is actually interested in him.

"It's quite late," he says.

"Past your bedtime?" He scoffs. "There's a place down the road that stays open all night. They serve the most delicious poffertjes, with the right amount of butter instead of the piddly amount the street vendors give you."

Wylan's stomach rumbles. He hasn't eaten properly in days, but with the money Kaz is offering him to do this job...

"Let's go get dinner," he agrees.

After all, they're work colleagues now. They may as well be on friendly terms.

Jesper leads him to a cafe a few streets away with flower boxes in the windows. It's quiet this late at night, with only a handful of customers scattered around the tables and one waitress flitting between them. They seat themselves across from each other in one of the booths that line the left wall, and the waitress hands them each a menu and tells them she'll be back in a minute.

"Ooh, they have syrup now," says Jesper as he scans the menu.

On the few occasions Wylan's father was forced to bring him to dinner, he always ordered for him to avoid any potential embarrassment. Although it was condescending and his disappointment was palpable, he was always secretly relieved. Now, he's on his own, and he has to protect his own shame.

"What are you thinking of getting?" Jesper asks.

He shrugs. "What do you recommend?"

The waitress returns. The bags under her eyes are as black as ink; she must not be used to the night shift. Wylan can sympathise with her on that. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have the poffertjes with apple syrup and a whiskey, please," Jesper says, shooting her a charming smile. It sparks jealousy in Wylan, even though Jesper isn't his to claim, and has talked to him as if he's a nuisance all night.

"I'll have the same," Wylan adds hurriedly. "And a tea, if that's alright."

She nods, scribbling down their order on her notepad. "Lovely. It'll be ready in a few minutes."

Once they're alone, Jesper turns his gaze onto Wylan. His focus tends to wander, to have all his attention focused on him makes him want to squirm in his seat. It takes all his restraint to sit still.

"So, tell me about yourself, Wylan Hendriks."

"What do you want to know?" Hopefully the questions are innocent enough for him to skirt around the truth without lying.

"I don't know. What's your favourite colour?"

He considers the question for a moment. It really depends on the day; as an artist, he knows how they all compliment each other, and are all beautiful in different circumstances. "Yellow," he answers, and then blushes furiously when he realises he picked the colour Jesper is wearing.

"Aw, that's such a happy colour. You really aren't from the Barrel, are you?"

Wylan shrugs. "What was I supposed to say? Blood red?"

"Mine's blue," Jesper says. "Brings out my eyes."

The waitress delivers their drinks and hurries off to one of the other tables.

"What do you like, then? What are you interested in?"

He feels a little like he's being interrogated, but that question is much easier to answer. "Music. Numbers. Equations. They're not like words. They... they don't get mixed up." He picks up the teapot and pours himself a cup, not daring to meet Jesper's eyes.

"If only you could talk to girls in equations," Jesper snorts.

There's a long silence, and then, eyes trained on his cup, Wylan says, "Just girls?"

Jesper's grin stretches so far it could split his face in half. "No. Not just girls."

Wylan ducks his head. His face feels like it's on fire. Luckily, the waitress saves him from further embarrassment by placing two identical plates on the table and promptly disappearing again.

Suddenly, he can't remember the last time he ate. He's had the little fried balls of batter before, of course — poffertjes are a Kerch staple — but never with syrup and neatly sliced chunks of apple before. Jesper was right, too; they pancake balls are slathered in a generous amount of butter, and they've sprinkled cinnamon on the top for good measure.

"Oh, wow," Wylan breathes, and his stomach growls as he carefully impales on on his fork and brings it to his watering mouth.

"I know, right? They look almost as fantastic as me." Jesper winks, and then adds, "And they taste just as good, too."

Wylan chokes. He has to thump his chest a few times to dislodge the unchewed lump of apple stuck in his throat, while Jesper laughs at his reaction.

They spend the rest of the dinner like that, every sentence bordering on flirting. Wylan busies himself with eating his heavenly food, and Jesper takes great pleasure in making him blush.

Once they're finished and the waitress returns with their bill, Jesper slaps down enough kruge to cover both their meals. "This one's on me," he insists with another wink, and Wylan feels the last of his resolve crumble into ash.

"Let me walk you home," Jesper offers as they leave the cafe.

He doesn't need to see how strapped Wylan really is. "You paid for dinner. I should be walking you home."

Jesper playfully waggles his eyebrows and grabs his hand. "In that case, escort me back to bed, sunshine."

He can't hide his grin at the nickname. They walk hand in hand for a while, Jesper swinging their arms back and forth as he explains all the best and worst places to eat in Ketterdam.

"And that's why you should never, ever eat at Sten's Stockpot," he finishes.

Wylan laughs. "I'll keep that in mind. Oh, look!" Most of the street vendors have packed up their stalls by now, but there's one still standing on the corner with a basket of stroopwafels held close to his chest.

"I haven't had a stroopwafel in years," Jesper says.

He tugs them over to the vendor and reluctantly releases Jesper's hand so he can pull the kruge Kaz gave him out of his pocket. "How much for two?"

"Can't you read the sign?" The vendor complains. "One for one kruge, six for five."

"Must have missed it," Wylan says, forcing as much nonchalance into his tone as he can manage. He hands over five kruge and the man wraps up six stroopwafels in a brown paper bag. As they stroll away, Wylan takes one out and passes it to Jesper before biting into one of his own.

Jesper lets out a shameless moan. "Saints, they're still warm."

"Just as good as you remember?" Wylan asks.

"Gooey and delicious... and even better, because I had a cute boy buy me them."

He smiles. For the first time since he stepped foot in the Barrel, Wylan thinks he might actually be happy.

They walk the last two streets to the Slat in comfortable quiet as they eat. Every few bites, Jesper either lets out an inappropriate comment or noise, apparently unable to bear the silence for more than a minute at a time, and Wylan giggles at his jokes like a child.

When they reach the wonky building for the second time that evening, it's even louder than before. There's a mismatched group of men outside the front, clapping each other on the back and drinking out of hip flasks, so Jesper guides Wylan into the empty alleyway that runs parallel to the Slat.

Wylan's heart strikes against his ribs, creating an electrifying percussive rhythm. If Jesper had led him into a dark alley this morning, he would be terrified for a different reason, but looking up at him now, all he feels is excitement.

Jesper leans closer, their bodies inches away from each other. Wylan's back presses against the brick wall. All he can see are Jesper's plump lips, so close he can feel his breath on his cheek.

"Is this alright?" Jesper whispers.

Wylan answers the question by surging forwards to kiss him. It's an explosion; a bomb detonating in his heart. Jesper wastes no time in kissing him back, cupping his cheek with one hand and leaning the other against the wall so they both remain upright.

They break away after a few seconds to breathe, and the world narrows down to the two of them. Jesper's grinning like a fool, and Wylan's cheeks ache from matching his giddy ecstasy. He knows, in that moment, that he's wrecked. No man will ever invite fireworks into his heart quite like the sharpshooter in front of him.

"I think," Jesper says, panting for breath, "that we should take this inside."

Wylan has never agreed to anything faster in his life.

*****

Wylan's deal with Kaz was supposed to be a one time thing, but he was an idiot to ever believe that. His job at the tannery doesn't pay a living wage for apprentices like him, and busking with his flute in the evenings only brings in enough kruge to keep a (rather leaky) roof over his head. He's surprised he even lasted a month.

Kaz asked him when he last ate, and all he could think of was the poffertjes he'd shared with Jesper. He'd eaten since then, of course, but the loaves of stale bread and pickled herring aren't worthy of remembering.

More phosphorous bombs, and a package large enough to blow up a building. He didn't dare ask what he's planning to use it for.

At least he has a free place to sleep while he's on a job for Kaz. The workshop bed isn't as comfortable as his old one was, but it's akin to sleeping on a cloud compared to the stained, paper-thin mattress of the rooms he's been staying in. Besides, he finds the background noise of fizzing and bubbling relaxing.

Kaz left with the explosives an hour ago, so he's moved onto the phosphorous bombs. If the Darkling is sensitive to light, he change the equation to make them more powerful, just to be certain he isn't—

"Hello? Anyone here?"

Wylan glances up to find a man he thought he'd never see again standing on the stairs of his workshop.

"Oh. Hi." His fingers fumble and he nearly drops the vial of chemicals he's holding. "I—I wasn't expecting you." If he had been, he would have worn a jumper that isn't singed.

"And you are?" Jesper asks, drawing out the last syllable.

"We've..." No. It's probably best if he doesn't remember. "Uh, Wylan."

"No, I mean why did Kaz have us meet here?"

He places the vial down on the table, trying not to acknowledge his disappointment. Maybe Jesper truly doesn't remember, or maybe he's pretending to avoid any awkwardness. Either way, he won't be the one to bring up their dinner. "I guess, um, I'm your demolitions man."

"You?" Jesper raises an eyebrow, staring at Wylan incredulously. "You've got all your fingers."

"Well, maybe I'm careful."

Jesper leans closer, speaking slowly as though he thinks Wylan is an idiot. It's the same tone his father used to use with him, and he hates it. "Careful is something you learn from losing your fingers."

The door clangs and Kaz strides down the stairs, his expression even more terrifying than earlier.

"So, this novice is telling me that he's our new demo man. Raske is better. Or even Pim!"

Kaz glares at him, clearly not in the mood. "And yet Wylan is the one I hired."

"Shouldn't you be graduating university and, I don't know, starting a desk job?"

That has never been a possibility for Wylan. But, just as he opens his mouth to refute Jesper's condescension, the door opens again and Inej and another woman join them.

"You're here," Kaz says. Wylan recognises the look on his face; it's the same way he felt in that alleyway with Jesper, when the whole world narrows down to one person.

"With our new Heartrender," she says, and then they're launching into the plan and he doesn't have time to mourn his not-quite relationship.

*****

Pairing Wylan with Jesper is a choice born of practicality, but he can't help but suspect Kaz knows more than he's letting on. He tries to focus on the task at hand, his eyes flicking between Pekka's driver and their horses.

Jesper sticks his head through the gap, intent on distracting him.

Wylan goes on the offensive. "A rat-catcher carriage?" he says slowly, dragging out each word. "I thought you said you got this from a friend?"

"Friend-ish," Jesper corrects. "She did manage to remove the rats, so there's that." He pauses, and Wylan can feel his breath on his neck. "How do you know Kaz?"

So much for trying to steer the conversation away from this."I can't honestly say that I know Kaz. He asked me to make a few phosphorus bombs for him. I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

Because Wylan didn't want to become a criminal. Because he wanted to use his skills for good, not to wage war on the leader of the Second Army or the king of the Barrel. Because he didn't want to draw any attention to himself.

"Because I knew he'd use them for something like this," he says instead. It's still true.

That being said... "Did it work?" he asks, glancing back at Jesper. The only thing worse than a reluctant demolitions man is a reluctant demolitions man whose bombs don't work.

"Oh, it worked." He sounds genuinely impressed. "Not many people can go up against General Kirigan and live to tell about it. Where'd he find you?"

Wylan refrains from rolling his eyes. "I was apprenticing at the tannery, so I guess he knew that I was good with chemicals."

Jesper frowns. "Tannery? That sounds familiar... have we met before?"

This time, he does roll his eyes. Before he can jog Jesper's memory, they land on two officers dressed in a purple uniform. "Stadwatch," he warns. Jesper ducks inside the carriage and Wylan waits until the two men are out of sight before telling him the coast is clear.

Jesper pokes his head back through the hatch, grinning, and Wylan sighs. What is he doing here? Why is he allowing Jesper to forget him?

"Thank you," Jesper says, a little quieter than before.

He takes a deep breath. "I know that you're not thrilled about being paired with me, but you should know that... you can trust me."

"To be clear, I trust you 'cause Kaz trusts you."

He tries not to take that as rejection. "And you trust Kaz?"

"Listen," Jesper says, sounding mildly offended. "I'm not about to dissect my long-standing working relationship with Kaz Brekker with a total stranger."

Wylan turns a full 180 degrees to check whether he's serious. Ghezen, he really doesn't remember, does he? He can count the number of people who have seen him naked on one hand, but Jesper can't even recognise a man he had a dinner date with.

"Eyes on Pekka's driver," Jesper says.

He turns back to the street, the realisation stinging more than it should. They were never destined to be more than a one-night stand and he's a fool for thinking otherwise. It's a good thing he left before Jesper woke up.

Pekka's driver takes a sharp left turn and Wylan forces himself to focus on the task at hand rather than his depressing love life. "He's rounding the corner."

"Follow him."

They turn onto the same street, but Pekka's driver is gone. Wylan tugs on the horses' reigns, bringing them to an abrupt stop.

