#Fedyor

[local-apollo-kid]

I-

JULIAN KOSTOV IS THAT YOU????

ITS HIM EHEHEHEHEHEH

[jumbled-messy-confused]

She Sees

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

Kirigan is used to darkness. Used to cold. Used to solitude. Alina Starkov is none of those things. In a world where every day is a battle, she is the one person that can offer him peace, even for just a moment.

Notes: This story is an AU, based on the first episodes of “Shadow and Bone”, when Alina is still relatively new to the palace. As in each of my stories, Kirigan is a leader, not the villain from the series.

The first time it happened, Kirigan barely noticed. The war room was suffocating with tension, thick with the stale scent of wax-sealed reports and ink drying too slowly. Messengers had arrived with grim updates from the front, their voices clipped, faces taut with the weight of bad news. Others stood at attention, their gazes fixed on him, waiting for his missives. The crushing pressure of it all, the endless demands of the battlefield, settled over him like a heavy cloak. He gave his orders methodically, measuredly, but inside, he was already tired. The day had barely begun. The workload since Alina’s arrival had doubled, tripled. The Tsar’s demands grew sharper, the war more relentless, the expectations more crushing. He barely slept. The candlelight in his chambers never fully faded—only burned lower before another report, another decision, pulled him back from the edge of rest.

Then, light footsteps. Hesitant, but deliberate.

Alina.

She had no business in the war room, not really. And yet, here she was, lingering just inside the door, holding something small and delicate in her hands. A cup. “I thought you might need this,” she murmured softly, pressing it carefully into his cold hand. It was tea. No, coffee—strong, dark, an unmistakable hint of cinnamon.

He looked at her then, properly, and there it was—the gentlest smile, the kind that wasn’t demanding anything from him, wasn’t expecting him to be more than what he was in this moment. Tired.

She didn’t wait for a response, didn’t push. Just left the cup and slipped away, her warmth lingering even after the door closed behind her.

It had been days since he last felt hunger. When he entered the dining hall some time after midday, the other Grisha had long since eaten, the room quiet save for the muffled sounds of staff clearing dishes. They barely met his gaze, cautious, respectful. Even here, he was the Darkling before he was a man.

He knew, he should eat; but his body ached with the weight of exhaustion, and he didn’t feel hungry; just a hollow fatigue that pressed into his bones. Sitting stiffly in his chair, he stared listlessly at the meal that had been set in front of him. The food was well-prepared, fragrant, and hearty, but in his current state, it simply wasn’t appealing.

Suddenly, movement caught his eye—a small plate slid across the table toward him. Alina. Sitting a few seats away, half-tucked behind an open book. She didn’t say anything, just nudged it closer, smiling softly. On the plate were a few slices of apple, a handful of grapes, and a small square of dark chocolate. Simple. Thoughtful. Nothing he had expected—yet, exactly what he needed. He met her gaze, and for the first time that day, he exhaled.

She was pure sunlight. He watched her from his window one grey afternoon. Down in the courtyard, Alina was surrounded by a handful of children—orphans, his soldier’s sons and daughters, too young to be in the war, too familiar with its aftermath.

She knelt among them, her hands alight with her wonderful power, drawing their laughter as she conjured gentle orbs of vibrant light that danced above their heads. The little ones squealed with delight when the spheres burst into a thousand tiny shards, like a rain of crystal, scattering golden reflections across the cobblestones. One of the smaller girls clapped, beaming with joy, and Alina laughed, head tipped back. The sound carried, clear and bright. This ethereal being didn’t belong in a world shaped by war, yet here she was, scattering light like it might reach even him. A part of him wanted to walk away before the sight of it could settle too deeply. Another part—one he didn’t know how to silence—hoped it already had.

Kirigan lingered a moment longer than he should have.

A few days later, it was his neck. He hadn’t noticed how tight his shoulders had become, how the strain of endless meetings and hours spent hunched over his desk left his muscles aching. Not until Alina sat across from him one evening, a book open in her hands—the one he had assigned her to study.

She was supposed to be reading, absorbing the knowledge he had deemed necessary, but instead, she was frowning at him. At the way he rotated his head, trying to relieve the tension, rubbing the back of his neck absently.

With a quiet sigh, she closed the book, set it aside, and pushed back her chair. He glanced up as she stood, but before he could question her, she stepped behind him.

Then, without hesitation, she placed her warm hands on his shoulders and pressed gently.

Kirigan went still.

Her fingers examined the muscles lightly, finding the knots of tension built up over time. “You don’t relax enough,” she remarked, half concerned, half reproachful. Her touch was maddening, not because it hurt—but because it soothed. He hated how easily she seemed to disarm him. He had spent centuries building walls, fortifying himself against weakness, yet her hands on his shoulders threatened to dismantle all of it with a tenderness he didn’t know how to refuse.

He wanted to tell her he couldn’t afford to relax. But before he managed, she pressed her thumbs into a spot just below his neck, and he exhaled—too sharp, too sudden. His control slipped for the briefest moment.

Her lips quirked. “See?”

He didn’t argue.

She made him laugh. It startled him every time. He was on his way to the Grand Palace when he heard it—Alina, arguing fiercely with Zoya on the training yard.

“No, I did hit that target!”

Zoya folded her arms. “You grazed the edge. That’s hardly the same.”

“It absolutely counts!”

“Saints, you have the aim of a drunk Shu mercenary.”

“I do not!”

“Fine, then prove it.” Zoya gestured casually toward Ivan, who had just finished training a group of Grishenka and sent them off. “Hit his shoulder from here.”

Ivan barely had time to turn before a small, shimmering orb of sunlight zipped past his ear. He flinched, scowling.

Alina’s eyes went wide. “That was—”

“… my head,” Ivan growled.

Kirigan laughed.

The sound surprised them all.

Alina turned, startled, then—seeing the rare, unguarded amusement on his face—she grinned.

He shook his head, still smiling as he continued on his way.

It was solitude that he thought he wanted—until she broke it. The war room was quiet now, thankfully. The tense bustle of another demanding day finally gone, leaving behind only the soft glow of flickering candles. It was well past midnight, and for the first time in hours, Kirigan was alone. He pressed two fingers to his forehead, a futile attempt to ward off the crushing fatigue settling over him. His eyes skimmed over the page in his hand, more than once. But he didn’t take anything in.

He felt her before he heard her.

A gentle warmth against his arm, a touch that pulled him from the haze. He tensed instinctively, but then he recognized the familiar pressure of her fingers. He blinked, lifting his head slightly. “Alina?” His voice was rougher than he expected.

Her eyes were steady, determined in a way that left no room for argument.

“You’ve read this report three times already,” she pointed out softly. “It hasn’t changed.”

He exhaled, a slow, measured breath. Weary. He didn’t resist when her fingers carefully pried the parchment from his grasp, easing it from his hold. A part of him wanted to argue—he couldn’t afford to stop, not now. But with her hand still warm on his skin, the idea of pausing, just for a moment, didn’t seem quite so impossible.

He thought he could keep going. His body disagreed. Kirigan had ignored it for days. Weeks. Pushed past the headaches, the sluggishness, the way the world seemed to blur at the edges when he moved too quickly. He’d endured worse. Survived worse.

The meeting with the Tsar had dragged. Hours upon hours of veiled threats, of measured words, of navigating the Sovereign’s insatiable hunger for power. Kirigan had kept his composure—he always did—but it had cost him. The moment the war room door closed behind him, exhaustion slammed into him. It wasn’t just physical. It was in his bones, in his thoughts, in the marrow of his soul. His body felt heavy, like he was dragging a weight behind him with every step.

His mind, however, was still racing. There were decisions to be made. Plans to be executed. The war was not won, not by a long shot. He could not afford to falter—his Grisha, his people, and those suffering under the Tsar’s rule depended on him. He carried their hopes on his back, every step becoming heavier as the days passed, his strength waning with each blow he took, each sleepless night, each life lost. But tonight, his body betrayed him.

Suddenly, his vision swam. The world tilted. And then he was falling.

On his way down, he collided with a wooden commode. The impact was brutal, his body slamming into the sharp edge with a sickening crack before crumpling to the floor. The breath was knocked clean from his lungs, and a sharp, unbearable pain exploded in his ribs.

For a moment, everything was a blur of agony. The searing heat in his chest spread like wildfire, cold sweat trickling down his forehead. His body, overwhelmed by the shock, refused to respond to him anymore. It simply shut down; everything went black.

