Multi

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

The Volkvolny docked a couple of weeks ago and your time since had been spent under a false name. Posing this time as Ilse and Lars Bernt, you and Nikolai made acquaintances with Fjerdan nobles who invited you to dinners where you met more Fjerdan nobles, namely the Madsens. Nikolai’s informants seemed to believe the crown was being held at the Madsen’s Manor in Djerholm. So while you and Nikolai were rubbing elbows with the Fjerdan court, Tamar and Tolya were in charge of getting the blueprints of the Madsen’s Manor for this little heist of yours.

But right now, you were away from all of the glitz of nobility and the glamour of crime as you and Nikolai sat for dinner in the corner of a downtown tavern. His face was still tailored as Sturmhond, but his hair had been adjusted back to its golden locks in order to look more like the Fjerdans. He was halfway there to looking like your true Nikolai, and you’d caught yourself watching his blonde curls more than a few times since they’d been tailored back.

As you ate your meal, a stout sister from the local convent moved about the room, you watched her curiously as she handed papers out to the patrons. Finally, she got around to you, and without a word, she forced a paper into Nikolai’s hands then moved to the next table. You had thought it would be a religious leaflet, but when Nikolai handed it over so you could see it, you were surprised to find a bounty page. Though when you read it, things made more sense.

It said: Wanted: Alina Starkov, Ravkan Sun Summoner and enemy to Fjerda. 750,000 Krydda. Dead or Alive. 

Of course the Fjerdans would have a bounty out for her after the recent misfortune with the fold. It happened while the Volkvolny was at sea, but you’d heard all about it once you docked in Fjerda–all about how the Darkling had brought her on a skiff and expanded the Fold, and how she abandoned the skiff and all of its passengers halfway through the voyage, dooming them to a shadowy death in the Fold. 

What happened was dreadful, though from what you understood about the Darkling’s actions, you didn’t blame Alina for running away. If she hadn’t, she would be just as dead as the rest of them. Besides, you knew a little of what it felt like to leave people behind knowing they would die. Though your situation was not the same, you had never felt more guilty in your entire life than the day you left the Ketterdam harbours for the first time after your brothers died. They were already gone, their bodies likely already burned by the time you stepped on that boat, but leaving the city made you feel ill. The thought of never seeing their little faces paired with the knowledge that there was nothing you could do to bring them back was a form of torture so sharp it stung you even now to think about it. 

If Alina felt a fraction as guilty for running as you felt when you left, you knew she had paid enough for this crime of saving herself without having a nation rally to hunt her down. 

You handed the bounty back to Nikolai, lead in your stomach. He noticed your sullen expression and grabbed your hand, then he leaned over to the table next to yours where two men sat.

"What's this about?" Nikolai asked the men.

"Can't you read? It's a reward for the capture of the sun summoner," one of them said. 

"It's a hefty sum," the other man marvelled.

"Pays a lot to capture the freaks of nature who destroy our world," spat the first man.

You felt an indignant pang in your chest. "But it wasn't her fault, it was the Darkling that expanded the fold."

"She's a witch, girl. So is the Darkling, and all the rest of their second army." He glared at you. "They're twisted in Ravka, with their witch army and their Darkling general."

"Ravkan government's not much better," the other muttered into his cup.

"Ah yes, the Lantsov family of weak cowards and bastard children."

A glance at Nikolai and you saw hidden interest playing in the ghost of his smirk.

"Heard the eldest spends all his time betting on horses and bedding whores in Caryeva,” the first man said.

“No doubt the second does much the same–isn’t he at the university in Ketterdam? Probably spends all his time in the Barrel!” The second exclaimed.

“Needless to say, neither have the propriety to rule a country.”

“You’ve got that right.”

Again, you looked at Nikolai and expected him to have that glimmer of amusement in his eyes. It wasn’t the first time the two of you’d overheard people spreading their opinions about the second prince of Ravka, and not even the first time you’d heard them say something bad, but Nikolai looked a little lost as he stared at the bottom of his cup. There was a small furrow in his brow, the kind that formed when he was trying to hide the fact that something troubled him. You squeezed his hand and the furrow disappeared as a smile took over his features.

The two of you ate your dinner in relative silence, paid, and promptly left. It wasn’t in Nikolai’s nature to be quiet for long, and you expected his voice to grace your ears as soon as you left the tavern, but he had nothing to say. Finally, once you were in you inn room, you drummed up a conversation.

“I can’t say I like this place very much,” you mumbled, thumbing at the chain around your neck. You heard the slight clinking of Nikolai’s sliver ring as it ran along the metal. “The views are nice, and I like the snow, but the people? They’re a little too…”

“Blunt?”

“Rude.” You slumped back in the bed. “I mean, who were they to say such terrible lies about your family.”

You felt the bed dip beside you. “Well, they weren’t entirely wrong.”

You glanced over at him, brows knit.

“I get reports about Vasily and they’re all the same, and all very much in line with what those men said.”

“Well they were wrong about you.”

“Yes, but not completely.”

You sat up. “What do you mean? You’re not in Ketterdam at university, not in the Barrel betting and soliciting. You’re nothing like your brother.”

“Only half like him,” he said quietly. 

You almost asked him what he meant by that, but then you recalled the men’s chatter, what they’d called Nikolai’s family. The Lantsov family of weak cowards and bastard children. 

Nikolai sighed as you rested your head on his shoulder. He took your hand, smoothing his thumb along the back of it. “There’s something I’ve never told you, though I thought you would know the rumours,” he confessed. “In every way, Vasily is my father's son, while I am the product of a diplomatic visit from what is rumoured to be a Fjerdan dignitary."

“Hence the blond hair,” you attempted a joke, running a hand through his curls.