"He's... he's gone." It's as if the carriage disappeared into the mist. He looks back at Jesper, searching his face for answers and trying not to panic. "He's gone."

"This isn't right," Jesper says, as if that isn't obvious.

Then, the shooting starts.

*****

Before Wylan moved to the Barrel, he never had to pay much attention to keeping himself alive. Beyond meeting his basic needs, the biggest threat he faced was choking or tripping down the stairs.

That has changed drastically over the past few weeks.

Pekka's driver led them straight into a trap, which means the others are in as much danger as they are. But even though he's terrified and could be only a few seconds away from a gruesome death, all he can think of is the way Jesper is lying on top of him.

Once again, his brain feels like it's on fire. Chemical reactions pop and fizz at the close contact and he can't tell whether his heart is pounding from terror or attraction.

Jesper looks down at him, their noses brushing against each other, and for the first time he really sees Wylan. "Wait, we have met before, haven't we?"

"Yes, but—" He's interrupted by another spay of bullets which has him clamping his eyes shut and leaning closer to Jesper.

"You brought me stroopwafels!" Jesper says, grinning the same way he did the night they met.

Wylan stares at him, wondering whether one or both of them have lost their minds. "You remember that now?"

And then Jesper is saving him, and he falls all over again.

*****

By the time they near Black Veil, some of the adrenaline is wearing off.

"You left those stroopwafels behind," Jesper says, as if it's much more important than them both nearly dying.

"I know," Wylan says. Leaving early is a coward's choice, but picturing the smile on Jesper's face when he saw he left him breakfast eased his pain slightly. "You would enjoy them more than me."

Jesper smirks. "You're adorable, you know that?"

Wylan blushes. "I might need you to tell me again."

Maybe their relationship isn't doomed after all.

[apocalypseofvanities]

when leigh bardugo writes six of crows 3, wylan should get to say fuck.

[morganayenneferburnham]

Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

Chapter 4: The Best of Times, The Worst of Crimes

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Hey there! So this took me a bit longer than expected but here it is! I should probably mention that it's an angsty one. Sorry. I hope you guys enjoy it. I'd love to get some feedback :)

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

She woke that morning wishing she didn’t have to leave her room for the rest of the month. That was going to be difficult, however. Kaz would come to drag her out himself if he had to. She knew he would. It was probably best to avoid angering him any further. He had made his anger quite clear the night before.

---

Kaz had sent everyone away for the night after having heard their reports and studying the plans for a few more minutes. His gloved fingers had wrapped themselves tightly around her wrist when she’d tried to slip past him.

“Can you get the job done? Or do I have to worry I’ll lose my corporalnik to a king?” His voice had been heavy with disdain.

“Of course, I can do the job, Kaz! How long have I been working for you?” she’d felt panic rise in her, making her nauseous.

“I’ve known Jesper even longer. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t disappointed me.” He snickered. “You haven’t answered my question, Y/N.” The way he’d said her name had sent a shiver down her spine. It had been a barely hidden warning.

“Kaz…” her voice had broken. Would he send me back to Tante Ingrid? She simply couldn’t tell.

“Start tailoring Nikolai and yourself back. I’ll see you in the morning. Do not be late.”

She’d spent the next 3 hours tailoring the king, who threatened to ruin her life by occupying her every thought, and then herself. Nikolai had at least had the decency to stay quiet this time around. She had been far from done when they’d called it a night, but she’d judged it would be enough to keep Kaz off her back.

---

Y/N got ready quickly, keeping Kaz’s warning in mind. She shrugged off her nightgown. She’d slept terribly. She pulled her white shirt over her head, tucking it in the pants she’d chosen for the day. Her mind kept travelling back to Nikolai’s kiss and Kaz’s terrifying fury. She loosely tied the strings at her shirt’s collar, letting the delicate bow rest on her chest. Her brain seemed to be stuck playing both moments repeatedly. It was ridiculous. Nikolai had only kissed her to keep up the act. There was no reason to jeopardize her place with the crows over something so meaningless. So why couldn’t her mind stop bringing it up?

When she finally reached the music room that currently served as their boss’ office, Inej sent her a look of pity from her perch on Kaz’s armchair. Great, she thought, Kaz is still mad.

Jesper and Wylan were lounging, limbs tangled, on a small couch. She nodded to them, returning their greetings, making her way to the opened glass-paneled doors leading to the garden. She watched Marya Hendriks paint while they waited for Nikolai and Zoya to join them. The older woman was working on a beautiful landscape of the Geldcanal. Y/N focused whole-heartedly on the paintbrush strokes letting them erase the memories of the previous night from her mind as they went. She knew it wasn’t permanent, the problem would still exist once Marya stopped painting, but it brought her comfort for the time being.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, your royal highness” Kaz’s raspy voice brought her back to the present. His rage and disdain were barely leashed. She turned in time to catch the surprised look on Nikolai’s face. She might have thought it was funny if she wasn’t so scared of what Kaz could do.

“Good morning, are my general and I late?” Nikolai schooled his feature into a charming grin. “Though, you know, I was under the impression that Kings couldn’t be late, everyone else is simply early.”

Just when Y/N thought it was impossible, Kaz’s eyes darkened further. Nikolai had managed to make him angrier somehow. Kaz sneered, “You are late.” They were in for a horrible day.

The air felt colder than it had a few minutes prior to the Ravkans’ arrival. Kaz continued, “The first part of the job was a success. However, that was the easy part.” He sent a pointed look her way. “The next part will require everyone to follow the plan to the letter.”

She flinched. Kaz isn’t mad. He is livid. She moved away from the open doors opting to take place on the arm of the couch where Wylan and Jesper were still lounging. Jesper reached for her, letting his hand rest on her thigh, giving it a small squeeze as if he felt her distress. She was thankful for that small gesture. It would help her endure Kaz’s wrath.

“I still need time to figure everything out. These blueprints do give us the layout of the factory and the warehouse, but we still don’t have the guards’ rounds schedule. We’ll also need to find out the shipment schedule.”

Inej interrupted him “I’ll take care of that. Just keep planning, I do quite enjoy your scheming face.” Y/N always loved getting a glimpse of their relationship. It was always subtle, but they clearly did love each other. It was endearing how much they did.

Kaz’s features seemed to soften a bit at that. “Of course, my darling. Perhaps General Nazyalensky can be of some assistance.”

Zoya nodded. “Sure, we’ll get you the information. Just make sure we have a way out with the plans and the prototypes we need.”

Kaz nodded and turned back to Y/N his gaze cold and hard. “You’re not done with your tailoring.” It wasn’t a question, it was a critic. She felt a chill travel down her back. “You have to finish this morning before either of you can leave the house.” He considered her for a moment. “Use your room. We can’t risk a servant seeing you like this.”

-----

They’d left the room a few minutes later. Y/N leading the way to her room at the Hendriks mansion. She had been quiet, practically ignoring him the whole way. Only turning to him once to check if he was following her. Her brows were furrowed. Nikolai wasn’t sure if she was mad at him or scared. Scared of what? Me? Or Brekker?

Nikolai now watched her from his seat at the end of the bed as she readied her tailoring kit. She had tailored her body back the night before, but she still had ways to go before she was sporting her beautiful features again. She had her back turned to him, her olive pants hugging the soft curves of her hips just right. Nikolai’s mind kept travelling back to the night before and the outfit the Grisha had chosen for the day wasn’t helping him at all. He wanted to rest his hands on her hips and pull her body to his. He wanted to feel her comforting curves pressed against him, closer than they had been the night before, the fabric of her skirt no longer in the way.

He watched her finally settle in front of the mirrored desk, raising her hands to her face. He was glad she was starting with herself. It would give him time to gain full control of his brain again. He observed the careful movements of her fingers for what felt like hours. He was grateful for the time she’d bought him, until he saw her face as she made her way to him. He couldn’t help but glance at her full lips. He wondered just how different it would feel to kiss her now. Saints, I forgot just how naturally gorgeous she was. The urge to pull her closer was threatening to overwhelm him.

“So, I guess I’m only undoing my own tailoring? Not Genya Safin’s? You still need to look like Sturmhond.” She sounded guarded.

“Yeah. I don’t think you could handle how handsome I really look.” He saw her jaw tick. Saints, what a stupid thing to say. And why did I wink at her again? She’s obviously uncomfortable.

He watched her carefully as she came to a stop, standing between his thighs. Nikolai could feel his heart hammering in his chest. She was standing so close he worried she could hear it. If she did, she made no mention of it. “This is gonna hurt. Tell me if you need a break.” She sounded determined; all traces of her previous insecurity gone. He only nodded, not trusting his voice with her standing so close to him, her floral scent drifting his way due to the soft breeze coming from the open window.

Her fingers were surprisingly cold against his skin. He felt the familiar itch of tailoring as she started before the pain of bone remodeling fully settled in. He tried to stay as still as possible, focusing on the concentration etched in the girl’s features instead of the pain. He felt her set his jaw back, making sure Sturmhond’s characteristically pointed chin was just right. She had made a few adjustments the night before, but she hadn’t done any major alterations. He kept watching her as she set the rest of his face back. Her shirt had slipped dangerously lower on her chest as she worked. The small bow coming lose. It was driving Nikolai completely crazy. He wanted to reach out and finish untying the damned strings. He didn’t think he could take much more of this absolute torture. She was almost done with reworking the bone when he saw her bite her bottom lip, completely lost in her work. He was about to finally lose the last sliver of decency he had been holding on to for the last hour when she straightened up suddenly. She backed away to take in her work.

“I think that should be it for facial structure. I’ll work on your eyes next, and I’ll finish with your hair.” She seemed more at ease now. Whatever had been bothering her almost forgotten.

She took her place back between his legs reaching up to his face once more. Her fingers came to rest on his cheek.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was a mistake.” Nikolai blurted out. He could’ve sworn he saw hurt flash in Y/N’s beautiful green eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He must have imagined it. He saw her straighten her spine, her shoulders tensing up.

“Whatever, we got out. We got the job done. It doesn’t matter.” Any scrap of ease she’d gained was gone as she turned her back to him, taking a few steps towards the mirrored desk. Why did you have to open your mouth? Nikolai Nothing. Nikolai the Bastard. Pretender. Nikolai the fool. He had clearly upset her.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you. Brekker told me you worked at one of the pleasure houses before… I just – I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

She whirled back towards him. Fury burning in her deep green eyes. “He had no right.” she hissed. Her rage melted quickly however, leaving her looking panicked. Nikolai saw her hands start to shake before she clenched her fists.

Another blunder. “He only told me because I asked about your tattoo.” Her hand flew to the bare skin of her arm hiding the iris burned into her skin from him. I am only making it worse, he realized. I should really learn to stop talking so much.

She lowered her head. “He’s going to send me back.” Her voice was trembling. She sounded absolutely terrified at the idea. Nikolai wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her. Why would she think that? Surely Brekker wouldn’t do that. She’s a corporalnik. If Brekker is actually stupid enough to part with such a gifted Grisha, she could have a place with the Second Army. She could have a place in Ravka… She could have a place with me.

“You could–” Nikolai didn’t get to finish his sentence. Inej had opened the door and walked in carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

“Figured, you two were probably hungry!” Her warm smile faltered when she saw Y/N’s expression. “Everything alright?”

“Thank you Inej. You are absolutely right!” She laughed; all traces of her panic gone. “I’m starving. I could eat a stack of waffles as tall as you!” A talented corporalnik and actress, Nikolai thought.

-----

tagged: @power-of-words23

[wy-van-sunshine]

At your wedding - Wesper

“Do you, Mark Fields, take Wylan Hendriks to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do”

“Do you, Wylan Hendriks, take Mark Fields to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I...” 

Wylan hesitated for the tiniest moment: did he? 

He had imagined his wedding day several times in his life, but in his head the man standing before him had always been a tall Zemeni sharpshooter, a grin on his lips, a kindness only he knew in his eyes. 

He’d been happy with Jesper and he’d imagined to spend an entire life with him... but they’d been broken up for five years now, and since then Wylan had never thought about marrying any other man. 

He had met Mark three years before and he felt good around him, he felt loved, but surely he hadn’t planned on marrying him. 

At least not until Mark proposed. 

And how could he say no? After all, why should he wait for someone that would never come? Why should he ruin his life hoping that someday Jesper would rescue him? 

So he chose to stop thiking about his previous life, to move on, and he had said yes.

Wylan was cursing himself now: a man who loved him and was ready to do it all his life was standing before him, smiling and waiting for him to make that same promise, and what the hell was he doing? Thinking about Jesper, again. He wanted to slap himself. 