His world was reduced to fragments—pain, cold. And her voice. Breathing was an effort, shallow gasps rasping from his throat.

Somewhere, through the haze of his suffering, a voice drifted toward him—distant, but urgent. Familiar. A hand on his shoulder, strong yet careful. “General!” Alina’s call sliced through the fog, sharp and clear, like sunlight piercing the thickest clouds. He tried to respond, but his mouth wouldn’t obey. Fragments of conversation echoed around him now—Ivan’s steady baritone, Fedyor’s lighter reactions—but he couldn’t make out the meaning. Hands slipped beneath his knees, his shoulders. They lifted him, the movement jostling his broken ribs, sending fresh waves of agony through his chest. His body arched involuntarily, and a strangled, gasping sound tore from his throat. It was raw, unguarded—a guttural response to the sharp, burning pain.

Ivan barked something again, demanding and concerned, but the words blurred together while his consciousness drifted further away. His body was unable to hold on. He slipped away once more.

He came to the sensation of being lowered onto something soft. But he barely felt it; the world had turned to numbness. His chest heaved but it was useless—he managed just breathless gasps, weak and fading.

Somewhere above him, voices tangled together in sharp commands, hurried motions, but then—

Heat. Gentle, soothing heat seeped into his bones, into his battered body. The pain dulled, fading into a distant ache that no longer burned. Slowly, his chest expanded, a full breath filling his lungs for the first time in what felt like forever; not his own but guided by unseen hands. A Healer, his clouded mind supplied. The warmth deepened, and with it, his awareness faded. It wasn’t sleep, but a controlled darkness, a deep stillness meant to protect him while his body healed. His mind quieted, the world slipping away as he was gently pulled under, safe in the Healer’s care.

Warmth had been a foreign thing, for too long. Until now. When he finally woke, his body ached as if it had been dragged through the Fold and back—every muscle heavy, his head pounding with each thready beat of his heart. His eyelids refused to lift, but amidst the exhaustion, he sensed it—he was warm. For the first time in weeks, he felt warm.

Multiple blankets had been piled over him, tucked carefully around his frame. His boots were gone. His Kefta, too, replaced by a loose shirt and soft trousers.

And there was more. A presence—

A hand.

Small. Resting lightly on his shoulder.

He tried to shift toward the touch, but his limbs barely responded. When he finally managed to crack his eyes open, the light burned against his vision, leaving him disoriented and dizzy. But there, beside him, was Alina. She was perched on the edge of his bed, her gaze fixed on him with so much relief that it nearly undid him. Her lashes were wet, cheeks blotchy in a way that spoke of recent tears.

"You’re awake," she whispered, as if saying it any louder might undo the fact.

Kirigan exhaled slowly, voice hoarse. "It would appear so."

A breath of something that might have been a laugh escaped her—but it was too thin, too fragile. Her fingers twitched against his shirt, but she didn’t let go. “You were—” She swallowed hard. “You scared me.”

He averted his gaze, shame cutting through the fog of his exhaustion. He hated this—hated that she had seen him like this, vulnerable, weak. Hated even more that she had worried, had cried because of him. "I didn’t mean to," he murmured.

"I know," she assured him, swiftly. Then repeated, quieter, "I know."

A slight movement near the door caught his attention and he turned his head toward it, though even that small action was a struggle. Ivan stood there, arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression tinged with a rare softness. Fedyor had stood up and moved closer, leaning casually against the foot of the bed now. It was obvious they’d been keeping watch.

There was no rebuke in their eyes. No frustration. Only concern.

Kirigan let out a slow, unsteady breath. "You two had a hand in this?" His voice was rough, but wry. He tried to gesture with his chin toward the bed.

Ivan snorted. "You think Starkov could have dragged your sorry ass there alone?"

Before Alina could react, Fedyor did. "Ivan," he scolded, shaking his head. "Tact."

"What?" Ivan replied, deadpan. "It’s a fair question."

Fedyor snickered, and even Kirigan let out a faint breath of amusement, though the motion sent a dull ache through his ribs.

Alina huffed, but she was smiling now, just barely. That was better.

He sighed, letting his head sink back against the pillows. "I take it you’re all going to insist that I rest?"

Ivan’s eyebrow arched. "What gave it away?"

Kirigan hummed. "The blankets, mostly." He tried to shift slightly under the heavy mount of fabric, but even the attempt was too strenuous. "…and the fact that I seem to be practically restrained by them."

Fedyor leaned in just a little, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Restraints are unnecessary. Let’s be honest—if you tried to get out of bed, you’d end up flat on your back in less than five seconds. And none of us wants to deal with that kind of drama again." Kirigan turned his face away for a moment, exhaling slowly as the resignation set in. Fedyor, undeterred, flashed a bright, almost mischievous grin. "And before you ask—no, that tender bit of care wasn’t Ivan or me. That was all her." He tilted his head toward Alina, practically beaming.

Kirigan glanced at her, surprised.

Alina shifted, suddenly looking unsure. "You just—" She swallowed. "You were so cold."

He blinked. It was such a small thing. And yet, it wasn’t.

Kirigan held her gaze for a moment, his chest tightening. Her words weren’t accusing or demanding—they were simple, sincere. But the way she said it made something inside him stir; an ache he couldn’t quite place.

For a long beat, neither of them spoke.

It was Ivan’s sarcastic comment that broke the silence. “Still breathing under all those layers, or should we start digging you out?”

Kirigan huffed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. Yet, he felt his strength ebbing. “Stop hovering,” was the only thing he managed.

“You’ll have to get better before you can give orders again,” Ivan retorted dryly. “Until then, I’ll hover as much as I damn well please.”

Fedyor rolled his eyes and stepped in, nudging him firmly in the side. “That’s enough, Ivan.” He put a hand on his back, steering him toward the exit. “It’s obvious the General prefers Alina’s hovering to ours.”

Alina’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, her gaze dropping to the edge of the blankets as though they suddenly held the secrets of the universe.

“Fine.” Ivan allowed himself to be manhandled out of the room, though not without some parting words. “But if you pass out again, don’t expect me to carry you. You’re heavier than you look.” Kirigan couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips, amused by the antics, despite his exhaustion.

Fedyor grinned at the display, then turned to follow his husband. Yet, just before stepping out, he glanced back over his shoulder, his tone warm and teasing. “Rest, General. That’s an order.”

The last sound lingering in the air was Ivan’s good-natured snort before the two disappeared into the hall, their footsteps fading into the quiet.

Now, they were alone. As the door clicked shut behind the two Heartrenders, the room felt a little quieter, a little emptier.

Kirigan’s attention drifted back to Alina, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was still staring at the blankets, her fingers fiddling nervously with the edge, like she was debating something she wasn’t sure how to say.

Keeping his eyes open was becoming a battle he was losing, but he fought against the pull of exhaustion with sheer determination. He couldn’t let himself drift off- not yet. Summoning what little strength he had left, he rasped, "Alina?"

Her gaze flickered to him, wide and uncertain. The concern still etched into her face sent a sharp pang through him. It ate at him, knowing she felt this way—because of him. He tried to speak, but no sound would come. He swallowed, tried again. “What… is it?”

For a moment, she didn’t respond. But then, as if she could no longer keep it in, the words spilled out. “You work yourself into the ground, and I—I don’t know how to help, and I hate it.”

He should reassure her, give her some well-practiced answer about duty, about responsibility, about the burdens he had carried since long before she had been born.

But he didn’t.

He barely had the strength to stay conscious, let alone spin empty reassurances. And so, he said the only thing that was true. “You… do help.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “I—”

“You do,” he repeated, though the words came out even weaker this time. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, his words seemed to die before they left his mouth. With what little strength remained, he whispered, “Alina… please.” He needed her to see. To see, how important she was. To see, how much he needed her. Because he did. More than he could ever admit; needed her so much it hurt, more than he could bear to hold back any longer.

With a final surge of effort, he pulled his arm from beneath the heavy blankets, the endeavour burning through his already shattered strength. It took everything he had just to tug weakly at her sleeve, a touch so feeble it barely registered.

But she moved immediately, shifting onto the bed beside him. The mattress dipped under her weight, and she pressed herself against him, her arms wrapping carefully around his frame, mindful of his injuries, of his exhaustion.

Still, even that slight pressure was enough to steal his breath. He let his head fall against her, his overstrained body sagging with the rare comfort of being held, sinking into the relief of her presence. His breath came in uneven shudders, his head aching from the mere act of staying conscious.