He smiled a little. “Hence the blonde hair.” He squeezed your hand. “I don’t mind it, being the rumoured and real bastard, but it’s moments like these when I doubt the level of respect people will give me as a prince. I… I don’t want to be made out to be a fool, especially not if people think I’m both a bastard and like my brother.”

“You’re nothing like your brother.”

“I know that, but not everyone does.”

“Those who matter know who you are.”

He laid his head on top of yours. “True enough.”

“Besides,” you said, “whenever you return to Ravka, everyone around will understand that you are nothing like Vasily.”

He placed a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you. From now on I won’t let random men in taverns affect my confidence levels.”

“Well, they were very rude.”

“And not just to me. They had a lot of hate for the sun summoner.”

“Don’t get me started,” you grumbled.

He looked at you. “I saw you when they were saying all of that; you seemed upset.”

“I feel bad for the summoner,” you said, eyes trained on your joined hands. You took a breath. “What she did, it reminds me of when I left Ketterdam after my brothers passed.”

He brought his arms around you.

“She wasn’t responsible for all those people dying and I wasn’t responsible for my brothers’ deaths, but in a way that’s not true. If she stayed and helped them they’d be alive, and if I had been smarter or–”

“What happened to your brothers wasn’t your fault,” Nikolai repeated as he had a hundred times by now. He peered into your eyes with a soft earnestness.

“I… I know. But it still feels that way sometimes.”

“I understand that,” he said, “but what happened to them will never ever be your fault.”

“I hope the sun summoner has someone to tell her that about the people on that skiff,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “It’s a terrible burden to bear alone.”

“I hope so too.”

……….

There were a million layers of fabric on you. This traditional Fjerdan gown boasted enough yards of fabric to sew five everyday dresses, not that you often wore dresses anymore anyways; they belonged in your youth on the farm or in the city of Ketterdam, but not in your life on the sea. Still, the ample fabric was useful for you to sew hidden pockets in your skirts, and you took the time to stock yourself with every possible item you might need on this little heist. 

You made your final adjustments in the bathroom, and when you stepped into the bedroom you were pleased to find Nikolai sitting on the bed adjusting his shirt cuffs. His golden hair seemed to shine and you grinned as you approached him.

Nikolai closed his eyes as you twisted a strand of his hair around your fingers. 

"I really have missed the blond," you said. 

"Well, if I'm to pretend I'm Fjerdan, I'd better look the part." He rested his hands on your waist, a dazzling smile on his lips. "And once again you'll be playing the part of my beautiful Kerch wife."

"You know I love the flattery," you said, settling yourself onto his lap. You straightened out his collar. "But the Fjerdans will expect us to be well-mannered and modest."

With a sigh, he replied, "It's the most regrettable thing about the evening." 

He leaned closer to you, his breath warm against your neck. You smiled as you felt his lips trailing your skin in soft kisses that had you feeling warm beneath your collar. He pressed his lips just below your ear and stopped there.

"Even so," he whispered, "I will try to behave myself."

"You'd better," you said, grabbing either side of his face and bringing his lips to yours. "Else we risk getting caught, and no one wants that."

"Very right, my dear."

You leaned back as you climbed off of his lap, and you didn't fail to notice the way he leaned with you, chasing your touch. His want of you made your heart race, and you thought all about the way he kissed your neck as you finished fastening your buttons and pulling on your gloves.

He stood behind you in the mirror under the guise of fixing his hair, but you knew from the way he kept glancing at you that he had an ulterior motive. And when you struggled with the clasp of your necklace he was there to take it out of your hands. His touch lingered at the back of your neck even after he was done. When he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin there you laughed, turned around and landed a gentle swat on his arm.

"If you keep this up tonight we'll be caught within minutes."

"Then I just have to get it all out now," he grinned, hands finding your waist again. "I'll be a perfect saint once we're at the party."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"I can be quite reserved when I have to be, my dear."

"Is that so? That's not the Nikolai I know."

He smirked, tilting his head to the side. "Well, you haven't seen me at a state dinner. Princely Nikolai is very different from the Nikolai you're used to."

"And which Nikolai is that?"

"Lovable scoundrel." He kissed you then, his grin tasting sweet against your lips.

"I know him very well," you laughed as you broke apart briefly. 

Nikolai slowly backed you into the wall as he kissed you again. He was soft and gentle with you, but as you threaded your fingers through his golden hair he leaned more of himself into you. His lips became more fervent, soothing your aches and leaving you breathless as his hands roamed from your waist to your hips.

You sighed as he tugged at your heavy skirts, fingers itching for your skin that was well hidden in this getup. A frustrated little whine escaped him and he settled for lifting the back of your thighs and propping you up against the wall as you wrapped your legs around him. You hummed into his mouth, heart beating to the sound of his fingers gripping you so perfectly tight. His lips dipped to your neck, kissing what limited skin was exposed above the annoyingly high collar of your dress.

"I love you," he mumbled into your skin as he often did in moments like this. The words ignited a flame inside you, and you braced his cheeks, bringing his face back to yours so you could kiss him. And as you swept his hair back he spoke again, "I love you… More than anything else in this world, I love you." 

You rested your forehead against his. "And I love you, Nikolai. Now and always."

"Always," he promised, lips like the devil as he pulled you back in.

Then there was a knock on the door, and you both groaned. Your synchronicity brought Nikolai's eyes to yours as you laughed at the two of you. He pressed one last kiss to your lips, his smile evident against yours, then he set you down. He straightened out as best as he could and cleared his throat. You followed suit, going to the mirror again to fix the dishevelled mess you'd both made. 

Nikolai opened the door to find Tamar on the other side.

"Could you two lovebirds hurry up, we're going to be late," she said, glancing between you with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"We'll be down soon," Nikolai announced.

"In two minutes, or else I'm coming back up here." Tamar's stare narrowed, then she left. 