He cleared his throat and he opened his mouth: move on, Wylan. Move on.

“I d-”

“Of course he doesn’t, I mean, look at him, he’s probably about to faint”

The crowd gasped and turned around, staring at a very tall Zemeni man standing behind all the guests chairs. Wylan froze, terror raising up his spine: Jesper? Could it be?

“I’m sorry, who are you?” asked Mark, confusion in his eyes. He looked at Wylan, hoping for some reaction, but the redhead was still and tense. 

Jesper moved some steps forward, from the bottom of the garden among the guests and in the two grooms’ direction. His usual grin rested on his lips.

“I am the one who should be where you, my friend, are standing right now. I’m the one who should be marrying that beautiful ginger flautist”

Wylan felt his cheeks go red, he felt his own body flushing with embarassment - and something else? He didn’t want to know.

“Jesper, what are you doing?” he asked in a whisper, his voice shaky and afraid. He didn’t know how to react, he didn’t know how he actually wanted to react. He found the strength to raise his eyes and look directly at his ex boyfriend. 

“I think it’s pretty clear, but let me explain better. I’ve been preparing this speech for nights, you know?” answered Jesper with a grin. But then Wylan noticed something change in his eyes, it was as if honesty had suddenly taken the place of his usual sarcasm. Whatever he was going to say, he was going to do it with his heart.

“I think I’ve been an idiot for not fighting to stay with you. I think I should have kissed you more when we were together, because I knew I loved you, but I had no idea how much I’d miss your lips. Or your hugs, or really anything about you, for that matter. I think...” Jesper sighed, then smiled: “I think I might be making a fool of myself right now, because maybe you’re actually happy without me and you want to marry that man. But if there’s even the slightest chance you don’t, if there’s even the slightest chance you want me back, then I have to take it” 

Wylan was left speechless: his face went pale, insanely white, and yes, Jesper had been right before: he felt like fainting. He really did. His body fell backwards and Mark immediately reached for him and held him standing. 

“Look, your speech was touching, really, but you’re ruining our day and honestly I just want to punch you right now” said Mark looking at Jesper. Was he challenging him? Jesper undid his tie and lifted his shirt sleeves - Saints, he was dressed so well, he was really taking it seriously.

“Well then come and do it. I should warn you though, I didn’t come alone, so you probably don’t want to take on a gang from Ketterdam”

“Watch me”

“I’m waiting”

“For Ghezen’s sake, stop it! Fucking stop it!” screamed Wylan, sudden strength in his voice. He looked at his guests, shock in each one of them, then he looked at his mother who was probably feeling so ashamed, he looked at Mark’s parents visibly shaken.

He looked at Mark and then at Jesper: what now? What the hell was he supposed to do and why was he the one who had to do something?

His determination disappeared in a few seconds and he did the stupidest thing: he started crying, careless of all the eyes pointed at him, careless of Mark shaking him in an attempt to help him, careless of Jesper’s voice trying to bring him back to their situation. 

He had dreamed about his wedding day so many times, but in none of them did he end up crying. None of them was such a mess, all because of a jealous ex boyfriend. 

He tried not to think about any of that and he focused on his breath, because he was pretty sure a panic attack was raising in his chest and that was the last thing he needed. He breathed in and out, in and out, in and out. 

He calmed down and he kept his eyes closed for some seconds, his head slowly going back to reality, to Mark and Jesper shaking him and trying to take care of him. 

He breathed in and out one last time, then he stood straighter.

“Why now, Jesper?”

“What? Wylan-”

“Shut up, Mark” Wylan’s voice was ruder than he intended, but he didn’t care: “Jesper?”

“I...” Jesper hesitated: “I don’t know. I’ve thought about coming back to you many times, but I... I didn’t know how”

“So you chose to put on a fucking show at my saintsforsaken wedding?”

The sharpshooter restrained a laugh: angry Wylan was so wild and when he didn’t fear him - because sometimes he did - he actually loved him. 

“I do things with style” he simply replied with a shrug.

It cost him too much to admit he had waited for Wylan to miss him, to run away from his life and go back to him. It cost him too much to say that he thought Wylan wouldn’t actually marry another man because he was still in love with him. It cost him too much to take in that, if it wasn’t for his desperate last move, Wylan would already be married to another man. 

Maybe everything he did was wrong, maybe he was just hopelessly in love with his merchling and he was waiting for the impossible to happen. 

“I need to rest in my bed” said Wylan with a sigh.

“Wait... let’s get married, Wylan. There’s only your will left-”

“Not now, Mark. I love you, but please, just let me take a pause from all of this. I’m begging you, I really can’t right now”

Jesper felt something break in his heart as he heard Wylan telling Mark he loved him. What the hell was he doing there? Was he actually so crazy?

Wylan stepped away from Mark, but as he walked past Jesper he whispered the softest “Come with me” and Jesper could have just exploded right there. 

The redhead disappeared and Jesper turned to the guests, a grin taking place on his lips:“Well, it’s been an honour, y’all. I’m sure this day has become even more memorable than it should have been” then he stared at Mark: “Goodbye Mark, take care and don’t take on other gang members, they’re not all as soft as I am”

To everyone’s surprise (because no one had heard Wylan’s whisper to Jesper) the Zemeni walked away from the wedding with nonchalance, whistling a funny melody. Had that all been pointless comedy?

* * *

Wylan was sitting in a chair in front of the mirror when he heard someone knock at the window glass: he looked at Jesper’s grin reflected in the mirror and he sighed, turning around and walking to the window to open it at let Jesper in.

Evidently he still had some little barrel habits, such as ignoring the existence of doors.

“So...” said the sharpshooter, not sure about how to behave now. He was with the boy he still loved after five years, he had just ruined his wedding: what did one say in such situations?

Wylan sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, touching his temples with his fingers: “What am I supposed to do, Jesper?”

Jesper froze: how could he possibly know? Wylan had to make the choice now, he had already given his speech. What was there left to say? 

“I love Mark, I really do. He made me... think a little less about you”

Jesper’s heart leapt as Wylan didn’t use the word “forget”. So he hadn’t forgotten about their story either. 

“Why should I be with you, mh?” continued the redhead opening his eyes and meeting Jesper’s gaze in the mirror: “Why shouldn’t I be out there marrying a guy who would never embarass me the way you did today?”

Jesper sighed and spoke nothing but what was in his heart: “Because you wouldn’t be here with me if you didn’t still love me, but out there celebrating your marriage. Because Mark would have known who I was if you weren’t too afraid to tell him about me, about us”

Jesper stepped forward and placed a hand on Wylan’s shoulder: “Because I know your eyes so damn well and I know when you’re happy. You weren’t when you were telling your vows. You weren’t when you were going to say I do. But you were when you saw me there, about to screw your wedding up”

Wylan snorted: he wanted to tell Jesper to fuck off, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Jesper was right, he was so right. He had felt something when the sharpshooter has showed up, and that something was relief, happines, maybe love. 

“Let’s run away together, Wy. I have a carriage waiting for me outside. Come with me and I promise I’ll make you happy. Hell, we can get married if that’s what you want. Just...” Jesper leaned forward and rested his lips on Wylan’s neck, leaving a soft kiss there, feeling his skin tremble: “Just come with me”

Wylan closed his eyes again, feeling Jesper’s touch after so much time and immediatly wanting much, much more.

But he couldn’t just leave like that. He owed something to Mark, to his parents, to their guests. He just couldn’t screw everything up because he wanted to run away with Jesper.

“I’ve missed you so much, Jes” he whispered: “But you have to let me think. It’s... it’s so complicated to make a choice right now”

It’s so complicated to focus on anything other than your scent, other than your lips.

“Go in your carriage and... if you don’t see me in an hour, leave. Then you’ll know what my decision is”

Jesper felt - again - something break inside him: had that all been for nothing? Saints, he really hoped not. He opened his mouth to say something more, but the words died on his lips: now there really was nothing left to say. He just had to wait and hope for a miracle.

He smiled at Wylan and he silently left, climbing down the window and reaching for his carriage.

* * *

“Time’s up” said Kaz, checking his clock: “We have to go, Jesper”

“No, we wait”

Kaz lifted an eyebrow and looked at Inej: since when did Jesper discuss his decisions? The Wraith sighed and, despite how much she had hoped in Wylan’s return, she had to speak in Kaz’s favour.

“We waited for an hour and a half, Jes, it’s even more than he gave you. He...” she hesitated: “He has made his choice”

“Well it’s the wrong one!” screamed Jesper, hiding his face in his palms and trying to calm down. That couldn’t be how it ended. It just couldn’t.

He felt Inej’s delicate hand rest on his shoulder: “You don’t have a say in other people’s decisions. I know you put all your heart in trying to get him back, but... maybe he’s happy. Maybe you have to try and move on”

“Or maybe he just has to stop screwing weddings up to get one single person back”

Wylan’s voice reached Jesper’s ears like a sweet melody: he lifted his head and he met his beautiful blue eyes, his sincere smile - was he dreaming or was that actually a grin?

“Wylan... it’s been an hour and a half, we could’ve not been here anymore, you idiot!”

Wylan laughed: “But you are. I hoped you’d wait a little more for me. And even if you were gone, do you really think I wouldn’t have come looking for you?”

Jesper laughed back, releasing all his tension: “You leave me speechless”

“Wow, this turned out to be a unique day, indeed”

Jesper stepped forward and took Wylan’s hand: “What took you so long?”

“As I said, I couldn’t just leave all those people there. I had to explain, especially to Mark. I know you two didn’t exactly hit it off, but he’s a nice guy and he deserved it”

Jesper rolled his eyes, but in the end he didn’t care: Wylan was there, he had chosen him. 

One hand in the other, Jesper stared at Wylan as he dragged him in the carriage, followed by Kaz and Inej: “So... where to, Mister?”

Wylan smiled, looking at him straight in his deep gray eyes: “Anywhere with you”

[justdaphne]

Part 1

Spoilers for Rule of Wolves and Crooked Kingdom

Inej’s pov

Captain Ghafa left for her voyage, leaving Kaz and their (then) 2 year old daughter Lizabeta. After having their daughter, she comes home from her voyages earlier. As she got older, Inej took longer to come back, taking her time to hunt down slavers and saving innocent lives, knowing that Lizabeta was alright.

After 10 months at sea, she came back to Ketterdam. She went to the Hendrik’s mansion before returning to the slat to talk to Jesper and Wylan. She always does before reuniting with Kaz. ‘’Inej! You’re back!’’ Wylan said, giving her a big hug. ‘’Saints, you barely write any letters anymore. We were so worried.’’

‘’WRAITH WELCOME HOME’’ Jesper shouted behind Wylan as he rushed through the door. “It’s good to be back’’ She laughed. They all went inside and sat down near the fireplace. It was unusually cold that night. ‘’How’s it been?’’ she finally asked. ‘’The usual. Just the two of us doing our things. Wylan’s been teaching me instruments and I taught him to read.’’

‘’Kinda getting better’’ Wylan said, ‘’How’s Nina? She doing well in Fjerda?’’

‘’Yeah, enjoying her life with her prince’’ Inej replied. They all stayed silent for a moment. They knew they should be happy for her but the pang of sadness was still there as the memories of Matthias hovered in their minds.

‘’Hold on, just the two of you? Kaz hasn’t sent you both on jobs? I highly doubt that.’’ Inej said, trying to change the topic. ‘’He had for the first 2 months but then we didn’t really want to go anymore. Wylan told him we didn’t need more money.’’

‘’But in return we had to, well I’m assuming you know already, but we have to--’’

‘’MUMMMYYYYYYYY’’ shouted a little girl with dark hair, who was running down the stairs. Lizabeta. ‘’Lizabeta,’’ Inej rushed over to her, ‘’what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Da?’’

‘’Sleep, mummy’’ Lizabeta replied. Inej picked her up and turned back to Jesper and Wylan. ‘’Kaz is here?’’

‘’Uh no, he barely visits.’’ Jesper says, ‘’Invited him over so many times. The bastard never came. What a jerk.’’

‘’Then what is she-’’

‘’Oh we thought you knew. Well Kaz says you knew. He dropped Lizabeta off here for us to take care of her until you returned, which was the deal. He said he wrote you a letter to tell you- no?’’

Inej shook her head.

“Jerk”

‘’So Kaz hasn’t seen Lizabeta in 8 months?’’ Inej asked irritatedly.

‘’Well, the last time he saw her was around 2 months ago when he came to inform us about another heist we have to pull off. I don’t think he understands what no means. He left afterwards.’’ Wylan said.