She tucked her face against his neck, and he felt the dampness of her tears, even as she fought to hold them back.

He was the Black General, the one who bent armies to his will, whose very name conjured fear. But here, with Alina’s arms around him, he was nothing more than a man—a fragile, broken man who didn’t deserve her warmth yet couldn’t bring himself to let it go.

His lashes fluttered. The fog in his mind was becoming thicker with the second, pressing in from all sides.

Her voice cut through the haze, barely more than a whisper. “Please, Aleksander. Rest.” A pause. Then, softer, “I’ve got you.”

Something inside him cracked. The last of his resistance crumbled, and he let himself fall. It was so easy to slip under again, to let the exhaustion pull him down. Because she was here.

Darkness took over once more. And this time, he didn’t fight it.

This time, he let go.

[anxiousqueerperson]

Fedyor,to an enemy:Fight me! Ivan,in the backround staring at the enemy:If you do so much as touch him i'll make sure you never see the light of day again

[supermemer]

I've been obsessing over Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows wayyy too much lately HELP

[bookishbunnies]

Forgot how annoyed I was at Ivan at the end of s1. I fully believe the Darkling sent Fedyor away to find Nina and took Ivan with him coz he knew that if it was Fedyor with him he would've turned against the Darkling with Zoya rather than continue supporting the Darkling and trying to kill Alina like Ivan

[just-1other-nerd]

The lack of Fedyor in season 2 is criminal

I know he didn't "stay around in the world of the living" for long in the 2nd book but still I wanted to see him this season

[simp2537]

You don’t have request for the Darkling? Let me fix that (:

Someone wants to hurt Alek by kidnaping the reader so, Alek saves her and he’s mad AF

Touch her and die

a/n: I love writing over protective partners and stuff so I loved this. Also reader is a bit chaotic cause why not. Also made reader a Tidemaker.

Warning: kidnapping, language, blood, grisha hate, kinda bratty reader? Aleks goes psycho mode, injuries, drüskelle, mentions of Aleks and readers age gap

Aleksander Morozova x fem! Reader

It was an unspoken rule for all grisha, for all ravka, for everyone to not hurt his lover. It was no great secret that the Darkling, the Black general himself was absolutely smitten by his favorite Tidemaker. With her pretty e/c eyes and a pout on her rose colored lips she could get anything she wanted from her general.

His Tidemaker had grown up in a village boardering Fjerda, so grisha testers weren’t common to go there. In secret her older brother, also a Tidemaker taught her the ways of the grisha. Unfortunately a little ways after her nineteenth birthday drüskelle invaded her village and he brother died saving her life.

She ran through the thick forests of ravka with no idea where to go as they chased her when he appeared. His shadows cut through the drüskelle and not long after that the darkling infatuation with his Tidemaker became apparent.

Now his Tidemaker strut into the meeting he conducted, she was late. She walked right up to his side with a smile and adjusted some of the toy soldiers as he spoke. Then she walked right over to Zoya, who shock her head at her friend’s brazenness.

“You’re late, L/n.” Zoya muttered as she drew over the Ravkan maps. Y/n giggled softly as he began to help Zoya. Aleksander would glance back over at the pair every so offten. His Tidemaker clad in a black kefta with teal embroidery. He loved that she so proudly wore his color.

Her and Zoya began to giggle about something, probably a comment she’d made when one of the king advisors cleared his throat.

“Miss L/n have you something to add?” He asked cutting off the girls chatter. The room went quiet as she went stiff. Ivan and Fedyor shared a quick look as their generals eyes darkened. His tone was snobbish and rather rude.

He spoke as if he was better than she was, and it made her almost want to laugh as she turned. Slowly she made it back to the main table with the toy soldiers, this was a different plan than the one she’d just arranged. It was horrible and would lead to the deaths of many grisha.

Y/n would not sacrifice her soldiers when she could do better. Quickly she fixed up the arrangement with an empty look, Aleksander watched her in awe. As she finished she turned to the advisor with the same snobbish looked he’d given her.

“It seems you needed some assistance, don’t worry sir for I will always be there to fix the mistakes.” Y/n mocked as she bowed her head slightly. Aleksander chuckled slightly and moved a stray hair behind her ear. Such an open act of affection for his Tidemaker was nothing new, but for him to do it after she’d humiliated one of the king’s advisor was a risky move.

“Although Miss L/n was late she has fixed this plan to ensure the safety of all the grisha going into this battle. For that I am most grateful.” He amused as he stared at her. She smiled cheekily as she returned to Zoya’s side, a confident sway to her hips.

This was the last time Aleksander had seen her that day.

……………………

It was no secret that the darkling had a great many enemies, but as the fist collided with her face for the hundredth time, Y/n was growing tired. The kings advisor, whatever his name was had hired drüskelle of all people to kidnap her.

Of course her hands were bound apart and she was tied to the chair. She was surprised they hadn’t just killed her but she didn’t care. She was growing bored of all the punches. Her face was bruised, the right side more then the left, her lip busted, and she was sure at least one of her ribs were broken.

“It’s not to late to get me go you know.” She mumbled as she dropped her head back. Her hands quietly attempting to undo her cuffs.

“Drüsje your pleading for your life will not work.” The tallest announced. She sighed softly, he would come for her. If she was dead by the time he found her she knew all of Fjerda would pay.

“It would just be in your best interest.”

They all laughed and she joined in. Let them laugh, it’ll probably be the last time they do. She though softly.

“We will end you, and then we will break the darkling.” Y/n nodded softly at there words as they smashed their fist into her side. She groaned as she felt a rib snap.

“Then kill me, what is it you are afraid of?” Y/n taunted. They all froze, one of them brought there axe dangerously close to her neck.

“Will you not beg for your life?”

“Take it if it pleases you. It is not me who suffers when I’m gone.” They didn’t know what to say to that. They had heard the talks of the darkling whore. How she could boil the blood, pull the water from your body, freeze your nerves. But the women in front of them didn’t look the dangerous type.

“You aren’t the confident whore of the darkling we’ve heard tales of. You are just his pet he plays with from time to time.” Her face hardened at those words. She was not dressed in his color to be watered down to a simple whore. She smiled charming as she began to un click the cuffs.

“Most women aren’t as crude as you, they are modest.” Y/n giggled softly. She saw the shadows begin to move.

“Unfortunately for everyone I will keep doing whatever the fuck I want.”

Y/n snapped her cuffs and rolled her chair causing it to hut the ground. The shadows form into the cut and swore through the air above her. The shadows surrounded her till the familiar frame of her Sasha towered over her.

“Would mind untying these ropes?” Y/n uttered softly slumping against the grounds, her confident persona gone. The ropes were off and Aleksander pulled his Tidemaker to her feet. His hand clutched her face as he brought her in for a messy and passionate kiss.

She moaned softly into the kiss as he held her face. His hands slowly began to trail down and she pulled away with a wince.

“What is it?” Aleksander whispered as she clung to him.

“I think they broke a few ribs.” She whined as she lean into his frame for support. From the outside of the cabin she heard a few grunts, a scream or two and then silence. Aleksander placed his cloak around her shoulder in hopes of warming her.

“My healers will attend to you when we get back.” He placed a kiss to her head and began to pepper her hairline with kisses. The fear was evident in his eyes at her body. His eyes scanned her bruised face and body, her busted lip, the blood dripping down the side of her arm.

He hated that she’d gotten hurt so badly before he could save her. By the looks of her cuffs she was half way there in her own. With a slight waddle she made it to the door, with protest from her lover she pushed them opens, her jaw hit the ground.

Blood and carnage surround the cabin where she was kept. She limped her way through the bodies as Aleksander trailed behind her. Ivan, Fedyor, Zoya, and the twins were there.

“What happened out here?”

No one answered as Zoya hugged Y/n, attempting and failing to be cautious of her ribs. Aleksander pulled Y/n away after allowing Zoya to hug her, he didn’t want her to far.

“I thought they’d killed you… I lost my temper.” Aleksander admitted as he picked Y/n into his arms. Y/n stared at him for a moment.

“If this is what you do when you’re out of control, I’d hate to see what you do when you are.” Fedyor laughed softly as Ivan swatted at his husband. Y/n’s words were true. There wasn’t a thing in the world there general wouldn’t do for his precious Tidemaker.

[periodcostumefantasylover]

I think he died on the road or they have simply forgotten him. I would have been so much better if he and Ivan were with the darkling instead of the two grisha we know nearly nothing about.

Just one question where the hell is Fedyor?