Nikolai turned to you, cheeks rosy as he bit back a smile.

"I think we're in trouble,” he whispered.

“Better get a move on then,” you said, stepping for the door.

“One thing.” He held his arm out in front of you and you looked at him suspiciously. He gently straightened out your collar, his brows pulled in focus. “There.” Then he pressed a peck to your lips. “And there.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “Finally set?” 

“Yes, now let’s go steal that crown.”

……….

Nikolai, unsurprisingly, was an excellent dancer. You struggled to keep up sometimes, and he noticed, always slowing his step or simplifying his moves so you could follow better. He had a knack for making the tough things simple, it was one of the qualities you most loved about him. Still, you only had to dance for a little while more anyways; Tamar and Tolya would be setting off the distraction soon enough, and you and Nikolai would sneak away to the vault.

As if on cue, the fountain in the middle of the room started to go berserk, shooting water off in every which direction. Squeezing Nikolai’s hand, you two nonchalantly left the party, travelling through an archway and down a hall. It forked into three possible directions, and Nikolai stepped to the right but you pulled him to the left.

“It’s this way,” he said.

“No, it’s on the left,” you protested.

Somewhere down these dark hallways, a group of footsteps approached to go to the ballroom, and you and Nikolai quickly stepped into the nearest unlocked room. 

It was empty, thank the saints, with only a few candles burning, and you reached beneath your skirts, feeling around the ridiculous amounts of fabric.

“What are you doing?” Nikolai asked. “We should keep going.”

You brandished a scroll and unfurled it. “It’s the map, remember? This place is a bloody maze.”

“I know where we’re going,” he assured, rolling his shoulders back.

“Really? Because according to this, we’re to go left.”

“Let me see that.” He glanced at the map. “Huh. Left it is then.”

“You should have this, too,” you said, lifting your skirts to find his pistol. You extended it to him and he reached for it, but you pulled it back. “Don’t doubt me again, my love.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he smiled and reached for his pistol again, pleased when you let him have it. 

You grabbed a lit candelabra and pressed your ear to the door. “Sounds like it’s clear, let’s go.”

The two of you travelled down the hall on the left, then took a right, went up a set of stairs, then rounded to the left again. Finally, you were in a long corridor with six normal, wooden doors on both sides, and a silver door at the very end. The silver door with its simple knob and keyhole was not quite the vault you expected, but it would be manageable nevertheless.

"Not that I doubt you, but do you think you can pick that lock?" Nikolai asked.

You turned to him. "Course I can."

You slipped your lock-picking needles from their secure place in the seams of your bodice. Then you eyed the long corridor to the silver door. So many other doors opened onto the hall, so many possibilities for this to go awry. You turned to Nikolai. 

"Do you have my back?"

"Always," he nodded with a debonair smile.

With your needles in hand, you took off down the hall. Nikolai was your shadow, flanking you with his pistol as you travelled down the corridor. You heard a door open, and a gunshot and groan as someone hit the floor. The groan wasn't a familiar sound, and you knew Nikolai was still safe without glancing behind you. 

Once you made it to the silver vault door, you started working immediately, setting aside the candelabra and swiftly prodding at the keyhole with your needles. Something about this lock had you puzzled. Your needles prodded for the latches and successfully found them, but when you twisted the needles, the latches would not budge.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered under your breath.

"Something wrong, darling?" Nikolai said.

You spoke through gritted teeth, "My stupid needles won't turn the stupid–"

You felt something click in the worst way, and when you twisted the needles around again, you knew what was wrong. You slipped them from the lock and confirmed your suspicion. Your straight needle was fine, but the one with the slightly bent end had snapped where the bent bit used to be.

"Fucking hell."

"What? What's wrong?"

"My needle broke inside the lock. I can't pick at it anymore."

"Shit." He bent down beside you. "Let's shoot the lock then."

"No!" You quickly lowered his raised gun. "The door is metal, Nikolai. A bullet would only ricochet and hit one of us. We have to think of something else."

Footsteps sounded at the base of the hall and Nikolai reeled back around, shooting whoever was coming. 

You felt at the silver door, checked its hinges, and knocked your body against it. You huffed as you realized it didn't budge an inch. Then you got your knife out of your skirts. You tried it against the hinges but stopped when you realized you would only bend your knife. 

"C'mon," you mumbled to yourself.

Increasingly desperate, you started to just wiggle the door handle. And when that–expectedly–proved useless, your frustration got the better of you, and you punched at the half-foot margin of the wall between the door and the perpendicular wall.

To your amazement, when you pulled your hand away, you took some drywall with it. 

You laughed, and Nikolai turned to see your accidental discovery.

"Saints," he said, "this could still work."

"It will work," you replied, already attacking this wall with your knife.

Bit by bit, you pulled apart the wall, creating a hole to the vault. You could even see Mila’s crown on the other side, sitting prettily on a stand in the middle of the room. You stopped yourself short of cheering as you reached through the hole and felt for the lock. With one simple twist of your fingers, the door opened.

Nikolai heard the click of it and grinned at you. "Knew you could do it."

"That makes one of us," you muttered, stepping into the room.

The two of you circled the crown. It was delicate, with a golden framing and an array of diamonds and round sapphires running all along the crown and meeting at the front where a massive sapphire shone brightly. Nikolai picked it up, testing the weight of it in his hands.

“Fit for a queen,” he muttered, glancing at you.

You felt a heat creep up your neck at his words, but you shook it away, searching your skirts. Nikolai cleared his throat.

"A priceless artifact behind this door and all you had to do was hack at the drywall?" He smirked. "These Fjerdans really should have better security standards."

You pulled a tightly wound pack out from your skirts and unrolled it. "Well, it's not the Ice Court, my dear."

"Evidently," he said, gently placing the crown into the pack as you held it open. He wrapped it back up and grinned at you. "Shall we be off then?"