‘’I have to go. I’ll see you both tomorrow’’ she said as she turned to leave.

She was irritated to the core. She couldn’t believe what Kaz did, but then again, it was something Kaz would do. She was going to give him a piece of her mind.

[kindness-ricochets]

Hi! How are you? Sending virtual (physically-distant) hugs❤

As for your winter fics, would really love anything SoC (Kanej please)

Responding with physically distant hugs and some fic for you!

Kanej is very much not my go-to, so I did my best and I hope you like it. (And you can totally let me know if you didn’t. Like if you wanted fluff or something. I can always take another stab at it... just like Kaz would ;) )

Ketterdam harbor never felt like home, but it felt like welcome nonetheless. Her first arrival here had been one of the most terrible days of her life and Inej would never forget it, but while Nina had saved Inej, it had been the men who saved Ketterdam. Over the years, Inej had returned to Ketterdam many times. She had berthed The Wraith in the harbor and strolled along the damp streets like she had nothing to hide. 

She would always have a warm welcome on the Geldstraat—not from most there, but from Jesper and Wylan. Not just a warm welcome, either: she knew there was a soft bed and warm meals waiting for her, enthusiasm and grins and massive hugs from Jesper, quiet love and fretting from Wylan who always wanted to be sure she had all the provisions and thick socks she needed. No matter changed in their lives—Wylan had grown into himself, Jesper returned to school, and together they were the strangers merchant pair Kerch had ever seen—Inej always saw the love between them, and they always had space for her.

Less changed with Kaz. 

Kaz still wore crisp black suits and leaned on his crow’s-head cane, and kept half-legible books in his attic room at the top of the Slat, the real information stored safely in his head. He had worn a beard for a while, though it never suited him. He was severe and his eyes were cold, but he had a half-smile increasingly ready for Inej.

Jesper and Wylan’s house felt like a comfortable, familiar holiday. The Slat, Kaz, that was a homecoming.

Inej meant to pay a visit shortly after arriving, but a member of her crew had hidden deep in the ship’s belly. Someone else could have done it, but each sailor and hand on The Wraith was her responsibility first. After long minutes of shivers and sobs, the girl had entrusted her story to Inej. It was all too familiar. Though Inej and her crew rescued the girl from a ship of a very different sort of pirate, she had first been used and wrung out on the streets of Ketterdam, and the mingling scents of shipyards and harbors broke something inside her. 

Kaz could wait until tomorrow.

Or so Inej thought.

So she thought as she coaxed the girl up from the hold, so she thought as she saw her safely back to the little room she shared with two other girls around her age, both of whom welcomed their friend—one with compassion, one with anger. Some of them were like that. Some of them didn’t know how to hold and just wanted to hurt the people who hurt their own. Inej would counsel mercy in the morning. For tonight, she simply gave her word that she would be here on the ship. No one was coming aboard without her permission.

As she drifted to sleep, Inej thought of her loved ones in Ketterdam. She thought of Kaz literally burning the midnight oil, frowning over his desk. She thought of Jesper and Wylan asleep in each other’s arms. Her thoughts drift farther, to West Ravka, to Mama and Papa and her aunts, uncles, cousins. Somewhere, who knew where, was Nina Zenik and Hanne Brum, hopefully somewhere with pastries and horses.

Inej believed there were many good people in the world. But she only knew for sure that there were a handful.

====

"Captain!"

Inej bolted upright, already scrambling out of her bed. The captain’s cabin came with a berth built like a little compartment, but sleeping there felt too much like sleeping in a coffin. It wasn’t as soft or as big as the bed waiting for her on the Geldstraat, but her shipboard bed wasn’t an enclosed wooden box, either.

"Captain Ghafa!"

Her lantern came to life with a hum, the glow turning bright and steady as Inej went to the door. She slept in a shirt and trousers, ready at a moment’s notice—like this moment. 

When she unlocked her door, Specht strode into the cabin without a word, a half-conscious mess of a man in his arms and a crow's-head cane tucked through his belt like a sword. Kaz's head lolled, dark hair falling in all directions.

"Kaz?" Inej asked. Panic threw off the last shreds of sleep. 

Saints, what happened to him?! 

"Found him this way," Specht said, setting Kaz on her bed. He leaned the cane against the bed. Kaz was bleeding, a dark, wet patch soaking his front. Bleeding, filthy, face swelling—he had been jumped. Inej noted that he was barefoot. 

How did Kaz Brekker get jumped?

Was this calculated or just someone very desperate and very lucky? A calculated hit wouldn’t take his shoes…

"Get Karine," Inej said, but Specht was already on his way.

Alone with him, she brought the lantern closer.

"Kaz?" she asked. "Can you hear me?" Inej was no Healer, but she knew what to do until one arrived--and she understood what Specht brought Kaz here. As Inej sliced open his shirt and waistcoat, she noticed that he needed a shave. That wasn't like him. Kaz usually took immaculate care with his appearance. And he had been jumped! Instinct told her to pray over him, just quickly, just for a moment in her heart… she did it as she peeled the clothing away. Good, the wound was clear. He groaned.

"It's me," Inej said. The years had softened Kaz towards Inej, but not toward the world. Being touched by an unseen, unknown hand would be too much for him. "You're going to be fine, Kaz," she promised as she wrapped up a handkerchief and pressed it to his wound. 

His eyes snapped open, mouth set in a snarl.

"It's okay."

"Gonna… kill those… bastards," he gritted out.

That was her Kaz. His dark eyes settled on her. "Inej." "You're on The Wraith," she told him. "Specht found you. He's getting our Healer." Kaz's hand reached vaguely toward Inej. She took it and held onto him with one hand, the other keeping pressure on his wound until a half-sleepy Karine arrived from her little room beside the ship's infirmary. Inej understood why Specht hadn't taken Kaz to the infirmary. It was the same reason he had been sure to bring the cane: Kaz valued his dignity more than his life. "Captain Ghafa?" "I need this man stable. The bruises are fine." She could only assume Kaz would want to keep them. Karine nodded. When they first brought her on board, the first thing the Fjerdan girl had done was hack off her long, golden braids. She wore her hair short now and a little wild in a way that contrasted with her round face and wide eyes, but suited her all the same. After less than a year aboard The Wraith, Karine was already confident, sure, and steady. Inej was proud of her. She hovered a hand over Kaz's injury. Because she'd received no formal training, Karine didn't move like a Healer from the Little Palace might, instead moving her fingers in an almost casual half-dancing motion. Kaz's brow furrowed at the pain of healing. The affectation that it was nothing but an inconvenience might have fooled Karine and even Specht, but Inej felt Kaz's fingers tighten around hers as the bleeding slowed, then stopped completely. 

The Healer checked Kaz for any internal injuries and fixed those she found before they could become a larger problem. Only then did Karine leave her captain and the captain's mysterious friend. With a nod, Specht too gave them their privacy. Inej hated seeing Kaz this way as much as she knew Kaz hated being seen this way, laid out and vulnerable. "Karine won't say a word," she said. He already knew he could trust Specht. Kaz nodded grimly. "I'm going to clean you up." It wasn't a command. It was a chance for him to refuse the offer. When he didn't, Inej grabbed a bottle of water and a shirt. Mercher black was severe and suggested austerity. Pirate black hid blood and any other stain. Many wicked men's blood had tried to mar this shirt. What was one more? As she wiped away the blood from his chest, Kaz reached for a wooden pendant pinned to the wall just above the bed and twisted it between his fingers to get a better look. "Sankta Marya of the Rock," he observed. "The patron of those far from home." "It was a gift." Inej didn't know what, exactly, Wylan had said, only that Marya Hendriks got the idea somewhere that Inej had protected her son. She hadn't, but Wylan gave her that wide-eyed pleading look and Inej let Marya believe it, and Marya welcomed Inej like a distant cousin--a stranger, but family all the same. Now here was her patron. Inej supposed it was fitting; Sankta Marya had protected both of them just as much as Sankta Margarethe, the patron of thieves and lost children. If Kaz had a patron at all, Inej thought, it was Sankta Margarethe. "What happened?" she asked. "If I'm going to have an army of Ketterdam gangsters gathering on my dock, I'd like to know in advance." "I was stupid," Kaz replied, "and I paid for it." "I can see that, but were you very stupid? Was it an on-going stupidity? Or was it a brief lapse in judgment?" He sighed. "No one should be coming." Inej nodded. The Wraith always had a watch posted and this was no exception. Someone might come but no one would surprise them. She finished wiping away the blood and helped Kaz into another of her shirts. It was loose and easy to move in, not tailored as he preferred, but it would keep him warm and covered for the night. Then Inej took the other side of the bed, leaving space between them so there would be no accidental touching when they stirred in their sleep. As she listened in the dark to his steady breathing, Inej's mind drifted again to Jesper and Wylan. They shared a degree of physical comfort that fascinated her. Who would she be, without the Menagerie to shape her? She doubted she would be like Wylan. His touch was too quiet. Inej had seen Kaz bent over his work like Jesper after returning to university, and even without the Menagerie, Inej couldn't see herself going to her lover with a cup of coffee and a gentle hand on his shoulder. Jesper, though--she would not have been so boisterous as Jesper, who was constantly stating his love in every motion, whether that meant a surprise hug or literally sweeping Wylan off his feet. Inej did not know what touch would have been for the girl she was all those years ago on the shores of West Ravka. If that girl had grown in Inej's place, would she have a Suli boy now? An acrobat? A dancer? Would he hold her at night? She would certainly not have a thief lord. Maybe she would have been comfortable with his touch, trusted him with her body like Jesper and Wylan did. Tonight, she trusted Kaz with her because she trusted him to keep a respectful distance. === Inej checked in with her crew the following morning and aided in a thorough inspection of the ship. Any problems were best identified now and dealt with before they set sail again. Some of her crew were off-ship--she always kept enough hands available in case of emergency, but many chose to stay aboard, anyway. There were bad memories in Ketterdam. Inej understood. She found a seat on deck, her legs dangling over the water. It was a quiet day and she had quiet work to see to, and sitting here, she caught a hint of a breeze sometimes, the smell of the sea instead of the odors of industry. Inej carried a spare pair of trousers with her, a needle and thread, a patch for a nearly-threadbare knee and a quick seam for a tear. There was something to be said for the simple work of maintenance, sometimes. She didn't know how long she had been working when she heard footsteps approach, accompanied by the tap of a cane. Kaz sat beside her. "I'll wash your shirt," he offered. "And your sheets." He had bled some on those, too. "I'll send you a bill for the laundry," she replied. "Do you know who it was?" "Yes and no. I know who leaked information, and I'll solve that problem tonight. Just didn't expect it right then." Of course. His shoes. Inej looked at Kaz's bare feet dangling beside her own. She preferred to go barefoot, when she could. He had been forced into it. Despite the circumstances they could almost look like young lovers on a lakeside picnic, their naked toes dancing just above the water. Except that he was barefoot because he had whispered a rumor about his shoes. She wondered who he had told, and what. That they were lucky? That he kept his secret plans hidden beneath the soles? A whisper drew her attention. Some of her crew had noticed their captain sitting side by side with a man who had come out of her cabin wearing her shirt. Some of her crew had noticed that Captain Ghafa had taken herself a man. Let them gossip. It wasn't that far off the mark. Kaz continued, "I was lucky you were in the neighborhood." Lucky. The years had softened Ketterdam to her memory and they had softened Kaz to her, but they had not softened his armor. It had an Inej-shaped hole, that was all. And sometimes he forgot he was wearing it. She knew, anyway. The wind tugged at her hair just like a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He hadn't been lucky. He heard The Wraith made berth in Ketterdam's harbor, and he had come to see her. "I missed you, too."

[pippims]

about a quarter to nine, 1/3

or, the one where Wylan is struggling to pay his rent and plays music on the streets, Jesper dances and has no restraint and may or may not dance along to a cute street musician, and everyone is embarrassed at what these dorks get up to. {ao3}

It was February, another snowstorm had just hit, Wylan Hendriks was behind on his rent again, and apparently no one on this street had ever learned the values of tipping.

For all intents and purposes, the day should have gone well. He’d set up near a museum that was usually filled with tourists, but today it was curiously empty. Wylan had also started off with playing the violin, which usually worked in more “cultured” areas, but there was hardly anyone around to even hear him. The most attention he’d gotten was a few vaguely dirty looks and a disapproving glance from a police officer. However, the worst part of the day was the man who had walked up when Wylan pulled out his guitar and started singing, seemingly enjoying his performance… and then walked away.

All in all, he made a whopping three dollars.

Cutting ties with your rich father is, unsurprisingly, costly.