[shadowandbonecentral]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH To the canonically LGBTQIA+ characters of Shadow and Bone

[kasagia]

Between the bookshelves

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x fem! non-grisha! reader Summary: It was so easy for you to fall for the Black General. It took him one visit to the library in the Grand Palace to catch your eye and make you fantasise about him - a dangerous, mysterious ancestor of the Black Heretic. But that was all that could happen between you two... fantasy, daydreaming, or dreaming at midnight in the privacy of your chamber. He was the strongest of all Grishas, and you… you were just a librarian woman. But maybe your fantasies and huge/little crush on Darkling can turn into something much more? Requested by: @dreampissybaby It took me ages, but I hope you'll like it! 😅🩵🖤 Word Count: 8,2k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~

You put the books on the shelves, staring at the landscape outside the window. It was winter. The snow fell slowly, glistening in the sunlight. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the shadows slowly taking over the part of the library you were in. It was only when they blocked the view through the window, creating a black curtain, that you realised you were no longer alone.

You squealed, surprised, as your back was suddenly turned to the shelf and pinned against it as a certain man crashed his lips into yours hungrily, giving you no time to say anything.

You moaned into General Kirigan's mouth and tangled your hands in his snow-covered hair as he held you trapped between his strong, well-built body and the bookshelf, tasting you greedily with a passion you had never felt before. And each brush of his lips against yours only felt more intense.

"I was thinking about you for a whole blody month. I couldn't sit through a single meeting without thinking about those enticing lips and the things I want to do to you when I finally return." he whispers, kissing your forehead.

He strokes your cheeks tenderly with his thumbs and studies your face carefully, looking for any changes that may have occurred in the month he's been away.

"You came back earlier. I didn't even hear any sounds of horses from the courtyard or whispers among the maids that you were back with your Grishas." you say, stroking his hair messed by the air. You notice that he still has a few snowflakes in them and giggle at how this dangerous man looks so cute with the snow in his hair, black cloak, and red nose.

"I could have left Ivan in charge of the rest and set off earlier myself. They should be here tomorrow. I left them as I saw the walls of Little Palace, and actually, I saw them in the distance from the tower when I was running here." he admits, and you're pretty sure the blush on his cheeks isn't due to the change in temperature. However, you decided to ignore it and not tease him about his obvious embarrassment.

"Come. We need to warm you up. We wouldn't want the general to get sick and be more grumpy to his soldiers only because he wanted to see a girl earlier."

"But what a beauty she is."

Before you can even answer him, his now slightly warmer lips crash against yours, stealing your breath. You moan as he pushes you onto the windowsill. Your back, cushioned by his hand, hits the cool window as he kisses you, as if trying to make up for the month of separation with his one (or maybe more) kiss.

"Next time, I'm taking you with me so I can claim what's mine whenever I want." he pulls away for a moment to whisper before capturing your lips again. You smile, pulling him closer to you by the black fur on his coat.

"Aleksander..." you moan as your lips part and his hand travels under your dress, caressing your leg and making you shiver, both from the cold air and the electric touch of his skin on yours.

"So distracting, so teasing... my little Otkazat'sya, who is constantly occupying my every thought when I should be focusing on the possible war to come. The saints know you will be my sweet undoing."

Your hands land on the collar of his kefta under his coat, and you slowly move them along his chest, unbuttoning his kefta and shirt. You are caressing every newly exposed bit of his skin with your hands, not ashamed of the desire to touch, and caressing every single part of your general...

"Your man came here." your colleague taps you on the shoulder, taking you out of your 'reading', and nods towards the main aisle.

You turn your gaze away from the book, which was only your excuse anyway, thanks to which you could freely indulge in your fantasies. You take a quick glance at the general.

"Shush!" you hiss at her, checking if the general didn't hear her. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that his attention was completely focused on the bookshelves. "He might have heard you. Besides, he's not my man."

"You better tell him that. Every time he comes here, he asks specially about you. That means something." she teases you as you put the book back on the shelf.

"That means nothing. It's just that I know most of the books on military tactics from my father and brother, so only from me he can find out where exactly it is. I doubt anyone else in this library would understand which book he's looking for." you brush her comment off and walk over to the general, who was looking at the titles of the books on the shelves.

"Good morning. How can I help you this time, general?" you smile politely, trying to fight the stupid fluttering of your heart you had around him. As well as the dirty thoughts that tormented you about this unfairly handsome man.

You thanked saints every time you talked to him, for that he wasn't a heartrender and couldn't hear your traitorous, stupid heart racing fast each time you were in his presence.

You take a moment to study his face, noticing that the dark circles under his eyes have increased slightly over the course of the week. His eyes, although still shining in their characteristic, even mischievous way, are cloudier and more tired. And if you could, you would comfort this over-busy man, or at least try to provide him with some sense of comfort.

But you can't. All you can do is watch him from a distance.

So you do so. You study every bit of his face carefully, allowing yourself to do so when he talks to you about a book, and you pretend to listen to him, right after you heard the title of the familiar book he was looking for.

After all, you didn't want to waste his time… or give him any suspicion that you were taking every possible moment to admire him.

You know that your infatuation and dreams are stupid and that nothing more will ever happen between you two than a polite conversation and maybe the exchange of a few observations about books. But you can't help but imagine how wonderful it would be to kiss his tempting lips, cup his bearded cheek in your hand, or run your hand through his dark brown hair.

Just as his soft voice is no longer heard in your ears, you come back to reality, and it takes all your strength to look away from his too-perfect (for your stupid heart's sake) face and focus on the books on the shelves.

"This is a basic position. You should have it in your book collections." you say, running your finger along the spines of the books and looking for the one he needs.

If you had turned around at that moment, you would have seen a blush spreading across his cheeks as he looked around nervously and cleared his throat, trying to think of an excuse.

"To be honest... my personal library is not kept in such an... order. It's much easier and faster to come here. A nice company is also an additional benefit, as also the opportunity to break away from reports, plans, and other annoying papers."

"And here I thought that soldiers usually kept order around themselves. Especially the general of the whole army." you tease him with a smile and hand him the book he was looking for. His fingers brush against yours briefly, making you shiver.

"I found it hard to keep everything in order in the thought process. Especially lately when so many things which are on my head."

"So I guess your library is pretty messy." you smile as you hear his soft chuckle after your comment.

Everything about this man was ethereal. Starting with his appearance and ending with the way he carried himself. With pride and power radiating from him, which made everyone show respect, awe and fear for him.

Some invisible electric force was pulling you towards him—something inexplicable that only a few people could resist. And you definitely weren't one of them.

Like a moth to a flame. - you think mockingly, knowing that everything he represented was darkness and danger. But you could see more than his shadows. Something that didn't let you put him out of your mind so easily.

"That's putting it mildly." he says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You lick your lips and nod, laughing a bit.

"Maybe you should find someone who will clean up this mess for you. It would be a shame if the general of the Second Army got lost under the piles of his own books." you say, expecting to hear another burst of laughter from him.

But that didn't happen. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, as if he was searching your eyes for some kind of answer. You stared, hypnotised, into his dark irises until he finally saw something in your eyes that made him take a step towards you.

"Are you offering?" he whispers, making you shiver as you try to hold his intense gaze.

The fact that he's close enough that you can smell his cologne, his intoxicating scent, and his warmth, which is nothing like your fantasies, makes it even harder for you to string together a coherent sentence.

"Maybe I am." you whisper back, not sure if he understood it as a statement or a question.

But judging by the way he leaned towards you, slowly closing the distance between you and your lips with each small movement, you think he rather understood your intentions...

And just when you think he's finally going to end this torment—when he's going to lean down and catch your lips in a passionate, tender kiss and pin you to the bookshelves like he already did in your dreams, too many times for you to remember—you two hear somebody calling him.

You are the first to break eye contact, shift your gaze to the shelves next to you, and step away from him, even though every cell in your body screams with the need to be close to him.

"It looks like I have to go." he says. It clears your throat and catches your eye again. His dark eyes are focused entirely on you as he decides to make his move and adds, "I shall be waiting for you tonight if you are still offering your help. I could really use it." he says, ignoring the footsteps approaching the alley.

"Well, I shall meet you then, general." you answer instantly and with a little flirtatious tone before you can think about it or get scared and change your mind.

He gives you such a wonderful, charming smile that it convinces you that he was created by the saints themselves. Your heart skips a beat as he leans down and presses a such gentle kiss to your hand that you have to focus very much to feel his lips on your skin.