“I think so.”

You escaped the way you came, down the winding hallways and labyrinthian corridors until you were back in the hall to the ballroom. You shoved the pack into the hidden depths of your skirts and waded through the chaos of guests to the water fountain, drenching yourself as quickly and subtly as you could.

“What was that for?” Nikolai asked as you returned to him and started tugging him to the main entrance.

“We need a good excuse to leave, don’t we?” You started to fake sob, your lip quivering, “Such a perfect night ruined! My poor dress! Oh, Lars, my darling, you must take me home!”

He suppressed his smile, his voice low, “I like the way you think.”

No one batted an eye as you went out the front doors, no one thought it suspicious as you slipped into your coats and got into your carriage. Tamar and Tolya were waiting, the latter of which was as soaked as you were.

“The plumbing and I got into a scrap,” he said, smiling proudly as the rest of you laughed at his joke.

“Better you than me,” Tamar said. “I wasn’t about to risk prying open the outgoing pipes instead of the incoming ones. But it’s a good thing you could figure out which was which.”

“Would have been a worse fight with the outgoing pipes,” Tolya agreed.

“And a worse-smelling carriage ride,” Nikolai pointed out.

“Much worse.”

You looked at your friends. “Good job to us. Great execution, everyone.”

“Yes, great job, everyone,” Nikolai said. He nudged you. “Let’s see it again, then.”

You dug out the pack from your skirts and unwrapped Queen Mila’s crown. It wasn’t as heavy as you expected, yet it carried a different kind of weight in your hands. A bubbling in your chest made you want to try it on, but you restrained yourself. Smiling, you extended it for the twins to see.

“Now I realize why your family wanted it back,” Tamar said, transfixed on the shimmering gold.

“It is a gorgeous piece,” Tolya murmured, eyes following the sapphires.

It could only be described as gorgeous, and you stared wistfully at it. You’d never held something so expensive, never even seen something similar to it. Opulence and riches weren’t something afforded to farm girls or sailors, and you somehow doubted you would ever see something like this again.

The carriage hit a bump and you decided to put it away again. It felt wrong to hold it. And even as you tucked it beneath your skirts again, you thought about how the weight of it wasn’t something you were qualified to support. You were as common as one could be; you shouldn’t even be allowed to look at such a thing.

When you reached the inn you said goodnight to the twins as you and Nikolai went to your room. You sat on the bed and took off your shoes as Nikolai hung up his coat. Then he was suddenly kneeling in front of you. He started pulling up your skirts and you whispered his name.

He smiled at you, warm and happy. “I just want…” He pulled out your knife. “Not this.” He felt around some more and found your second pistol. He gave you a puzzled look. “Or this.” Then he found your lance and let out a guffaw, shaking his head. “How in hell’s name were you carrying all of this?”

“There is nothing more dangerous than the hidden depths of a skirt,” you said.

“I understand that now,” he said, bracing his hands on your thighs. His fingers played at the seams of your stockings. “Could you please retrieve the crown for me, my love?”

You reached down, lightly patting your skirts for the pack. You met a lump and tugged it free, handing it off to Nikolai. He unwrapped it carefully, eyes sparkling as soon as he saw a glimpse of the gold. He leaned back on his haunches as he smiled at you. Then he held the crown aloft, lining it up with your head as he eyed you from below.

“It will look perfect,” he muttered.

“Nikolai,” you whined, feeling embarrassed and endeared at the same time.

“Yes, darling?”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“I just want you to try it on.”

“It doesn’t belong to me.”

“It belongs to me–or, my family, I suppose,” he said, slotting himself between your legs as he kneeled there. His one hand cupped your face and he said gently, “I just want you to try it on. Please, just once. And if you don’t like it, you never have to wear it again if you don’t want to.”

You looked down at it, slightly terrified of the golden crown. But then you looked at Nikolai again, saw the excitement he was trying to tame, and your stare softened. “Alright then.”

He beamed at you, and very slowly–as if you were wild and unpredictable–raised the crown to your head. You dipped your chin and shut your eyes, letting this quiet moment play out. When you felt the weight of it you wanted to shy away, but you stilled yourself. Nikolai adjusted it, and you tracked its slow shifts. Then he spoke your name, softly and joyfully, beckoning you to open your eyes.

You lifted your head up, and when you locked eyes with Nikolai his mouth parted a little, but no words came out. In all the years you’d known him, this was the first time you’d seen him in speechless awe.

A sigh fell from his mouth, and he said lowly, “Saints…”

“In a good way or a bad way?” you asked sheepishly.

He stood and grabbed your hands, a smile playing at his lips. “Come decide for yourself,” he said, leading you to the mirror.

The dread in your stomach immediately cleared as you looked at your reflection. To your surprise–or more aptly, your utter bewilderment–it didn’t look horrible on you, or like it was out of place. The crown looked like it belonged there on your head, like it had been missing all this time. You seemed taller, not just in the slight height it gave you, but in the way your shoulders squared as you watched yourself in it. Nikolai came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle.

"Moya tsaritsa," he cooed in your ear.

Your heart stopped. My queen, he'd called you. You searched his reflection for some kind of tell, for him to play his words off as a joke, but you knew Nikolai when he was being genuine; he meant it. My queen.

Watching him in the mirror was not enough, and you slowly spun in his arms. He caught the concern in your face and pressed his lips to the crease in your brow, easing away the tension.

"You mean it," you said, your mind still wondering if you were wrong. Were you? Was this all some sick joke?

“Of course I mean it,” he confirmed. "I may be a second son, but you are my queen, now and always."