Wylan trudged into his flat, tracking in mud and bits of snow from his boots. Kuwei, who was laying on the floor with a notebook in front of him, hardly looked up as the door creaked open. For a moment, Wylan worried he’d passed out until he heard him give a slight groan. Probably organic chemistry again.

Light footed, he walked around him to set down his cases and throw his satchel over a chair. Grabbing his laptop, Wylan sank into the torn yet overstuffed couch, pulled up the spreadsheet, and got to work. Maybe he just had to change up his routine? Guitar-and-voice was a classic; usually, he’d bring that out towards the end of the show and rake in some money. He only brought his flute out occasionally because, even though it was by far his strongest instrument, it was too quiet to effectively play. And as much as he enjoyed the violin, looking at the numbers…

“Shush. You’re thinking too loud.” Kuwei, at some point, had flipped himself and rolled over onto his back and was currently staring up at Wylan, hair blown over his face. “Just… relax. Enjoy the minimalistic scenery of our lovely flat.”

He’d definitely been working on organic chemistry. Nothing could send Kuwei into an apathetic, overly-calm mindset like stressing out over his worst subject. “Yesterday, you were stressing out about being able to make this month’s rent. I think you should take your own advice.”

Kuwei just pouted and rolled back over, tying his hair back and flipping through pages of organic molecules again. “I’ve given up on life. Money isn’t real, life isn’t real, time isn’t real, I’m not real…”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Wylan said, tapping absentmindedly on his keyboard. If only he’d decided to pursue a major that would actually make moneyinstead of going for music with a minor in chemistry, but there was no way he was going to listen to his father and do something practical like business. “We’ll figure it out.”

It was 11:46 in the evening on February 13 in the year 2017, and Jesper Fahey was drunk out of his mind. He wasn’t slightly tipsy and still coherent, just a bit looser with affection and words; he was full drunk with no control over his actions and absolutely no filter between his brain and his mouth.

“Inej, let’s…. let’s just get married. We can do it tomorrow! I know a priest, my uncle went to… to whatever pastor school is for like, a month, we could probably break into a church…. we could do our little solo as our first dance… we just need some musicians. And rings! But I have some old ring pops, I think that would work…”

Inej, to her credit, just laughed. She was also a little on the drunk side, but only enough that she was a bit less tightly-wound and her cheeks bore the slightest flush. “I don’t think we’re ready for that,” she said, breaking their dance just briefly to brush her hair out of her face. The tight bun she’d worn for the rehearsal before their big party had mostly fallen out, leaving strands of hair flying everywhere as they twirled. “We’re dance partners this year! How does that not imply marriage?”

“I don’t know, but we should at least go on a date first.”

“We’re dancing right now. How is this not a date?”

Jesper pulled her into another tight spin, making his head whirl in the process. Inej only seemed slightly dizzy afterwards, but she was famous for her ridiculous series of turns that left the whole room feeling dizzy just watching her. Even drunk, she was still in control of herself.

He became aware of a shadow approaching from the corner of his vision. Jesper was prepared to fight off some kind of demonic invader until the shadow was close enough for him to tell that it was tall, leaning on a cane, and very grumpy.

“Kaz! Kazoo! My best friend! My best man! How’s it going?”

“You’re drunk,” Kaz said, flat. He gave him the disappointed look that, at times, could give Matthias’s Dad Look a run for its money. Today, it didn’t work.

“I know! It’s fun! I’m having fun! That’s what you do at a party; you have fun . You don’t just hang out in the corner and drink apple juice while pretending it’s beer.”

“I don’t do that.” Kaz turned his attention on Inej for support, but she just covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. “Fine, maybe I’ve done that once. But still, you’re far too drunk and you’re going to embarrass yourself soon.”

Jesper pouted, pulling Inej closer. Kaz’s glare just intensified. “But Dad, I’m not going to embarrass myself-”

“He asked me to marry him,” Inej said. Jesper pushed her away. Traitor.

That seemed to appease Kaz. He grabbed Jesper’s arm and started to pull him away from the crowded dance floor (which, it was a miracle Kaz even got this far out , he usually didn’t leave the corners), saying, “Yeah, you’re done. Good night, Inej.”

“Night!” Inej called, turning around to dance by herself. Eventually she’d probably find Nina and they’d dance together, so Jesper didn’t feel too bad for leaving. Not that he wanted to leave, of course.

Drunk Jesper, apparently, had no sense of boundaries, because he wrapped himself around Kaz like a monkey that felt it was about to fall. Usually this kind of contact got you a punch (at best) or sent Kaz to a Bad Place, but tonight… he seemed looser, somehow; his posture more relaxed than usual and his grip on his cane not as blisteringly tight. Perhaps he had actually drank some alcohol tonight, or perhaps the mood of the room had absorbed into him somehow and left him feeling something close to happy, for once. Regardless, Jesper was proud of him.

Maybe too proud of him.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love you? I mean, you’re my roommate, but you’re so much more than that, oh my god, I love you and how Kaz you are, and you scare the hell out of me and you probably could- and would- murder me in my sleep, but.... I love you. You’re the bomb. The man .” Kaz, for the most part, ignored the endless stream of babble coming from Jesper’s mouth, which was a miracle considering he usually made some sort of sarcastic comment when this happened. (Jesper couldn’t help the fact that he was a clingy drunk and Kaz was his “designated walker”, because they were both too poor to afford a car and it was Amsterdam, you don’t need a car in Amsterdam anyway).

Jesper was in the middle of rambling about how even his dad loved Kaz when they suddenly stopped, and the moment he took a breath he knew that he was about to tell him to stop babbling, shut up and act normal for once and that no one cared, but instead Kaz pulled a wad of money out of his pocket. “I’m out of advil, and this place isn’t completely shady. Can you not die while I go and get some?” He nodded, which made his vision swim just a little bit. Maybe Jesper was a little too drunk. Just maybe.

While Kaz disappeared into the little store, Jesper leaned against a wall and tried to think about his marriage proposal to Inej. He just needed some flowers, maybe some backup music and- and yes, backup dancers , and he’d rip his shirt off and break into some-

Wait, backup music?

Jesper blinked out of his fantasy at the sound of music, old-fashioned jazz played on a violin that sounded just a hare out of tune, and he found himself stumbling towards it like a lost child. It felt- The music felt homey, for whatever reason; like the warmth of his mother and the nights where she’d sing along to the radio or she’d dance in the living room with Jesper standing on her toes, reaching up to her and following her fluid moves with chubby toddler stiffness.

“You’re not my mom,” he said when he found the source of the music. It was a kid- there was no way he was older than fifteen- sitting on a stood, violin under his chin, rapidly playing a swing tune. Based on his look of intense concentration, he was probably improvising.

Was was the keyword.

Once Jesper spoke, the song broke off suddenly before the kid held out a random note. “I’m sorry?” he said, looking up at him. His eyes were huge and impossibly blue, like every simile for blue eyes that ever been written.

“I thought you were my mom. You’re not.”

The kid raised an eyebrow, slinking back on his stool. He probably thought Jesper was some strange man trying to kidnap him, which, to be fair, was not a bad conclusion to make when someone says you thought they were your mother. “That’s… unfortunate,” he said, picking his violin back up.

Jesper stood there for a moment while the kid flipped through his book, brows again drawn in concentration. “Do you think if someone’s your dance partner you should marry them?”

This time, he wasn’t graced with a response. The kid just glared at him before starting another round of improv just as intense as the last one. He was being rejected, he knew that, but damnit Jesper was drunk, and he was clingy, and he was not going to let this kid win an imaginary argument.

So Jesper started dancing.

The street corner was crowded with people heading home after a long day/night and wasn’t very spacious to begin with, Jesper hadn’t taken a jazz class in years , and his limbs were heavy and uncoordinated, but he swayed with the music, spun when it called for it, clapped at times. Vaguely, he was aware of a crowd gathering to watch the child prodigy play while a very drunk man danced along, but it didn’t bother him. At one point the music lulled and Jesper saw the kid stare up at him, eyes wide, but instead of yelling at him the kid nodded and he resumed with renewed vigor, not bothering to worry about the amount of people he accidentally slapped.

And then a voice yelled, “JESPER LLEWYN FAHEY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING,” and the mood died. Jesper froze in the middle of a spin, losing his balance and tumbling into the kid, who had once again suddenly stopped his song. Parting the crowd was, again, a tall, grumpy shadow holding a cane and a small plastic bag. “Jesper, I told you you were going to embarrass yourself. Let’s get home before you make out with a random stranger.” He started to turn to leave, but looked over his shoulder. “And apologize to that poor musician.”

Jesper turned his head to look at the kid, who was half-beneath him from when he fell. He pulled himself away, squatting in front of him. “Sorry about that, I’m really drunk and I guess I have no inhibition-”

“Look at my tip bag.”

“- it was wrong of me, I probably embarrassed you, God I’m so sorry, you were just minding your business and playing your amazing music and I ruined it for you, also you’re like twelve and-”

“Jesper Llewyn Fahey, I’m nineteen years old, and look at my tip bag.”

Jesper finally looked away from the kid’s eyes (well, not kid, even though he looked like a kid) and at the little sac that sat in front of his violin case. It was overflowing with money, a few coins sprinkled around the outside.

“I’ve never made this much money before. You don’t even know how much I needed that.”

Jesper was about to respond when Kaz yelled his name again and shot him a glare that meant he definitely wanted to kill him a little bit, and so he pulled himself away from the kid and walked the rest of the way home in silence.

[morganayenneferburnham]

Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

Chapter 4: The Best of Times, The Worst of Crimes

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

Chapter 6: That Night We Couldn't Quite Forget

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Coming back at you with an update!

I introduced Kaz's POV to make it a bit more interesting. Keep in mind that this is taking place a few years after the events of SOC and CK so Kaz has gotten a bit of time to heal. This chapter explores how the events of the night of the party affect Nikolai, Y/N, and Kaz.

Enjoy! :)

Chapter 6: That Night We Couldn't Quite Forget

It had been decided they would stay at the Hendriks’ mansion to prepare for the next part of the job. It would be easier to keep their plans secret that way and the mansion was much more accommodating for their group than the slat.

A few days had passed since Y/N’s troubling confession. It was true that Brekker seemed to be in a particularly sour mood every time Nikolai had tried to talk to him, but the king still couldn’t believe he’d send the Grisha back to the pleasure house.

Even if Dirtyhands truly was as ruthless as rumored, she was simply too valuable... and Nikolai didn’t believe Kaz was everything the rumors made him out to be. He hadn’t missed the hint of pride in Kaz’s voice when he talked about the many talents of his Grisha. Kaz even seemed quite possessive of the girl. Nikolai knew something else had to be going on. Y/N had to be mistaken. Kaz wouldn’t send her back to the pleasure house, Nikolai was sure of it. So why was she convinced he would? What had given her that impression?

Y/N had avoided him since that fateful conversation, but her distance had done little to clear Nikolai’s mind. Had he really imagined the hurt in her eyes when he had told her he shouldn’t have kissed her? Of course. He had to have imagined it. Surely, she couldn’t believe he didn’t want her. She was intriguing, brilliant, and absolutely gorgeous. How could he not want her? How could anyone not want her?

Nikolai couldn’t stop thinking about her. When his mind wasn’t trying to understand what had happened between her and Brekker, it wandered back to that night. The look on her face when he had pulled back from the kiss had been breathtaking. He had wanted to ignore the guard, ignore the job they had to do. He had wanted to stay in the moment, but that had been impossible.

Maybe he should go see her. He should apologize to her. For what? For kissing her? Or for saying he shouldn’t have? Maybe for asking Brekker about her? It baffled him to find himself so helpless when it came to her. He was usually so charming. Why was it so hard with Y/N? He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know why she thought Kaz wanted to send her back to the Blue Iris. He wanted to be the one to comfort her. That was his problem. He had always wanted things he couldn’t have. He had always wanted too much. Nikolai Nothing. Nikolai, who has no right to his name. Bastard. Nikolai, who has no right to his crown. Pretender. Nikolai, who has no right to her heart.

“Nikolai! Are you even listening?” He flinched. Zoya sounded particularly annoyed.

“Of course, dear. You were going on about the report we’ve received from Tamar.”

“And what exactly does the report say, moi Tsar?” her raised eyebrow and amused smirk made it clear she knew he wouldn’t be able to answer her. Damn it, why does she have to know me so well?

A knock on the door saved him the embarrassment of having to come up with a poorly concocted excuse.

Wylan’s head popped in from the doorway. “Kaz wants to see everyone. He’s made progress with the plan.”