"I shall be expecting you then, milaya." he says, and you think he winks at you before turning around just as one of his Grishas comes into view.

They walk away together quickly, the man explaining something to him in a hurry, but all you see is him stealing a quick glance at you before disappearing around the bend into the main alley.

"Milaya?" you whisper to yourself, frowning.

And before you can think it through, you rush to the old Ravkan dictionaries to find this concrete word he used, ready to endure your friend's teasing when you tell her you think you have a date with the general of the Second Army.

"I told you I didn't want to be disturbed." he says slightly angry, after they return from the training field, where the young Inferni have started a fight with the Squallers and started a damn fire. Aleksander frowned as he felt the soot harden on the sleeve of his kefta.

"My apologies, General, but that was an important matter." Grisha, who interrupted his conversation with Y/N, explains himself as they enter his chambers, straight to the war room.

"Next time, you can only come to me if a Little Palace is set on fire, not some field. And even then, it will be better if you find some tidemaker to extinguish the fire. Understand, Captain?" he asks madly and sits down at his desk. He sighs when he sees the new papers that Ivan must have delivered to him in his absence.

"Yes, sir." he sees Grisha nods nervously. He rubs his eyes and sighs, seeing that his hands are also black with soot.

"Bring Fedyor here. And Ivan. I need someone reasonable." he mutters and gets up to go to the bathroom and get rid of any traces of fighting the fire. "And make sure the kids show up for their night training with Baghra. That should calm them down and keep them busy... at least for a while."

Grisha salutes him and leaves as quickly as he can. Aleksander rolls his eyes and looks in the mirror, cleaning his face. He returns to his desk and looks over the reports Ivan brought. After a few minutes, his heartrenders appear.

"You wanted to see us, sir." Ivan says this, standing in front of his desk. Fedyor is next to him, looking at the general. He frowns at seeing the messy state he is in.

"I have a task for you." he says, and he signs some orders. "First of all, please explain to me how the Little Palace was almost set on fire when I was only a few minutes away?" Ivan swallows and wants to say something, but Fedyor comes first.

"Zoya is on a mission. The kids felt too... carefree in someone else's care. But I assure you, General, that after today, it is unlikely to happen again. I heard them say on their way here that they had never been so afraid in their lives. Besides, they're just kids. Good thing the tidemakers were close. As soon as Zoya returns, she will definitely teach them a life lesson."

He nods, deciding to deal with this matter another time. "Were you able to gather the information I needed, Fedyor?"

"Yes, sir. Y/F/F. These flowers are waiting in the conservatory; you can pick them up and give them to her whenever you want." before Aleksander can scold him for making such bold assumptions, Fedyor continues. "Oh, right, I forgot. David is finishing the necklace you ordered. With her favourite gem, of course. But we have a serious problem, General. People are talking."

"They always talk. What exactly do they have in mind this time?" he clears his throat, trying to ignore how the heartrender so easily suggests his blatant infatuation of Y/N. He decides to remain silent. After all, Fedyor was the best... informant regarding Y/N. And his help was necessary in this case...

Although he liked Ivan's company more, it was Fedyor who was mainly responsible for them both being together, and that means he was more useful in his little mission. How two heartrenders got together—even Darkling didn't know exactly—but he desperately needed all of Fedyor's advice after his own attempts to woo you had failed.

He may have been handsome and had many women vying for his attention, but since Luda... he hadn't really courted anyone. No one was important enough. No one had broken through the wall of his heart created by Luda's death. When he decided that he had buried too many people close to him to endure another death, another loss.

And then you appeared. An ordinary human, not even Grisha. And he fell for you fast, hard, and suddenly, and despite his better judgement, he gave in to this need to be in your presence. And every day, he wanted much more. Irronicaly, he was too nervous around you to finally make a move. Or at least one that will be clear to you and provide him with your… reciprocity of his feelings.

And Fedyor had too much fun helping him to 'get a girl'. Just like teasing the general, who put up with his taunts as long as his advice worked. At least Ivan was here to stop his lover when he walked on the thin line of the general's patience.

"They are… interesting why our general is so often a guest in the Grand Palace… a library, to be precise."

"And? Is it something wrong? Can't I use Ravka's book resources?

It was a weak excuse. Aleksander knew this. But she won't admit his feelings... especially not to Fedyor.

"It's not like I'm going there just to look at her." he adds, mumbling under his breath as his attention is fully focused on the report in front of him. He wanted to finish this as soon as possible to prepare for your visit.

"And with all due respect, moi soverenyi, what exactly are you doing there?"

Aleksander hears Ivan kick Fedyor in the ankle as Heartrender asks him this question. He smiles to himself and finishes writing the last report.

"None of your worries." he says and hands the completed papers with his directions and orders to Ivan. "I'm unavailable for the rest of the day. Only matters of the utmost importance, and I only accept these messages from you two; keep any incompetent soldiers away from me; I had enough of them today."

His thoughts wander back to that moment where he almost managed to kiss Y/N. If it weren't for that damn soldier… his mind wanders to all the possibilities of how his visit could end.

"It really worked? She comes here?" Aleksander wonders if he should be offended by the incredulous tone he used.

"She is. That's why I hope I won't be disturbed anymore. At least not with trivial matters that can be taken care of without my interference and that I can find out about the next morning."

"Does she know she's staying until the morning, sir?"

"Fedyor." Ivan hisses at him, furious, unsure how much longer the general can take it.

Aleksander swallows, embarrassed. He can't help but wonder if you'll be as willing as he is to extend your overnight visit into the next day… or two.

"General, your heart is beating faster. Do you need any help?"

Fedyor smiles, half-malicious, half-happy to see the general melt at every thought of you. You completely swept him off his feet, and he didn't even have a second to defend himself. It was refreshing to see him so... lost in his feelings for you.

"Ivan, get your other half out of my sight before I send him to West Ravka, right through the fold, without any light or Inferni with him." Fedyor tries his hardest to stop smiling at his words. Ivan covers him and nods respectfully to the general.

"Yes, moi soverenyi."

As the door closes behind them, Fedyor laughs softly at Ivan. "Who would have thought that he of all people would choose Otkazat'sya? The one who never stayed around non-Grishas longer than necessary?"

"Do not be stupid. He definitely needs her for something else."

"You yourself heard his heartbeat. He fell head-over-heels. I have to tell Genya to make him a new kefta... preferably two, one male and one female, matching, you know, just in case."

Fedyor smiles as he sees people cleaning the corridors of the Little Palace. Their general was so obvious about his feelings that it hurt. The opinion of a heartless general effectively covered up his obvious actions.

"Why? She's not a Grisha. The general knows better than to pursue her."

"My dear, in the state our general is in now, he hardly cares about the fact that she doesn't have any powers. Besides, I know of marriages between Otkazat'sya and Grishas. There are few of them, but thanks to the sharing of life energy, the couple lives happily ever after, as long as Grisha's one doesn't die."

"Marraige? Don't go that far into the future. Even if he feels something for her, he will get over it."

"You will remember my words when he asks you to be his best man. Come on, honey, let's see what we can do for our general." Fedyor laughs and pulls Ivan towards the conservatory.

You walk through the corridors of the Little Palace, led by one of the Oprichniks, to the general's chambers. You feel weird coming here. He was usually the one who always visited you. At different times of the day in the library.

Involuntarily, you remember one of his rare nighttime visits.

You were alone in the library. You sat curled up in an armchair by the fire with a blanket around you.

You liked spending evenings in the library. It was completely silent then; you could listen to the crackling of the burning wood and get completely lost in your book.

However, lately, your thoughts have been turning more and more often around a certain general of the Second Army. Hence the book that was on your lap. "The Lives of Saints."

You've read most of the books about Grishas. About how they use their powers. About their little science. They fascinated you. Like Kirigan. At first, you were afraid of the general. He was, after all, a Black General, a descendant of the Black Heretic. But there was something... defenceless about him. Humane. Not identifying with the terrible legend circulating about him. And that little element of the common human in him drew you to this mysterious man.

You smirk to yourself as you hear the quiet footsteps you've learned to recognise as he lets you hear that he's close. You remember quite vividly how you shouted at him when he snuck up on you and almost dropped the stack of books you were holding. You don't know who was more surprised then—you or him.

"A little late for a night visit." you say, closing your book and shifting your gaze to the man walking towards you.

The smile disappears from your face when you see that he has dark bags under his eyes and is much paler than usual.