You slipped your arms around his middle, tugging him into your embrace. With a chuckle, you ignored the tears welling in your eyes and mused, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“What did you do? What did I do?” He answered, his own eyes watering as he wiped your tears from your cheeks. “You have made me the happiest man in the world. You’ve saved me, my darling. In every single sense, in every meaning, you have saved me. And I will spend every hour of every day of the rest of my life hopelessly in love with you.”

There was nothing else to say, and you spent the night wrapped up in one another, in whispers and in laughter, and in utter, complete love.

……….

The Volkvolny was sitting in the Fjerdan harbour when he approached with his guards and Grisha.

You hadn’t noticed the group at first, but suddenly Nikolai tapped the table where you were charting your next course and you looked up to see his slightly panicked eyes glancing towards the docks. Tolya had retailored his hair to the red of Sturmhond, and you couldn’t be more relieved he was disguised as this shadowy figure of his past approached the ship. 

The supposedly dead Darkling boarded without notice, and Nikolai was the first to speak to him. You stepped up beside them, eyes taking a quick count of the Grisha and guards the Darkling kept in his company. There weren’t too many for your crew to take care of, but you knew what horrors their leader was capable of by himself, and you wanted more than anything to avoid being halved with a motion of his arms.

He spoke clearly with Nikolai, stating his terms and requirements with no room for variation. Your crew was to commandeer a whaling ship for the journey, sail him to Novyi Zem to kidnap the sun summoner, then sail north to capture the sea whip, a mythical beast you didn't believe existed.

And then, without consulting you or the twins or any of his closest crew members, Nikolai took the Darkling’s deal. He hid his mischievous grin under the guise of friendliness as they shook hands, but you knew Nikolai; he was up to something. Still, this was a dangerous situation, and he shouldn’t be so relaxed.

The Darkling left the ship soon after, whisking himself and his companions away as quickly as they had come.

“What the hell was that?” You asked Nikolai once you were certain they were all out of ear’s reach. Still, for the nearby crews’ sake, you kept your voice low and your expression casual despite your irritation.

“An opportunity,” he said, his confidence on the highest of precipes.

“For death and destruction, perhaps.”

“Have a little faith in me, Rietveld. I promise it will all work out. I have a plan.”

Before you could chew him out, Tolya and Tamar appeared beside you.

“Do you know who you just made a deal with?” Tamar asked, her low volume hiding just how panicked her words were.

“Yes.”

“And yet you still made a deal with him?” Tolya raised his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

You could tell how the two felt by the way Tamar crossed her arms and Tolya tried not to slump his shoulders.

“This has got to be your worst plan yet,” you murmured.

“I haven’t even told you the plan,” he said with a smirk. If you didn’t love him you would’ve wanted to smack him for his easygoing demeanor.

“Then enlighten us,” you ground out, tilting your head towards the upper cabins.

He nodded and led the three of you into his cabin, circling his desk where a map of the true sea and all of its land borders sat.

“The Darkling wants the sun summoner and the sea whip,” he said.

“We know that already,” you muttered annoyedly.

“Yes, dear.” He looked at the three of you. “Once we’ve got both, I propose we jump ship.”

The three of you all had a strong reaction. Tamar stepped away from the table, hands going to her hips; Tolya hung his head as he leaned his palms into the table; and you folded your arms, a string of Kerch curse words leaving you as you expressed how stupid you thought Nikolai’s plan was.

He dealt with you first, his eyes sympathetic to you but his expression final. “It will work, I know it will. The Darkling wants us to sail on a whaling ship. If we have the Volkvolny meet us after capturing the sea whip, then our crew, the summoner, and the sea whip can all move onto it and make a quick getaway.”

You scoffed.

“You think the plan is stupid?” Nikolai asked, though his tone played his words as more of an accusation.

“I don’t think your plan is stupid, I think it will get us all killed,” you said.

“I second that,” Tamar nodded.

“Same,” Tolya piped in.

Nikolai trailed a finger along the map of the sea. 

“Once we have the sea whip, we sail for a predetermined spot where the Volkvolny will be waiting. We keep our Tidemakers and squallers on the Volkvolny. Tidemakers can create mist for us as we move the summoner and sea whip, and the squallers will fill our sails while messing with the whaler. Plus, our heartrenders can be on the whaler to drop the Darkling’s people while the mist is still up.” He looked between you all. “If we move fast and efficiently, it will work.”

“I hate it, but I think you may be right," Tamar said. She nudged her twin. "What do you think, Tolya?"

"Rabinov's eleventh sonnet comes to mind. 'In danger does a prize most shine, but wouldst--'"

"He's in," Tamar interjected.

Suddenly three pairs of eyes fell on you. You watched the anticipation set along the lines of Nikolai's face, then you sighed.

"Since the deal has already been made, we've no choice but to make this work."

Nikolai clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Tomorrow we acquire a whaler, then."

Tomorrow a whaler, the day after that, a saint. Easy work, if you asked Nikolai. You just hoped he was right.

……….

Being under the Darkling’s thumb was a miserable experience. As Nikolai’s second, you were able to stay close to him for the most part and avoid any trouble of interacting alone with the Darkling, though you had to hide any hint of affection between the two of you. This was easier said than done considering Nikolai had a hard-to-break habit of holding your hand at random moments; more than once you'd noticed his hand wandering out for yours only to covertly snap back at his side. 

But despite your lack of interaction with him, every time the Darkling or one of his Grisha looked at you your body tensed a little. And whenever he made a show of intimidation with his nichevo’ya, a cold, nauseating sensation settled in you. 

It felt as though you could all get killed at any moment, and despite how well he buried it away, you could tell Nikolai felt the same. You knew his tells–how the casual straightening of his coat spelled his discomfort, and how a smile and the slight tilt of his chin were only there to mask his worry with a show of confidence.