---

Nikolai and Zoya had made their way to the music room, following Wylan through the corridors. Nikolai took place on the back of the small couch facing the table Kaz was using as a makeshift desk. He was right behind the Grisha who occupied most of his thoughts. The chairs had already been occupied by the other members of their little group of misfits, and he figured he was better off leaving the last available one to Zoya. Though he would never admit it; his choice had been influenced as much by his desire to appease Zoya as his desire to be close to Y/N.

Maybe he should’ve thought about the consequences this particular sitting arrangement would have before taking place. He knew Kaz had started explaining something about the security of the base, but he just couldn’t focus on the criminal’s words. Y/N’s head was practically resting on the outside of his thigh and some of her hair was splayed across the fabric of his trousers. The flowery scent of her hair was hypnotizing. Nikolai couldn’t think straight. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Saints he wanted to feel it between his scarred fingers. He wanted to touch her. He wanted her.

He had wanted her since the moment they’d kiss. Since the moment he had felt her relax in his arms. If he was truly honest with himself, he had wanted her since the moment they’d met. He knew fairytales were just that, but he could’ve sworn the beautiful Grisha had cast a spell on him, just like in the stories his mother had read to him all those years ago.

---

Kaz had realized Nikolai wasn’t paying attention to anything he was saying. The King’s entire focus was on the corporalnik sitting in front of him. Kaz felt his anger bubbling inside of him. It was becoming a very familiar feeling when it came to the Ravkan King. Losing Jordie wasn’t enough? Losing Matthias and Nina wasn’t enough? Do I really have to watch her leave me too?

Inej had taken over, explaining what she and Zoya had discovered about the guards.

For a long time after Jordie’s death, Kaz had thought he didn’t really need anyone. He thought he hadn’t needed any human connection, but his crows had shown him otherwise. They had made him realize he wasn’t alone. He could rely on people. He could trust them. Losing Matthias had been hard on everyone and much harder on Nina than on any of them. Kaz had understood why Nina had left Ketterdam to go back to Ravka, but understanding hadn’t softened the blow of her departure. Kaz struggled every time he had to watch Inej leave on the ship he had given her even though he knew she always came back to him. He didn’t think he could bear watching Y/N leave their family to follow Nikolai back to Ravka.

It was funny, really. A former Drüskelle, wrongfully convicted of slavery. A Ravkan heartrender with a ridiculous appetite. A Zemeni sharpshooter with a gambling problem. A merchling runaway with a terrible father. A Suli indenture turned spy. A Kaelish corporalnik with a gift for getting on his nerves. This unlikely bunch of people had become his family. They had found their way into his cold heart. He rarely showed it, but he truly loved them.

He had already lost so much. He couldn’t bear losing anyone else. If that meant crossing a king, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it. He’d get Nikolai the plans and the prototypes he wanted, but that would be the last time he’d work with him.

Inej had stopped speaking. She was looking at him expectantly.

“Thank you Darling Inej.” The corners of his mouth quirked up, barely noticeable to anyone but her. “According to the blueprints, the antechamber to the vault functions as a scale. If any weight is added it triggers a defense mechanism. We’ll have to temper with the mechanics of it. I haven’t quite figured that part out yet. I’m hoping Wylan will come up with something.”

“On it, boss! I’ll take a look at the plans after this.” Wylan had really grown into his role with the dregs. Kaz still remembered the insecure boy he had first met for the Ice Court job.

Kaz nodded. “If triggered, the doors to the antechamber close and it becomes sealed before it fills up with water, drowning anyone inside it.”

“No pressure then.” Jesper piped up, his tone was way too jovial for the grim reality they were facing.

---

Y/N knew this meeting was important, but she couldn’t get her mind under wraps. She could feel Nikolai’s every movement behind her, and it was driving her crazy. She felt her hair move with his thigh as he shifted his position repeatedly. She had avoided him as much as she possibly could. She was trying and failing, to appease Kaz. Avoiding Nikolai had seemed to help keep her mind off him a bit during the day but at night her mind kept bringing up that Saints forsaken night.

The previous night she’d dreamt of him, again. However, it hadn’t only been the memories of their kiss. In her dream, they had been back in her room at the Hendriks’ mansion and, this time, the kiss hadn’t been part of an act. It hadn’t been Ainsley and Eoin Ó Ceallaigh. It had been Y/N Y/L/N and Nikolai Lantsov. That was ridiculous. Nikolai couldn’t possibly think of her that way. He obviously didn’t want her. Why would he? He was King of Ravka. He could have anyone he wanted. She was a Grisha indenture working for a barrel boss. She was no one.

That knowledge didn’t help her right now. Nikolai kept shifting his weight behind her. He was distracting her from the meeting, from her job. She couldn’t keep thinking of him. She needed to pay attention to Kaz. She needed to prove to him she could do the job. She needed to show Kaz she deserved her place with the crows. She had to stop thinking about Nikolai.

Kaz kept explaining the information they had already collected and what else needed to be done before the heist. She willed her mind back to the matter at hand. She managed to ignore Nikolai for the rest of the meeting. Keeping a strong hand on her mind’s reins. Kaz ended the meeting sending everyone on their way. There was still a lot to do before they would be ready to break into the military base.

-----

Kaz knew Y/N was lurking behind him. She had waited for everyone to file out before approaching him. He waited for her to speak, knowing she had something on her mind.

“You are going to send me back, aren’t you?” He heard the tremble in her voice. She sounded resigned.

He was surprised by her question. He had been expecting her to lose it on him for being in such a sour mood. He had been expecting a lecture not… whatever this was. “Send you back? Send you back where, Y/N?”

“The house of the Blue Iris, Kaz. I know you think I screwed up on the job. I know how much you hate people screwing up.” That surprised him. Of course, he’d rather have every job go perfectly according to the plan but that was improbable in their line of work. Why would he blame her for something out of her control?

A bitter laugh left his throat. “Is that really what you think of me?” Wasn’t he helping Inej go after slavers? Why would he send anyone to a pleasure house? Let alone a member of his family?

“I would never send you back there! You’re not people, Y/N. You are important to the crew… You’re important to me.” He knew he should leave it at that. “You’re a valuable investment.”

“But… You’ve been so… angry with me?” He could tell she was unsure, scared to make his anger flare up again.

“I’m not mad that a guard came back earlier than you thought, and that you had to improvise. It was the right move.”

“Then why are you mad, Kaz? What did I do?” He could hear the plea in her voice.

“You did nothing wrong.” That was true. He wasn’t mad at her. He was scared to lose her. Not that he’d ever tell her that. “I’m not angry with you, Y/N. My problem is with the king.” She looked at him, her eyes full of questions. He didn’t want to get into it right now. “You should help Wylan with the plan,” he said, dismissing her.

Kaz listened to her footsteps as she left. He still couldn’t believe she doubted him. He hoped he had succeeded in convincing her he never wanted to see her go. If he wasn’t more careful, he was going to push her right into Nikolai’s awaiting arms.

-----

tagged: @power-of-words23

[wy-van-sunshine]

wesper fanfic!

Plot: After the “Crooked Kingdom” events, Jesper and Wylan live together at the Van Eck residence. One night Wylan can’t fall asleep and he looks for some company from Jesper. He finds him staring at that small portrait of a red-headed child which Marya Hendriks had drawn during her exile in the care house.

Wylan had some trouble falling asleep in the last few weeks. His life had radically changed: his devious father was to stand trial and he would probably end up to Hellgate; he had somehow gotten involved in a gang of criminals and - in case that wasn’t enough - he had found friendship as well as love among those criminals. He was now an independent boy, ready to replace his father in the city business, possibly to make a better job than him, and his life felt almost... happy?

Wylan didn’t remember many times in which he felt happy, definitely not since the day he was told his mother was dead.

But mostly, now he felt loved. 

Wylan had been in love before - or at least he thought so - but he never felt that same warm feeling come from the person to whom he gave everything he had.

Still, as a simple student afraid of every aspect of life he probably didn’t have that much to share. 

But Jesper knew everything about him. He knew him in a way no one ever did, maybe even better than Wylan himself. He knew about his most hurtful experiences and, even though he often mocked him about his little flaws, Wylan knew he didn’t do it to do him any harm. He would never. 

So, basically, when Wylan thought about his new life he felt as if his universe and timeline had completely changed: he was a whole new boy, but he didn’t mind at all. 

That evening was different, though: he had already had these thoughts while trying to sleep, but he was so tired from the heists he had attempted with the Crows that the need for a good night sleep was stronger than anything else. 

But now two weeks had passed and his mind was thinking at incredible speed, leaving him no space to rest. He lied in his bed for about an hour, then, after stating it was useless, he stood up to reach the living room and spend some time with Jesper. 

Jesper always got in bed later: they shared the room, but Wylan’s need to sleep and the sharpshooter’s relentless energy were not the best thing after the heists, so Jesper had started to leave the redhead some space in order to let him rest - not without mocking him a little about it, obviously:“Go to sleep, sunshine. I have to say, though, I thought I’d fallen for a young boy, not for the oldest man alive!”.

Wylan smiled thinking about how every insult coming from Jesper embarassed him, but at the same time it somehow made him feel special. After all, that was his way to flirt and he knew it.

“Hey, Jes?” he said softly, entering the living room and looking over the sofa on the left. The view warmed his heart: the room was a little dark and the only light, coming from the fire in front of the sofa, played with Jesper’s features in a beautiful way. Every time Wylan fell a little more for him, he couldn’t explain how, but he did.

The sharpshooter lift his head and looked at him, smiling while putting a little paper he held in his hand in the pocket of his shirt. “Already missing this hot piece of Zemeni boy, sunshine?”

Wylan’s cheeks flushed with red - he would probably never get used to Jesper’s candor - and he walked up to the sofa, where he sit next to his boyfriend. 

“I really hate you, you know?” he said staring at the ground, but leaning in on Jesper’s chest, waiting for him to wrap his arm around his shoulders. 

“Evidence shows the opposite, actually” answered the Zemeni with a grin, circling Wylan’s shoulders with his arm. “What is it, anyways? Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“Am I not allowed to wish for some time with my boyfriend?”

Jesper smiled, his eyes spreading light:“Of course you are, love, don’t even need to ask. When did we estabilish I am your boyfriend, though? I must’ve gotten lost somewhere between our kiss and- ouch!” Jesper couldn’t finish his sentence as Wylan punched him on the thigh, laughing softly with a sound the sharpshooter loved with all his heart. He laughed back and placed a tiny kiss on the redhead’s neck. 

“I suppose my need for sleep is over, now I just lay in bed thinking about everything that’s happened and I can’t help but making my mind wander” said Wylan answering the original question. He turned over to look at Jesper in the eyes, letting a grin shape his lips:”Which means we can go to bed together now”

“Wylan Van Eck, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” asked Jesper with an astonished but amused expression. “Wow, hanging out with us really made you a terrible person”

The redhead burst out laughing, laying his forehead on the sharpshooter’s shoulder, his eyes filled with tears of amusement:”You’re so stupid”

“I am learning from the best, you know”

“Stop it!” 

They both laughed out loud for a while, Wylan’s whole body shaking and Jesper’s arms wrapped around his waist in an attempt to calm him down. Eventually, they both relaxed and silence fell on them, on their hug which neither of them felt like breaking, not just yet. Wylan’s forehead still lay on Jesper’s shoulder: after keeping his eyes closed for a while, enjoying the moment, he opened them and his gaze fell on the little piece of paper laying in the pocket of his boyfriend’s shirt. It was inside and he couldn’t quite see what it was, but he was pretty sure he recognised it and his heart made a huge, joyful leap. 

“What were you doing, anyways?” he asked, pretending like he hadn’t seen anything “I noticed you were looking at some paper... was that something business related?” 

Wylan noticed with silent amusement Jesper’s eyes starting to wander in the room, meeting everything but his gaze:”Erm, yes, yes, business. A merchant wants to buy- no, sell some of his... well, yes, business related stuff. Definitely. I’ll think about it tomorrow, anyways” Jesper cleared his voice, trying not to choke on his own words ”Shall we go to our room now?” 

The redhead smiled, leaning in on the sharpshooter in order to kiss him. Their lips met and Wylan seized the moment of distraction to rapidly take the paper from Jesper’s pocket and jump off the sofa not to get caught. He stared at the little drawing of him as a child, made with love by his very much alive mother Marya: he remembered Jesper had stolen it when they visited her, but he didn’t think he was still keeping it after Genya had used it to restore his aspect. He smiled, looking at Jesper with not even Saints know how much love in his blue eyes. 