"Do I look that bad?" he asks with a laugh at your reaction. The blush on his cheeks and his less confident step make it clear that he didn't take your behaviour as carelessly as he showed.

"You look like death. What happened?" you ask, worried as he sits down in the armchair across from you.

"Tough week. I will be good. I had to come here. I... I haven't looked here for a while."

Little did you know that he wanted to say that he hadn't come for you. That he didn't come to check on you even though he wanted to, but he just didn't have time. That he had been watching you at every opportunity, hiding in the shadows. He was stopping at the library to simply look at you each time the king called him to confer with him about a possible war with the Fjerdans, which thankfully he had managed to avoid.

Now that the vision of Grishas' blood being spilled was no longer hanging over his head, he had come here—to the only shelter he had in this forgotten by the saints country on even a world.

He came to you.

"I noticed." you say and give him such a beautiful, comforting smile that this week of fighting against the king and the general of the First Army is worth the price of his nerves, sleepless nights, and the effort he put into avoiding war. This smile is a sufficient reward for all his efforts to maintain peace and security.

For Grishas, his mind screamed; he did it for his people.

For you, whispered a small voice in his head, coming from the remains of his shattered over the centuries heart. He did this to keep you safe—the only piece of his humanity he allowed himself to have. The only ramains of a man he used to be.

"You did?" he asks, swallowing. He watches you carefully, assessing your every little move and reaction.

He doesn't trust you yet... but he feels that he is getting closer to completely losing himself in your presence, which is soothing his battered soul like anything else in this world, and the warmth that radiates from you. If he didn't know you, he would think you were Inferni.

"Mhm..." you nod and start telling him about a book you read recently that he might have liked.

And he really wants to listen to you. Your voice soothed his frayed nerves and calmed the anxiety he had felt over the past few days, but as soon as he allows himself, as his head rests against the armchair, he begins to feel tired as well. And your wonderful voice, the sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace, and the familiar smell of your perfume mixed with the smell of books lull him to sleep better than any lullaby.

You smiled, watching him relax in the chair and slowly fall asleep. You quietly got up from your seat and walked over to the fireplace to add a log to the fire. You took the blanket you covered yourself with and walked over to Kirigan.

Just as you were about to cover him, a strong pair of arms swept you off your feet, leaving you in the general's lap while he snuggled into you.

“So warm…” you blush when you hear his half-asleep whisper, but you don't question his actions.

You cover the two of you with a blanket, and after he settles his head comfortably on your shoulder, with his nose gently nuzzling your neck, you can't help but run a hand through his hair. And you almost moan at how soft they are. If you could, you would stroke him at every chance you got. But now you just leave a light kiss on his temple, trying to fight the hope rising in your chest, which tells you that maybe your feelings aren't so hopeless and unreciprocable after all.

Because what other reason could there be for this man, who was completely out of your league and who is currently clinging to you like it's the most normal thing in the world, than that he has feelings for you?

As if this strong, powerful man needed a shelter and could find it only in your arms...

You never talked about that night, nor did it ever happen again, but it was one of your favourite memories with him.

Surprisingly, he always hits your shifts. And you wanted to believe that it wasn't a coincidence that you two met so often.

And that milaya... he didn't call every woman a sweet girl, did he? No. There had to be at least a hint of attraction in him for you. And you were so desperate for him that you would take any scrap of affection he gave you—any chance to see how it would really be to be loved by him. Even if this closeness was to last only for one night.

He was nervous.

The hundreds-year-old shadow summoner was nervous. And not with the upcoming fight, battle, and important meeting with the king, in which he had to use all his manipulation techniques and lies.

He was nervous before meeting with you.

Baghra would laugh at him and beat him for being distracted by mortals. For letting his stupid heart take control again and naively allowing himself to feel something for a woman who would pass so quickly that he wouldn't have time to blink.

But does that stop him? Of course not. He always takes a losing cause and always makes bad choices.

But how could he not, when you were the only light that had appeared in a very long time that he spent utterly alone in the darkness of his war room, still planning and still thinking about how to provide all Grishas with a safe future in which they wouldn't worry about their lives anymore? How could he just ignore you when you were lightening brighter than the sun summoner herself?

A gentle knock on the door sent a shiver of both excitement and fear through him.

You were already here.

"Come in." he says, trembling with anticipation as he waits for you to enter his chambers for the first time.

However, his face grew grumpy when, instead of your silhouette in some beautiful (preferably black) dress, he saw Fedyor enter his chambers.

"What are you doing here? And what is that all for?" he asks, confused, as Fedyor places a vase with a bouquet of your favourite flowers on his war table, a basket with wine and delicacies you like, and goes to light more candles in the room.

"Things that will come in handy. Good night, General."

Fedyor leaves before he can react. He stares at the room for a moment and laughs to himself, shaking his head. You were going to be his undoing. People will see how... soft he is getting because of you. But somehow it doesn't bother him, at least as long as the prospect of holding you in his arms was within his reach thanks to it. He would put up with Fedyor's banter and whispered gossip within the ranks of the Second Army if it meant having you by his side.

The soft creak of his door draws his attention. His gaze is fully focused on the entrance, his breath catching in his throat as he waits to be blessed with the sight of you. Maybe he could afford this one weakness? To allow himself a moment of blissful peace in the constant, lonely war that he waged for the safety of every Grisha.

The curse almost leaves his mouth when someone else appears instead of you. This time, Alina. In a nightgown, loose hair, and an uncertain expression on her face. And although he really needed her in his plans, he couldn't help but damn her for her timing. It looked like he didn't deserve time free from his duties.

"Alina? How can I help you?" he asks instead, glancing briefly at the clock and wondering how politely and quickly he can dismiss her so that you won't see her leaving on your way to his chambers.

Ironically, what Alina would think about his encounter with you at night didn't matter to him at all. But it should be the other way around. After all, he was going to seduce her and use her power for his plans.

You weren't supposed to mean that much to him.

And yet he was there, standing in front of the Sun Summoner he had dreamed to find for so long, but now he was only wondering how to get rid of her.

"Am I... disturbing you?"

As always, he thought, but quickly shook his head.

"Not at all. What's the matter?" he asks in a polite tone, trying not to get irritated by the way she looks around his chambers. Her cheeks blush slightly, and her eyes glow in the candlelight.

He wonders how you will react to the scenery Fedyor has created. Maybe he should light more candles? Or dust off his old record player and put a record of slow, classical music in it. He knew it would help him. Many times, he caught you dancing alone in the abandoned alley of the library. There were many times when he joined you so that you wouldn't have to dance with the air... although the main reason that encouraged him was the opportunity to hold you in his arms.

He doesn't pay attention to what Alina is saying to him. He only catches the way she says his name, and he can't help but let his thoughts fly to you again.

Considering how often he was in this library, he should have known by now where to look for the books he wanted. However, he was glad that none of the librarians commented on it, and they immediately showed him where he could find you.

However, the reputation of a cruel Grishas' general had its benefits. No one dared to question him.

As he walks through the library, he smiles and thinks about you. How you weren't afraid to put him in his place when you didn't like something.

At first you were just a means to an end, then a pretty thing to look at, then over time you became a challenge, and now... he couldn't go a day without seeing your face or hearing your voice.

He swallowed and shook his head. NO. He didn't fall that low. Not for an ordinary woman, a mortal.

A mocking voice in his head that closely resembles Baghra's words mocks him as he tries to deceive himself. How weak he is.

And he would probably have turned back and tried to save his naive heart if he hadn't heard a familiar, slow song playing from the gramophone.

He froze, watching you dance to the piano sounds coming from the record player, and put the books back on the shelves, rearranging them in order. The skirt moved with your movements, and he wanted nothing more than to place his hands on your waist and pull you as close to him as possible, letting his hands trace your curves as he stared into your eyes.

So he did. Allowing himself to do what he wanted and forgetting for a moment what he should have done.

He walks over to you quietly and places his hands on your waist, turning you towards him and lowering you, keeping his hand on your back in reassurance that he won't let go of you.

"Kirigan!" you scream at him, scared by his sudden action.

You cling to him, and he might have laughed at your adorable reaction if the fake name he gave himself didn't feel like a slap in the face when you said it. And then, as you stare at each other without saying a word, he realises that he wants the only name that leaves your wonderful, tempting lips to be his real one.

"Please... call me Aleksander." he whispers, and somehow this was something more intimate and meaningful than all the flowers and furtive glances you had received for him. Than all the talks you have had. Than all the kisses on the hand, cheek, and hugs you had exchanged.