But no matter how bad it was for you, there were two people who had it much worse. The summoner and her tracker friend were ten times as vulnerable here on this ship. You’d volunteered for this treachery, but they were only trying to live their lives when they’d been captured by the Darkling. Alina seemed nice, undeserving of the Darkling’s cruelty, and you truly felt bad for her–and for her tracker, Mal. He was attached to this person that the world wanted to tear apart, and he never thought to leave her. But you couldn’t blame him; with the many times you had saved Nikolai and he had saved you, you understood codependency better than anyone. 

On the fourth gloomy day of sailing for the sea whip, Mal approached you on the upper deck. You were watching your compass as the ship sailed in the direction he’d given when he pulled up a chair beside yours.

“You and your captain need to help us,” he said quietly. He pretended to watch your compass.

You looked at him then glanced around the deck. No one was looking at you, thankfully, but the longer he sat there the more suspicious this would become. “Take it up with the man in teal.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Then I don’t know why you’re speaking with me. He’s the one in charge,” you said, waving him off.

He lowered his voice. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you for reassurance. It seems more like a partnership between you, so surely you must have some say in all of this.”

“I don’t know what you think you’ve seen, Oretsev, but I am telling you I don’t have the final say here.” You put on your meanest scowl to back yourself up as you lied, “Don’t bring this matter up again or I’ll tell the Darkling and he will no doubt have you whipped or flayed or whatever else amuses him in the moment.”

He took your warning with a frown and walked away from the table. You slowly let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and looked around you again. As far as you could tell, no one saw your conversation. Good. That tracker just had to stay quiet and he would be free in a matter of days. You just hoped he and Alina wouldn’t cause any trouble before then.

……….

At dusk on the sixth day at sea, Nikolai and you met in the quiet of an abandoned little hallway aboard the whaler. He kissed your forehead and took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs along the back of them. It was nice to have a private moment among the tense chaos of this packed ship. There was only one topic of conversation either of you could focus on, and you dove right into it.

“I like Alina,” you whispered. “She doesn’t deserve all this trouble.”

“She doesn’t, but she’s needed.” Nikolai’s words made you nod. She was the only person who could destroy the fold, and you knew how much it would mean to Ravka–and Nikolai–to have it gone.

“And I like her friend, Mal. He pleaded with me to help them both,” you told him.

“I figured he would try you too. He approached me so earnestly, I almost felt bad rejecting him.” He watched your joined hands as they swayed between you. “Alina made the same plea to me the other day. They only have to wait a few days more.”

“Exactly.” You rested your head against his chest. “I can’t wait until all this dreadful business is over.”

Nikolai brought his arms around you. “You and me both. But once it is, life will be much simpler.”

“Assuming we make it out of this alive.” You peered up at him in the darkness of the hall.

“We will,” he said, his conviction clear. "We always do."

You tilted your head to the side as you pursed your lips. You still had your doubts about this situation, but you didn’t want to burden him with them.

He sensed your apprehension. "I would never put you or the crew through something I knew you couldn’t handle. This will all work out.”

You nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

"Darling," he whispered slowly, as though he had something more to say. 

You looked at him, giving him your full attention. He seemed to pause, and you prompted him, "Yes?"

He only pressed a kiss to your forehead. It felt as though he changed his mind about what he would say as he spoke, "Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," you replied.

The two of you went your separate ways. That night as you drifted off to sleep, your mind clung to Nikolai’s optimism. He said it would work out, and you just had to believe him. You had no other choice, not unless you wanted to completely abandon hope. But even you weren’t that much of a pessimist.

……….

A few days later, you stood near the helm of the Volkvolny, alive and well after escaping the whaler with most of your crew, Alina and Mal, and the sea whip. Some crew members did not survive the Darkling, but you valued their sacrifice more than you could say, and you thanked the saints that Nikolai and the twins had made it out.

Still, your arms were crossed as you mulled over the conversation you’d shared with Nikolai, Alina, and Mal last night after all the chaos of escaping had settled.

“Why did you help us, Sturmhond?” Alina had asked.

“And why hunt the sea whip if you only meant to turn it over to Alina?” Mal piped in.

“We weren’t hunting the sea ship. We were hunting Alina,” Nikolai said.

“That’s why you raised a mutiny against the Darkling? Just to get me?” Alina questioned

You laughed a little. “Not exactly mutiny since it was our ship.”

"No doubt stolen," Mal muttered.

You gave him a playful punch to the shoulder. "Correct, Oretsev. You learn quickly."

Neither Alina nor Mal seemed amused, but Nikolai smiled. 

“It wasn’t a mutiny, Miss Starkov. Besides, had the Darkling bothered to ask, I would have told him he was easily outbid by another.”

Alina leered at him. “You’re mad. You know what he can do. No prize is worth that.”

She was right, especially now that you’d seen his nichevo’ya and the horrors they inflicted. You just prayed she wasn’t completely right. 

Alina shook her head. “Who hired you then and where are you taking us?”

“Os Alta,” Nikolai said.

“You’re taking us across the fold to East Ravka?” Mal asked, his startled eyes meeting Alina’s.

“To my client.” Nikolai grinned, and you nearly rolled your eyes. Why he couldn’t just tell them he was this supposed client, you had no idea. Sometimes his dramatics were too much for even you to take seriously. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“Look here, Sturmhond, you’re going to tell us who you’re taking us to or I’ll sink this ship,” Alina swore.

He caught your eye, and you saw a twinge of amusement in his stare. You pursed away your smile as he turned to Alina. “Two things for you to hear. One, captains don’t like taking orders on their own ships. Two, I'd like to offer you a deal.”

“Why should we trust you,” Mal snorted.

“You don’t have much choice,” you told him.

“I know you could sink this ship and kill us all,” Nikolai said, “but I hope you’ll take your chances with my client. Listen to what he has to say, and if you don’t like what he proposes, I swear I will help you escape and take you anywhere in the world.”