Wylan didn’t think he would ever see bold, enterprising, outgoing Jesper blush... and yet there he was, his dark skin slightly changing colour in realisation of what his boyfriend was learning. The redhead said nothing for a while, a huge smile laying on his lips as he stared at the sharpshooter. After some time in which Jesper did nothing but move anxiously with his whole body on the sofa, Wylan finally broke the unbearable silence.

“Jesper Llewellyn Fahey, you are a big softie!”

If possible, Jesper blushed even harder, hiding his face in his hands and cursing the day his father revealed his middle name. Thank you, Da. Not only do I have to deal with this, I also have to hear Llewellyn being called a big softie. Jesper wasn’t enough. He didn’t like the way he was handling the situation: he was desperately looking for some of his sarcasm, but he was not prepared to face his feelings in such a strong way. He felt so stupid.

Suddenly he felt some gentle fingers wrap around his wrists and he lifted his head, meeting the blue oceans resting in Wylan’s eyes. The redhead was smiling, a light he had never seen before shone in his gaze. He was... wait, was he about to cry? 

“Wy?” he asked, not certain about how to behave. What was happeing? If anything, he should be the one crying from shame.

“You really like me that much?” 

Wylan’s question was so simple, so genuine. Jesper couldn’t help but falling a little more for him every time he witnessed how pure he could be. 

“What... of course I like you. A lot, I’d say. How is that something to cry for?”

Jesper put a hand on the redhead’s cheek, brushing away with his thumb a single tear running on it. 

“I have never had someone like you, Jesper. I have really never felt like someone cared for me this much. Not my father, not my friends, not my crushes. And now you’re here and I... I don’t know how I deserved any of this. Are you even real?”

The sharpshooter laughed softly, his shame completely gone, his love for that skinny, clever boy stronger than ever. 

“You’ve earned every single part of this, Wy. You are so amazing and please, every time I tease you punch me, because you deserve eveything, more than me, more than anything this world could ever offer you. Please know how much you’re worth. Please.”

Wylan smiled, sending his tears back, then he sit on Jesper’s lap and he placed both hands around his neck:”I don’t care what I do or do not deserve, all I care about is you. As long as you’re here, it’s okay” 

Jesper kissed him slowly, with kindness, grateful to the Saints, to Djel and to whomever was up there for placing that merchling on his way.

“Back to the original matter” said Wylan after a while “I’m putting up posters in every street of Ketterdam to tell the world what a big softie Jesper the sharpshooter is”

Jesper laughed out loud:”Yeah sure, everyone will believe that. It wouldn’t work out, anyways”

“And why is that?”

“Your mother drew you as a beautiful child and you’re really not that handsome, No one would say that’s you.”

Wylan grinned and punched Jesper twice on his arm.

“Damn! What the hell was that for?”

“You just told me how amazing I am and that I should punch you every time you say the opposite. It’s on you”

“Fair enough”

[kindness-ricochets]

Grishaverse Secret Santa

@sevenofcrowss - happy Kerchmas! I hope you like your fic <3 & @beautifxl-things thank you for beta-reading!

“If you’re going to take me on holiday, take me somewhere exciting,” Jesper complained. “Take me to Caryeva in the summer.”

“Okay,” Wylan chirped, turning to give Jesper a grin. He didn’t grin like that enough—despite Jesper’s best efforts. But he looked so pleased now, blue eyes sparkling and his red-gold curls bouncing, that Jesper didn’t have the heart to grouch at him. His grin slipping a notch, Wylan stepped closer to Jesper and straightened his coat. “Are you warm enough?”

Jesper swatted Wylan’s hands away. “Stop fussing! I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Wylan pouted. He stood on tiptoe to kiss Jesper’s cheek, then wrapped his mitten-clad hand around Jesper’s and tugged him onward. With a deeply put-upon sigh, Jesper allowed this.

The streets of the Geldin District were larger and tidier than the Barrel, less crowded, and Jesper noted the care Wylan took that the two mercher boys should make space for others. Mostly it was servants on errands. Jesper and Wylan were being irresponsible. Or rather, Wylan was. Jesper was just following his boyfriend’s lead, at the moment literally!

“Here we are!” Wylan announced. He held the door open for Jesper.

It was their first winter together and Wylan had been startled to learn that not only did Jesper not own ice skates, he had never been skating. What Jesper failed to mention was that he did not want to go skating. He assumed that since Ketterdam’s canals did not freeze, that would be the end of it.

He hadn’t anticipated how much Wylan loved skating. He hadn’t anticipated the energy, the enthusiasm, the need Wylan had to share this simple joy with Jesper, and within five minutes of hearing that Jesper had never been ice skating, Wylan was planning a holiday. And Jesper… well, Jesper didn’t have the heart to deny him when he was so excited for something. Wylan fretted and worked and worried; it was his way. They could be having a perfectly fun conversation, but if it lapsed into silence for more than five seconds, Wylan got that look in his eyes that said he was worrying again.

Jesper was less than eager to scoot around on ice with knives on his feet—it was perhaps the only activity his daredevil heart deemed too ridiculous. Yet here he was, picking up a new pair of skates because it would make Wylan smile.

“What do you think?” asked the… cobbler? Skate-maker? Jesper wasn’t sure what one called a man who made ice skates.

“Are they comfortable, Jes?” Wylan asked.

“They’re tight.”

“They’re meant to be tight.”

“Then they’re perfect,” Jesper said.

Wylan grinned, reminding Jesper why he was doing this.

“Just like you,” Jesper added. The resulting half-laugh and full blush was more than he could have asked for.

He eased the too-tight knife-shoes off his feet. As they were taken by a clerk to be packed into a box, Jesper asked, “Are you sure I shouldn’t wear them out?”

“You might yet.”

Hah! Unlikely.

“We’ll see,” Jesper said, with a grin at Wylan.

————

The Hendriks lake house was an altogether different place when one was not sneaking in under the guise of the Komedie Brute. In fact, Jesper much preferred the place when he could sweep in through the front door. He felt like himself here. He still liked cities, but in Geldin District, wearing revolvers was seen as eccentric at best, unacceptable at worst. Now his pearl-handled revolvers were at his hips where they belonged.

Yesterday after they arrived, Jesper had been curious about the place and gone to look around while Wylan settled in his mother. She was doing so much better, but Marya was still on shaky ground at times. So Jesper had taken the measure of the place, seen the outbuildings, the old graveyard, the frozen lake. He had even used his powers while he was out. There was nothing to make or shoot, so he settled for borrowing the color from a patch of bark. Not impressive, but it soothed an itch. When he swept back into the house, revolvers at his hips and coat flaring perfectly, knowing he had that zowa glow about him, Wylan's eyes nearly fell out of his head.

Today, however... today Jesper felt less enthusiastic. He felt an uncomfortable nervousness. Give him a firefight any day. A good brawl. Give him a house to scale (and a Wraith to help him, preferably). Following Wylan to the pond, Jesper felt distinctly not-brave and he did not care for it. He felt cold, too, a different sort of cold. Ketterdam had a wet, heavy cold. The cold out here was sharp without the buildings of Ketterdam to shield against the wind.

Wylan paused. There was a stone bench at the water's edge, likely a nice place to sit in spring or summer, if one were the type for sitting still. He set the bags containing their skates on the bench and turned to Jesper.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Wylan said.

Jesper laughed. "That's good. I was worried you wouldn't love me," he teased.

"Don't even joke about that!" Wylan wrapped his mitten-clad hands around Jesper's and squeezed gently. "I know you're nervous."

"I am not," Jesper lied. When Wylan's only response was a solemn, steady look, Jesper amended, "I'm a little nervous. Go on, show me you're any good. It'll make me feel better."

After a moment's hesitation, Wylan sat on the bench and traded his boots for ice skates. Unlike Jesper's shiny new skates, Wylan's were older, scuffed but still clearly well-made. He tugged hard at the laces. Once they were sufficiently strangle-tight, Wylan made his careful way to the pond. Jesper half-expected him to fall. This was Wylan. Jesper adored his merchling, but he was clear on his limitations. Things at which Wylan excelled included drawing, music, and having proper merch manners. Things at which he usually failed included... anything requiring coordination.

So Jesper watched, already prepared to step forward and scoop Wylan off the ice when he fell.

Wylan did not fall. If anything, he swooshed. He took a few unsteady scoots onto the ice, then picked up speed until he had circled twice around the lake, leaving thin scores in the otherwise smooth ice. Usually quiet, now he laughed, maybe louder than usual, maybe the sound just carried on the ice, but he laughed.

Jesper stifled a sigh. Now there was no way he was keeping off that ice. Wylan was doing that annoying thing he did again, being happy, making Jesper want to join him. Watching him move so fluidly was a surprise. He was awkward usually; of course the Kerch boy was at home on knife-shoes. What a strange culture it was.

Wylan jumped from one foot to the other, his legs stretching out. He did it again, then skated backwards towards Jesper.

"Show-off!" Jesper called.

"You know you love it," Wylan retorted.

He did, actually. Wylan's display was enough to make Jesper sit down and remove one of his boots. Cold immediately clamped onto his foot. Saints, why had he agreed to this?!

Oh. Right. Wylan was approaching with his wobbly ice-skates-on-dry-land steps, flushed and grinning. "I'll help," he said. He knelt and tightened Jesper's laces for him, wrapped the laces around his skates, and tied them tight.

"Ready?"

How could Jesper say no to that smile?

He stood... and immediately decided he was not ready. It felt just as fundamentally wrong as he expected and then some, his usually broad and solid feet balance atop something so unsteady. Jesper liked adventure, but this was a challenge he did not appreciate. Certain things ought to remain true. His feet ought to be his old reliable feet.

"I've got you!" Wylan promised, reaching out and taking Jesper's hands. "It's okay." He held on as they approached the lake. Jesper did not appreciate his wobbly steps, but he could try. For Wylan, he could try this completely unreasonable activity that only a mad Kerch could enjoy!

Wylan skated out onto the ice, completed a small circle and came back, offering his hands. Jesper tucked his mittens into Wylan's and set one skate on the frozen lake. Saints, this was not an improvement! Now he was wobbly on one foot and slippery on the other. This entire business was... unnatural.

"You're fine," Wylan told him.

Jesper moved his second foot to the ice. For one ridiculous moment, he was suspended, all his weight and balance on a knife on ice and every ounce of trust in that crazy, rosy-faced Kerch boy with that stupid beautiful smile that Jesper couldn't resist. Then he set his foot down on the ice.

"Ready?" Wylan asked.

Saints, no!

"Always."

Wylan began to skate backwards, his hands still wrapped around Jesper's, drawing him onto the frozen surface of the lake. With nothing to worry about but his balance, Jesper could admit it was a little enjoyable, the way he felt like he was gliding out over the ice. He was gliding over the ice! He heard as much as felt his skates swiping new scrapes onto the previously barely-marked surface.

Then they hit a bump and Jesper wobbled.

"I've got you," Wylan said. "You're doing great."

"I'm distracted by your pretty face," Jesper retorted.

Wylan rolled his eyes. Prettily. Distractingly.

He drew Jesper around the lake, warning before any big turns, even though Jesper was the one facing forward. His attention was more on his wobbly feet than anything else! As Wylan covered more and more frozen ground for them, though, Jesper started to enjoy this the slightest bit. He started to appreciate how it felt when the ice was smooth under his feet. Then he was gliding across the surface, gliding through the air that slid cold and clear across his face. Jesper felt a smile growing on his face and he could have fallen into the responding smile Wylan gave him.

After a second time around the lake, Wylan asked, "Are you ready for me to let go?"

Jesper wanted to scoff. It was still his instinct to say he was absolutely fine on his own, to make it a punchline that he would seem otherwise. The sweet, sparkling eyes looking up at him, though, made the promise Wylan always made. It was okay. The truth, Jesper, everything was okay.

Jesper swallowed.

"Stay close to me, Wy."

"Always."

Wylan released Jesper's hands, but he stayed in front of Jesper, his hands hovering just a few inches below Jesper's.

Jesper made it about three meters on inertia alone. Then he wobbled. A jolt of adrenaline shot through him--he was on knife-shoes, on ice, he was about to fall. Normally Jesper liked adrenaline. Normally he could do something! This time, powerless, he felt like something inside him was dropping fast.

At once Wylan's hands were back on Jesper's, steadying him again.

The only sounds were the whistling wind and the edged shush of their skates against the ice. Then Jesper nodded and Wylan lowered his hands again.

He was surprised by how his legs were starting to ache. He expected it to feel like a swift walk, but found different parts of his calves and thighs were already feeling the strain.

"Let me go on my own now," he said.