"Aleksander." you say back, whispering it, like it was something sacred.

His heart sinks further. It does a flip when he hears how gently you say his real name, the name he kept away from the world and close to his heart, only for himself.

He makes himself vulnerable to you.

And instead of freaking out, all he can do is look at you as if you were his only anchor, keeping him sane in his crazy life full of worries, fear, and anxiety. Your eyes shine up at him, reminding him of the stars—the stars that for a long time have guided him in his darkness and made him blind to everything else around him but you.

He was cursed. There was no turning back. He knew it the moment he heard his real name on your lips. And if it weren't for the damn pile of books falling with a loud bang, causing him to go into defence mode and hide you behind him, he would have kissed you right there and then.

He remembers perfectly that day. And he cursed every moment you decided not to use it. As if he cared who might hear it. As long as it came out of your alluring lips, he didn't care who heard it. He knew it would be the end of him to hear you scream it loud in the darkness of his chambers.

He doesn't notice when Alina approaches him. Or when she places her hand on his. At least not until a ball of light appears around them. He looks fascinated by Alina's possibilities and her power.

Alina leans towards him. His gaze shifts to her. He wonders if he should let her kiss him. But then the image of you comes to his mind, and he knows he has no choice but to push her away. He can't do this. Not when he knows he could be kissing you; taste your lips on his instead of hers. And the realisation makes him even more aware of how hopelessly he has fallen for you. To reject the Sun Summoner herself.

And that's when he notices you standing in the doorway.

"Y/N? Y/N, wait!" he pushes Alina's hand away and shouts after you as you walk away, closing the door.

He leaves a confused Alina speechless as he runs after you. When he's in the hallway, he sees no sign of you. He curses, realising what an uncomfortable situation you found him in with the sun summoner.

This will be difficult for him to explain. But damn him if he doesn't try his best.

"Don't." he stops his oprichniki from chasing you. You needed a moment for yourself. He knows that chasing after you would only make things worse... even if that was all he wanted to do right now. "Just make sure she will come back safetly to her chamber. If something happens to her, you will suffer the consequences. Understood?"

"Yes, general."

"That's all." they bow to him and leave. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Aleksander?" Alina's hand is on his shoulder as she turns him to face her.

And maybe, if they had met a few years earlier—before he met you—he would have allowed himself to take the opportunity to get the sun summoner for himself. But now... all he wants is you.

"You should go back to your chamber." he says coldly, returning to his room.

Only to take his black kefta. Just because he couldn't talk to you doesn't mean he couldn't watch you to make sure you were okay. Maybe, thanks to you, he will figure out how to explain all this to you.

You were stupid. And naive.

You think angrily as you clean the library floor with a broom. If anyone noticed that you started cleaning again as a way to release your negative emotions, they did not comment on it. And good. You were a ticking bomb today.

Honestly, you could have seen it coming. Him and the Sun Summoner. They were perfect for each other. In every book, they would end up together, and you would just be a supporting character.

The less important one.

It's good that you realised this before you let yourself do with him something stupid, before you got to know how his lips tasted, how it was to lay with his arms around you... Although... you guess he got under your skin and into your everyday life too deeply for you to simply forget about him.

Especially when he wouldn't leave you alone.

"You can't avoid me." he says, walking out of the alley. You almost run into him with a broom and for a moment, you feel the urge to hit him with it. But then you remember that you didn't actually promise each other anything. You were nothing to him. Only a librarian. An ordinary person. At best, a friend.

"I'm not." you say it coldly and try to move past him.

"You are." he says, blocking your way. You lift your head to look at him defiantly. All he does is grab your hands and take the broom out of your hands. You suddenly feel vulnerable… as if the broom could somehow protect you from the shadow summoner and your feelings for him. "Please. I just want to talk."

"How can I help you, general?" you ask him in an emotionless tone.

He sighs, but you can see from the look in his eyes that he won't give up that easily. But you also don't want to get involved in something that is doomed to failure. Men like them didn't end up with women like you. Not with someone so… ordinary.

"That's not how it looked like."

"No? You seemed… quite enjoyed your closeness to her. Besides, it is not my business. You can do whatever you want. With whoever… If you don't need my help finding a book, then I should go now."

"No, wait. Please." he grabs your arm and takes a step towards you, refusing to let you just walk away from him.

"Do you call her milaya too?" you can't help but ask him this question in a tone full of resentment, anger, and bitterness.

His reaction surprises you. Instead of responding to your ridiculous jealousy with anger or a comment as cruel as yours, he… smiles. The bastard has the nerve to enjoy how bad you feel.

"Nevermind. Just…forget about it." you say, trying to break free from his grip, but he won't let you go—not even a step away.

After a moment, you feel him pressing you against the bookshelves. His nose brushes lightly against yours, and your lips are closer together than ever. He breathes heavily, his dark, almost black eyes staring into yours as he tries to stop himself from simply kissing every thought that isn't him out of you. You look at him, waiting; you don't know what. Every inner moral battle in him is settled by your quiet whisper:

"Aleksander?"

He's losing it. All the control he had gained over hundreds of years. He leans down and connects your lips in a long-awaited kiss. At first, he tries to be slow and gentle. He caresses your cheek affectionately and carefully places his hand on your waist.

Your moan changes all his plans.

He grips your waist tighter, bringing you as close to him as possible. He tangles his other hand in your hair, deepening the kiss and taking in all your whimpers. And Aleksander, for the first time in his long life, feels like he's in heaven.

By simply touching you. By simply kissing you.

He pushes away all his thoughts about breaking you and about defiling your sweet and pure person with his darkness. But he can't stop.

Not when you respond so eagerly to his kisses. Not when you pull him as close to you as possible by his hair and kefta. Not when he feels the same lust and desire for you that he has for you. Not when his wildest dreams are coming true.

He pulls away as he feels you slowly running out of air. He gives you just enough space to breathe but still stays as close to you as he can, resting his forehead against yours and pressing a kiss there. Both of his hands roam over your figure, and he curses at how delicate and otherworldly you feel under his fingertips. Like you always should have belonged right here, in his arms, in his hands.

The saints created you for him as his eternal trouble, as his baine of existence. To sweep him off his feet. To question any decisions he ever made. To prove to him that all his plans will be ruined and that his priorities don't matter when it comes to choosing between them and you.

"I… I want… I want it to be your business. I want you to care about me… just as I care about you too, moya milaya. My one and only." he whispers, pulling away from you enough that he can look into your eyes.

He strokes your cheek tenderly, deciding he doesn't want to spend another second missing you, your touch, and your presence. Holding himself back from kissing and chereshing you as you should be.

"And how can you possibly care about me? I'm… just me. Otkazat'sya. I can't summon the sun, shadows, or anything. I can't heal or manipulate hearts. I can't composite materials such as metal, glass, textiles, and chemicals. I'm not Grisha. I'm nothing special."

"Do you think I don't know it? Do you think that meant anything to my stupid heart the day I first saw you? That after our first conversation, I gave a damn about anything, but how is your laugh so hypnotic? How can I simply spend the day just looking at you or listening to your sweet voice, talking excitedly about every single book you've read? I know it makes no sense, but... isn't that what it looks like? How is it supposed to be? To fall for someone even knowing that you shouldn't? Even knowing that it's something doomed to fall from the beginning?"

"I suppose that's not how a love confession should look like, Aleksander." you laugh a little and hearing his name on your lips again gives him hope that he needs to fully open up.

"Maybe not. But we are not in the story. I speak from my heart, with my own words, because… nothing I ever knew can be compared to what I feel for you since the time we know each other. You attracted me at first, but… with time, I understand it isn't just some attraction. It is something deeper. More personal. You understand me like no one else has before, so don't stand there and pretend there is no special link between us, because this… this is everything that keeps me sane. With so many wars I have to fight, so many plans I have to put into action, and so many sacrifices I have to make… I shouldn't think about you… and yet it is everything I can do each time I leave your presence. You became a part of me… best part of me that I have ever had. And I know I will probably lose you in time, but… I can't imagine being without you. To go my day without speaking to you, seeing you, or laughing with you. And if you let me… I would like to keep you close for as long as I can. As long as you will have me."

He says all of this while looking at you with so much earnestness and passion that you have a hard time saying no to him or entering into his speech.

He sees your doubts. And he's so afraid of them that he decides to kiss you again, to try to bribe you, to make up your mind in his favour with the feeling of his lips on yours.