Alina and Mal agreed to these terms, but you could sense their mistrust. They were smart enough not to completely trust a stranger with their future, and you were glad they had that instinct. As you had once said to Nikolai, scrutiny costs less than naivety.

Nikolai then discussed the logistics of Alina tearing down the fold. They seemed to believe she could do it now that she had this second amplifier, but you still had your doubts. They wanted her to do it as you crossed into East Ravka. In your mind, this was a lofty goal to achieve and innumerable things could go wrong in the fold while she tried to tear it down, but Nikolai and Alina were certain she could do it. 

“She’s the sun summoner, Rietveld, if anyone can do it it’s her,” Nikolai had attempted to convince you.

“I know she’s the only one who can do it,” you said back to him. “I’m just not sure she’s ready.” You looked at Alina, “I only mean to say that you haven’t used your powers in any significant capacity since you gained this second amplifier. From what I know of them, this could be really dangerous.”

“She’s right,” Mal agreed with you. 

“Well we won’t know unless I try,” Alina said.

Nikolai nodded. “Precisely.”

One look at Mal told you he was just as nervous about this as you were, but you both kept quiet.

And now you stood near the helm of the Volkvolny and glanced across the deck at Alina. You tried to spot Nikolai but he wasn't in your immediate sightline. To you, tearing down the fold seemed an unrealistic dream, but you couldn't completely discount it; Nikolai believed in her, and his optimism rarely failed. Besides, the twins believed in her too, and they were much more practical than Nikolai.

Still, you couldn't help but play the pessimist.

"Is something the matter, dear?" Nikolai asked from beside you. He wasn't there a second ago, and the suddenness of his presence startled you.

"I'm fine," you said, clutching the chain hidden under your collar as your heartbeat settled again.

He watched you carefully but said nothing. Leaning against the railing beside you, he bumped his hip into yours. When you looked at him and saw the playfulness in his eyes you couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look today?" He asked.

"Not yet," you replied, feeling flush. Whether in a hush in public or proudly in private, he complimented you almost daily, yet his words never failed to make you warm at the collar.

"Shame on me," he tsked. "You should give me hell tonight for forgetting."

"Nikolai," you scolded quietly, eyes darting around. "Not so loud."

"If that's the rule we're following, you've already broken it several times–"

You smacked his arm.

"Enough of that." You glanced down at Alina and Mal. "Don't want our guests getting suspicious, Sturmhond."

He rubbed his arm. "I would say we shouldn't care about them knowing, but I fear my arm would have to sustain another attack." Nikolai tilted his head at you. "What do you really think of this?"

You let out a short sigh. "What do I think of what?"

"The plan? Of helping Alina dispel the fold?"

"Do you want me to be truthful or nice?" You crossed your arms.

"Truthful."

"Well," you started. "I think it's a fool's errand."

"She's a sun summoner"

"And? We don't even know if she can do it. She might not be strong enough."

"She has the sea whip now."

"And what if that's not enough?" You met his steady stare. You hated how calm he could be when danger was tailing you. "The Darkling has an army of shadow demons at his beck and call. What does she have?"

"She has us, she has Ravka." He sounded sincere. "We're all behind her in this. We all want the fold gone.

You frowned. "Is that all you want?"

Nikolai blinked at you. "What is it you're worried about?"

"I don't want you getting pulled into this, getting hurt because of this. You've already crossed the Darkling–"

"And lived to tell the tale," he interjected.

With a sigh, you turned towards the water. "You're alive now, yes, but he could be anywhere, waiting to attack when the moment is right."

He pressed his side into the railing, facing you despite your insistence on looking away from him. "And you'll be with me, my lucky charm to save me from anything."

"Not even I could save you from a homicidal maniac like the Darkling," you said, sending him a terse look.

"Well, you won't have to. We'll fly to East Ravka. Alina will tear down the fold as we cross it, then the Darkling will have nowhere to hide." He gripped your hand on the railing. "It will all work out, I promise."

"You better not be wrong."

"Rarely am I wrong, my dearest."

“That’s…” You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming."

"And incredibly self-assured."

"Why thank you, darling."

You scoffed, though it was immediately negated by your smile. Nikolai squeezed your hand three times, making your eyes soften on him. You copied his actions, and he grinned.

He loved you, you loved him, and it would all work out.

……….

As you predicted, Alina was not strong enough to take down the fold. Crash landing on the other side of the fold proved that much. And then of course there was the whole incident of Alina punching Nikolai when she learned he wasn’t really a privateer named Sturmhond but the second Ravkan prince. You didn’t entirely blame her for that, since Nikolai could have told her who he was as soon as she was rescued from the Darkling but he elected not to.

Either way, she was probably cooling off with Mal somewhere else in the camp. You were in Nikolai’s tent, surprised at the quality of bed he was given as you rested from your high altitude travels. The air didn’t usually agree with you on a good day, and after a few close calls with volcra today you were more than glad to be grounded outside of the fold.

The first army camp you were staying the night at was sparse, and dinner was of questionable quality, but they treated Nikolai like the royalty he was–and you got to reap some of the benefits, starting with sharing a small basket of fresh fruit and a nicer tent with him than all the rest in the camp. Perhaps now that he was back to being Prince Nikolai you would get more of these perks; how odd that would be.

The flap of your tent opened and Nikolai stepped through. He gave you a nod and went to drape his military jacket over the wooden chair in the corner.

“How was your chat with the Colonel?” You asked.

“It was good,” he said, hands braced on the back of the chair. His eyes met yours, but then he quickly looked away.

You spotted a furrow in his brow. He was worried. “Is something wrong, Nikolai?”

“I…” He stepped closer to you. "Can we speak?"

You nodded and moved over on the bed so that he could sit with you. No good could come from the solemn tone of his voice, but you were prepared to help him through whatever was wrong.