Wylan nodded and took a few quick skate-steps back, then fell into place beside Jesper.

"I'm fine," Jesper insisted. "Go show off."

"Is that what you want?" Wylan asked. "I'd hate to distract you."

Jesper laughed. "I'll manage."

"Okay."

Wylan skated off.

Jesper did manage. He wobbled and moved slowly, his hands held out from his sides for balance, but he managed. He took turns awkwardly and widely, but... he was getting this!

He risked a glance at Wylan, who was zipping across the frozen surface, continuing to surprise Jesper with his skill. This was a side to his Wylan that Jesper had never seen before. His physical confidence, that carefree smile... he was so beautiful this way. Jesper watched him glide along. He liked watching Wylan, always did, but this was something special, the way he seemed so right, the way he just knew how to move...

Jesper barely knew what was happening before the snow was rushing at him and he landed on the ground. The snow was enough to cushion the fall, though the chill did nip at his face and where it slipped between his mittens and the cuffs of his coat.

"Jesper?"

He heard Wylan skating to a halt as he picked himself up.

"I'm fine," Jesper reported. He had got himself into a seating position and held out his hands to Wylan, who helped him not so much to his feet, but to his skates.

"Do you want to go inside?"

He did a bit, but Jesper didn't want to admit it.

"One more time around the lake," he suggested.

"Only if you'll skate with me," Wylan retorted.

Jesper gave him a look. "You don't need to do that."

"I didn't think I needed to. I like skating better with you."

Jesper wasn't sure he entirely believed that, but he took Wylan's hand. They took one more round of the lake. With Wylan to steady him, Jesper risked an increased pace. He didn't take his eyes off the ice this time, following his path carefully, and he felt quite accomplished when Wylan brought them to a halt near the bench.

They traded their skates for boots. Jesper noticed Wylan wiping the blades of his skates. Wylan held out a hand for Jesper's skates and cleaned his blades, too.

"We'll carry them back out of the bags, let the leather breathe before we put them away."

Jesper nodded. He had never owned ice skates before, so he would gladly follow Wylan's advice on caring for them.

"So?" Wylan prompted.

"So," Jesper retorted. "So... skating isn't too bad."

Wylan broke into a dazzling grin, and Jesper just knew he would be skating again soon.

"You never told me you were good at a sport," Jesper only halfway teased.

Wylan nudged him with an elbow. "Oh, hush." But he was still grinning and flushed, his curls sweat-damp.

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Jesper promised.

He was surprised to note how late it was, the sun already approaching the horizon and the air taking a more savage chill. Time really flew when you were wobbling around on your knife-shoes! It was the perfect time to head back inside, the right time of day for hot chocolate and a warm fire.

“You don’t have to do that,” Wylan objected. “Come on,” he added, standing. He offered his hand, but Jesper opted instead to put an arm around Wylan’s shoulders. Wylan settled close with his arm around Jesper’s waist.

As they headed back to the house, Jesper clarified: “I don’t know if I’ll be skating, but I’ll watch you show off.”

[kindness-ricochets]

Prompt: “Hold my hand until it’s over?”

Day 13! The unexpected Part II of “You love me as if I deserve you.” -------

Jesper woke with the casual and undeniable fact that he loathed himself. He knew from the hot, sore feeling in his belly, so familiar the question he asked himself was not do I deserve this but why do I deserve it this time. Because he did. He always did. He pushed himself to sit up. It was late to be waking. Gray sunlight lit the room—not the dark gray of predawn, late morning gray on a day of lazy Ketterdam rain. On the bedside table, Jesper found a bottle of water, which he drank; a cold cheese bun, which he ate; and a sketch of a simple smiling face, which he turned upside down so it would stop silently judging him.

Now he remembered. He had been drunk, and Drunk Jesper had promised Wylan a talk today. He groaned. Maybe… maybe it was already mid-afternoon. Maybe he was tired enough to go back to sleep. Maybe… Drunk Jesper needed to stop writing checks that Sober Jesper had no intention of cashing. He groaned again and, as that did him no favors, went to dress. The responsible and mature thing to do would be find Wylan and explain about last night. As he settled his guns at his hips—ornamental in Geldin District, but intrinsically a part of him nonetheless—Jesper knew beyond question that he would not look for Wylan. He knew it in the keen hurt burning a hole through him. Instead he headed outside, skirting the parlor where Marya Hendriks painted by the window. Jesper let himself out into the drizzly yard. There were some trees on the grounds, a fine place to wander, if one were so inclined. They gave cover, kept the worst of the drizzle off. Jesper wandered and stroked his revolvers. There was nothing here to shoot. Well, there was, but he didn’t think a freshly killed squirrel was a gift Wylan would appreciate. When he was small, Jesper loved adventures. He mightn’t have had many of them in his own simple life; his life was housework and farmwork and school and church. Outside of that boring stuff, he pretended the adventures his life failed to provide. He hadn’t a chance to slay dragons, so he pretended, had at the mighty dragon (there was a boulder out past the west field, good to climb and leap from, or to stab, or whatever he needed the dragon to do for his play). Another of his favorite games was to be an ancient hunter. There had been reproductions in his schoolbooks of cave paintings in Ravka, images of mighty beasts with tusks a boy might dream about sliding down. Jesper could only imagine living at those times, hunting those creatures—only for food, of course. He tried four sticks before he found one that bent without breaking, then sat on the wet ground and unlaced one of his boots. This would be a proper apology gift. Sorry about last night, but I brought you squirrel meat was pathetic. Sorry about last night, I slew a woolly mammoth for you had far better energy. “Jesper?” He looked up. Wylan stood nearby, bundled in his coat, scarf, and hat like he had wandered into a snowstorm. It was a thin wool coat in Mercher gray, and it brought out the smudges under his eyes. Jesper looked away from Wylan, to his unlaced boot and makeshift bow. “I’m going to hunt a mammoth,” Jesper said, because he remembered that he hated himself again and he didn’t want to. Wylan regarded him for a moment, then said, “Can I come, too?” “No, you’re not a hunter, I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m hunting a mammoth for you.” “I’ll stay behind you.” “The mammoth could sneak up on us and gore you with its tusks.” “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Jes. Mammoths are enormous. We would feel it approaching.” Jesper considered that. They probably would have advanced notice of a mammoth approaching, at least enough for Wylan to hide behind a tree or something. He nodded. “You can come.” Wylan smiled. A smile like that ought to be illegal. At the very least, it ought to be a carefully controlled substance, accessible only by permit. Since Jesper’s bootlace was currently a bowstring, he had to walk carefully. Wylan asked if they ought to go and get Jesper’s coat, but Jesper told him to hush, they were on a mammoth hunt. Never mind Jesper’s clompy steps with his unlaced boot. Just hush. Yet the longer he walked, the harder Jesper found ignoring the ache inside him. It was worse with Wylan beside him, his presence reminding Jesper of his promise, broken over and over with each step. He had promised they were talk. Jesper felt Wylan’s eyes on his back, drumming that reminder into him. Promise. Clompstep. Promise. Clompstep.  Promise. Clompstep. Jesper tried to remember the snowy tundra he was sure walking across, to imagine the mammoth tracks, but Wylan was there, each of his squelching steps in the wet grass saying, you promised, you promised, you promised, until Jesper whirled on him. “I know, okay?” he demanded. Wylan looked stung. The rain dripped softly around them, the noise shushing out the rest of the world. He didn’t have to say anything; Jesper bowed his head and slumped his shoulders. He didn’t mean it… “Breathe,” Wylan said, and Jesper obeyed. “Again.” And again he obeyed. Running his fingers along his bowstring, Jesper said, “I don’t belong here.” And it hurt. It hurt that it was true; it hurt to say. It hurt so much the ache in his belly burst like a lance blistering, spilling red-hot pain into him. Jesper dropped his bow. He sat hard, his hands loose between his knees. This time the wet feeling stayed with him as the damp soaked into the seat of his trousers. Jesper didn’t like this kind of weather, but Wylan did. Wylan thought it was peaceful. Wylan liked the hush of precipitation, the clean scent of it, the gentle rhythm of the raindrops. Wylan liked being inside and curled up with coffee or hot chocolate. Jesper put his hands over his face. He was burning. “Jes?” “I don’t,” he said, “I don’t… fit, and I hate it! I hate b—“ No, he didn’t mean that. He cut himself off. “I hate… I hate…”

What? What did he hate?

What did he want? Then Wylan was there, kneeling beside Jesper and wrapping his arms around him. “It’s okay,” Wylan lied. Jesper sobbed drily. Then less drily. He held onto Wylan, one arm around, and Wylan cradled the back of Jesper’s head in one hand and pressed his lips to his hair and kept saying ridiculous things about it being okay. “I love you,” Wylan said. Jesper felt the words, the heat of Wylan’s breath. He cried ugly into Wylan’s chest. This was not what he wanted, for so many reasons this was not who and where he wanted to be. But if it was, then he wanted nothing more than for Wylan to hold him until it was over. “Can you tell me? Tell me what you hate, darling.” What he hated? Well, Jesper hated lots of things! He hated leeks, the middle of the ocean, quiet libraries, and Wylan’s father. He hated being trapped inside for days on end. He hated himself. He hated being shot, the smell of old lager, and mulled wine because it was ridiculous and tasted like sour pie.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.” “I know.” “I hate…” The words wouldn’t come easy. Jesper shook his head. “Please,” Wylan said. A crack in his voice, right down the center. A sniffle. “Please, tell me. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you, tell me what you need.” What if what I need is less of you? Jesper thought. At least, he meant to think it. He thought he thought it, until Wylan started to pull away from him. Jesper half-twisted to pull him closer. “No, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t—don’t. You know I say things without thinking sometimes.” “I know,” Wylan said, softly. “It’s okay, Jesper. I’m here.” “I don’t mind reading to you, Wy, I like that, what I mind is having nothing else. To you, I’m a partner, but to them I’m your secretary.” It was okay for Jesper to joke about being Wylan’s secretary. There were few things Jesper wouldn’t joke about, and that one never hurt because he could see the way Wylan’s eyes shone every time he looked at Jesper. It was almost scary sometimes the way he forgave Jesper’s mistakes, laughed at his worst jokes—it might be a groaning laugh, but it would be a laugh nonetheless. “I don’t belong at these parties, I don’t belong with merchers and I never will. They only see me as a part of you, and they’re not wrong.” Hearing the protest coming, Jesper asked, “What do I have outside of you?” He didn’t take work with the gangs anymore. Tried to avoid the tables. He tried to stick to the straight and narrow path of helping Wylan with the business, practicing with his zowa powers, and the occasional wonderful visit to Eil Komedie. It wasn’t enough. Hesitant, Wylan suggested, “Maybe you should start taking classes at the university again. Just a class or two, to see if it might be better for you now.” Jesper didn’t know if that was a good idea. He wasn’t sure it was explicitly a bad idea—a class or two, with Wylan to support him if he started to get twitchy again, that sounded okay—but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea, either. He just didn’t know. He didn’t know what he wanted, only that he didn’t have it. “I want to be your boyfriend, but I need to be more.” It was the best way Jesper could think to tell Wylan that he wasn’t enough. He didn’t blame Wylan, he didn’t want more from Wylan, he wanted more from himself. And that was terrifying. When Jesper followed his initiative, he tended to wind up drunk, broke, or otherwise in a ridiculous situation. He wound up in Fjerda. In prison. In love with someone who didn’t love him back. His life with Wylan was safe, but his life with Wylan was not enough. Safe was not enough. “I don’t know what to do now,” Wylan said, “but I’ll think about it. We’ll both think about it. Okay?” Jesper nodded. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I know how special you are. You don’t have to come to the parties if you don’t want to.” Jesper didn’t know if that would help. He didn’t know if anything would help, only that he felt inexplicably better now that he had roughed up his throat and smeared snot on Wylan’s coat. There was something healing about a good cry. The wind picked up, blowing the rain sideways and shaking drops off the leaves to pelt them both with cold droplets. “Can we head back?” Wylan asked. Jesper nodded. He was okay now. Wylan picked the wet knot loose from Jesper’s bow and began working the lace back through Jesper’s boot.  There would be consequences from this discussion, Jesper knew there would. For now, he didn’t mind. For now, he could happily look at Wylan’s red-gold curls where they peeked out from beneath his cap, feeling the gentle pressure of his boot being set right, and be happy with them together.

Jesper smiled at the ridiculous, beautiful boy with his deft hands and generous heart, and not for the first time, he wondered, What did I do to deserve you? Like he had heard the question, Wylan said, “Thank you, Jes. It’s not every guy who would slay a mammoth for me.”