He slowly sat down beside you, folding his hands in his lap to keep them from fidgeting. “I haven’t been completely honest about some things. This trip in particular.”

“What do you mean?”

"Part of why we're here is to tear down the fold. But the other part… I want to make a play for the throne."

Your mouth gaped a little. "You want to be king?"

"Yes."

You nodded out your surprise. In all your years with him, there was no indication that this was the future he wanted. Maybe your time in Fjerda–stealing Queen Mila’s sapphire crown and hearing how poorly people outside of his country thought of his family–had made him reimagine what path lay ahead of him. Or maybe it was the sun summoner and the potential of a united Ravka that made him interested in running this country.  But if this was the future he envisioned, you wondered how you would fit into it.

Almost as though he could sense your trepidation, he grabbed your hand and spoke softly. "And part of why we need Alina is to tear down the fold. But I also think that I will be able to successfully skip the succession line if I have a strong tie to this living saint."

His eyes wavered from yours for a split second before coming back. He looked nervous, an emotion you very rarely saw in him. Nothing about his next words could be good. 

"I plan on proposing to her."

You dropped his hand, stood, and began pacing. The influx of information was almost too much for you–especially that last bit–but you took a steadying breath. You were torn between throttling Nikolai or simply giving him a good smack to the side of the head. Instead, you questioned him as calmly as you could. 

"When were you planning on telling me all this?" You asked, feet still pacing.

"I wanted to find the right moment," he said quietly.

You scoffed. "Well, I don't know about the right moment but you certainly found the wrong one."

"I know. I should have told you sooner."

"Yes, you definitely should have." You crossed your arms, your mind running through his words. "So, you want to be king, and you want Alina to be your queen."

"I don't want her to be my queen."

"Yet you're going to propose to her."

"I… Yes, I am.” He nearly buckled at the glare you sent him. “But it won't mean anything! My heart belongs to you, now and always."

"Nikolai," you said, a low, dangerous warning in your voice. "Don't give me that bullshit."

"It's not bullshit. I love you. I want to be with you."

"You can't be with me if you marry someone else." You watched his eyes meet the floor, his mouth pursing as he tilted his head just slightly. No, he didn't seriously think… "I won't be your mistress. I won't do that." 

"I'm not asking you to be," he said.

"Then you don't want me at all? You would cast me aside? Let me leave you?"

"I want you–saints, I want you. But it's more complicated than that."

"From where I stand it is very simple; you can marry your saint, and I'll fuck off to the other side of the world."

"If I marry her it wouldn't be a normal marriage. She has her tracker, and I have–"

"--Your silly little Kerch sailor–"

"--And I have the love of my life. We wouldn't be a married couple, not really."

Your lips twisted into a sick smile. "And what about heirs?"

He gave a short sigh. "That's…I can't–" He lowered his voice. "I'm already a bastard, Ravka will have a hard enough time accepting me as king with all the rumours. If my own child was rumoured to be a bastard, no one would accept them as ruler."

"There it is."

"There is what?"

"The bottom line. The truth--that you will be married to Alina, that she will carry your children, that she will get your love, your attention, your heart, everything you hold dear. And I will get nothing." You glared at him. "Well, I won't be your little plaything to crawl into your bed under the cover of night. You will love me in the daylight, or you will not love me at all."

"Darling–"

"No. These are my terms; if you don't accept them, I can’t stand by you any longer."

You stormed from his tent, angrier than you could fathom. It was impossible to track where you were as you stomped about the first army camp. You probably were walking in circles, but you couldn't care less. The walking eased your desire to punch something or someone, so you kept at it.

How could he say all that? How could he even think marrying Alina was an option? Though, a voice prodded in your head, how could a prince ever marry a penniless sailor?

You kicked at a bluff of dirt near the edge of the camp. It barely moved in your assault, barely reformed in the shape of your boot's toe. You kicked it again, and again, and again, until you somehow wound up sitting in the dirt, head in your hands as you sobbed with tears. You didn't notice them until they were creating a tiny patch of mud below you. Your chest was on fire, lungs wanting to quit under the pressure you felt in your ribs. Every breath you took exhaled on a shudder, and you tucked your legs up against yourself, head between your knees as you tried to keep yourself from hyperventilating.

You had no idea where you would go from here, what you would do. You'd been with Nikolai and his crew for so long now, nothing else seemed like an option. Perhaps someone here in East Ravka could use your services, you could manage a storefront or work for a farm or… you didn't know what else you would even be qualified for. Though you supposed you were half decent at dishonesty and could always lie to get a job. That could work.

"Rietveld?" A concerned voice called. You glanced up, spotting Tolya approaching you. "Saints above, what happened to you?"

He sat down beside you and put an arm over your shoulders. You tiredly rested your weight against him, your tears no doubt dripping onto his shoulder. His hand rubbed warmth into your back; you hadn't even realized how cold the air was since the sun had set. Your breath hitched and you started to hiccup. Your bones ached, your heart pumping out your hurt, and you felt Tolya shift a little. He was slowing your heart down, helping you to calm down a little. You had no words to thank him, but you gently tapped your head against his collar. After a few minutes, you calmed enough to speak to him.

"It's Nikolai," you said. "He's going to propose to Alina. He's going to–” Your breath caught and you shook your head. “He’s going to marry her, Tolya."

"Oh," he contemplated. "I see." He looked down at you. "Do you think she'll even accept his proposal?"

"Knowing him, I'm sure she will; he could charm a venomous snake into dancing."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Rietveld," he hushed. "Now, cmon, let's get you out of the cold."

He ushered you to his shared tent with Tamar, and the twins made you tea and covered you with blankets as they assured you that things would be okay. You didn't quite believe them, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

……….

A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope I didn't deal too much emotional damage haha Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)