This time, you pull him in, placing your hands around his neck. He shivers as you play with the strands of his hair, and he knows that if he doesn't get you, the only ray of light in his grey existence, he has nothing to lose. Nothing will stop him from becoming a monster.

"I'm not so... open-hearted. Time taught me to keep my feelings to myself. But with... with you, I feel like the man I used to be. And I really like to be him again with you by my side."

"And... what about Alina?" you ask hesitantly, unable to get used to the idea that he might be… that he might choose you.

"You are the only one I can see." he whispers. He steals another kiss from you. This time, he presses you closer to him. You feel his muscular body under his kefta pressing against you, and you feel yourself slowly turning into putty in his hands. The bastard grins gladly as he feels you trembling.

"But for how long?" you try to hold on to one last rational thought before the warmth of the moment you share with him overwhelms you, and you become undeniably his. However, your internal struggle is just a matter of decency. You both know who won anyway.

"Eternity." he whispers against your lips before kissing you hungrily, losing control as he finally gives in to his desires, touching and caressing you as he wants with your more than willing consent. "Mine." he murmurs into your neck, pressing kisses there, his stubble teasing your sensitive skin as you moan at the feeling of his hot lips that you've imagined more than you care to admit.

"Mine." you respond, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him in for another kiss.

Feeling his lips against you, his hands roaming over your body, caressing you, pulling you as close to him as possible, and his skin that you explore with your fingertips while unbuttoming his kefta as his shadows surround you, hiding the two of you from the sight of others who might be looking for you between the bookshelves, is making you realise that maybe, after all, you were the main character… at least in his story.

And that was all you could ever ask for.

[wilwywaylan]

Have a very Crow-y Halloween, and other assorted birds-y one too !

The challenge was to keep their clothes somewhat accurate while making them birds. Wylan's outfit is inspired by Papageno's in the Magic Flute, and Genya's has shades of the ones used in Swan Lake. Nina's has been inspired by the hens in Tex Avery's movies. I had a lot of fun with the keftas !

I so want Matthias' fluffiest ever owl-coat. Also Kaz is wearing a well-known fur coat because I can.

Birds are : Matthias - Owl, Inej - Cormoran, Kaz - Crow, Jesper - Peacock, Wylan - Songbird, Genya - Swan, David - Mechanical Duck, Nikolai - Eagle, Darkling - I don't know and I don't want to know, Ivan and Fedyor - Hawks, and Nina - Hen.

[starlessmistake]

[jumbled-messy-confused]

Bound by Duty, Torn by Care

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

Ivan is the General's steadfast protector, but as Kirigan struggles with exhaustion and pressing obligations, he must decide where duty ends and care begins.

Notes:

Plays immediately after "Storm of Worry" While this story can stand on its own, I highly recommend reading “Bearing the Burden” and the related works first for a deeper understanding and richer context. (Warning: No Warning. Most of you should by now have given up on this series and I understand that! I just doesn't keep me from writing)

The afternoon sun cast long, lazy shadows across the training grounds, a soft golden hue warming the low stone walls. Ivan stood at the edge of the field; his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the young Grisha sparring before him. A group of eager children, their brightly coloured Keftas swirling as they moved in tandem, practiced controlled bursts of power under his watchful eye.

It was a peaceful, almost routine scene—except for the undercurrent of tension that rippled among the children, a subtle, shared worry that none of them could completely shake.

They missed their General.

Earlier that day, a boy named Misha, who had been late for training, had come running to them, breathlessly recounting how he had spoken to the General, that he was looking better and even promised to visit them. The children's relief had been palpable, a weight lifted from their small shoulders.

Puzzled by their demeanor, Ivan had begun to investigate and uncovered the depth of their concern. They all had been haunted by Misha's account of seeing the General being brought back two days ago, covered in blood, and barely breathing. The older kids' grim speculations about him dying and the teacher’s evasiveness had only added to their fears and certainly hadn’t helped matters.

Ivan had been startled to realize how none of the adults had truly grasped the depth of the children's worry. And despite Ivan having reassured them multiple times by now that Kirigan was indeed recovering, the weight of the little ones' concern was still palpable, and their fear and lingering uncertainty were evident in every glance.

So, all afternoon, they had whispered among themselves, eyes frequently darting to the path that led from the Little Palace towards the training grounds, waiting and hoping. And Ivan wished, just as much as they did, that Kirigan would come. And though he was confident that the General would try to keep his promise to little Misha, he wasn’t sure if the injured man’s condition would allow it. The upcoming meeting with the Tsar this evening was undoubtedly of greater importance, and Ivan wasn’t sure if Kirigan would have the strength to attend both.

Yet, just as their hope began to wane, the tall, familiar figure actually appeared at the edge of the grounds. The children's eyes widened with excitement, and some even let out small cheers. Their faces lit up, and Ivan, too, couldn’t help but feel a quiet joy as he spotted the General making his way toward them.

Kirigan walked with the steady grace that was still unmistakably his, though he was paler, his movements slower. He still wore only his black shirt and trousers, his figure more exposed, more human, than the children were used to seeing. His dark hair, usually meticulously combed back, was slightly ruffled by the wind. But none of that mattered. He was here.

The children’s formation momentarily fell into disarray. Some of them paused in their drills, standing a little straighter, faces brightening with visible relief. Kirigan noticed it, of course—he always did—and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was tired, but genuine.

A few of the youngest children even waved at him, their small hands fluttering in the air, which was particularly endearing.

He nodded to them, a subtle acknowledgment of their greeting, and that simple gesture seemed to lift the last remaining cloud of uncertainty from their shoulders.

Ivan let the children have their moment, allowing them to bask in the presence of their General. But after a few seconds, he knew it was time to bring them back to their training. “Alright, let’s continue!” He kept his tone low, but firm enough to draw their attention away.

The children hesitated only for a moment longer before resuming their exercises, though now their movements were more precise and focused, as if driven by a heartfelt desire to please the General.

Kirigan made his way to a bench on the far side of the grounds and sat down, slowly, carefully, with a quiet exhale. He closed his eyes for a moment, and in that brief span, he looked achingly human. It was not a sight many had seen before—the Darkling, the terror of their enemies, with exhaustion carved into every line of his body. And yet, even now, there was a dignity in the way he held himself, the quiet fortitude that spoke of a spirit unbroken.

After a deep breath, he leaned back, his dark eyes watching the training with an intensity that hadn’t faded despite his physical state.

A while later, from the corner of his eye, Ivan noticed Alina approaching, her own training finished for the day. Her face was flushed from exertion, and she looked quite tired herself, but she was clearly happy to see the General as she neared him. Without hesitation, she sat beside him, her shoulder brushing his in a silent offering of comfort. Kirigan didn’t pull away. In fact, after a moment, he leaned into her, subtly, but enough that someone as observant as Ivan could see how much he was relying on her support.

Ivan gritted his teeth. This wasn’t like Kirigan—to lean on anyone, even in silence. The General was still fragile—too fragile.

Ivan’s sharp gaze took in every detail, every slow breath Kirigan took. His chest rose and fell with a steadiness that was reassuring. But his pallor was worrying, and Ivan noticed how is normally sharp gaze had a distant, unfocused quality, betraying his fatigue.

With a sigh, Ivan gestured to the children, signalling for them to continue their training with less intensity. Their movements slowed, the atmosphere softened, as if the very air around them mirrored the calm that Alina’s presence brought to Kirigan.

For several minutes, the two summoner sat like that, Kirigan resting against Alina, his exhaustion evident in the way he allowed himself to relax in her proximity. Alina remained steady, not engaging him in unnecessary conversation, just being there, offering a quiet support. The connection between them was palpable, even if neither of them spoke a word.

Finally, Kirigan shifted, his dark eyes meeting Ivan’s. Ivan immediately recognized the exhaustion etched into his features. It was clear: Kirigan was at his limit.

Alina stood with him, her hand resting lightly on his arm to steady him. Slowly, carefully, he straightened as much as he could, his gaze sweeping across the children. His expression softened, and a small, appreciative smile touched his lips. “You’ve done well today.” The quiet acknowledgement in his voice was full of warmth. The children beamed at his words, some exchanging proud glances, while others began to hop with excitement. Then, Kirigan turned to Ivan. His tone was almost fond and there was a rare kindness in his gaze. “Keep an eye on them.” Ivan’s usual stoicism gave way to a faint smile. “Always.” With one final glance toward the children, Kirigan nodded, and, with Alina’s gentle support, turned to make his way back to the palace.

Ivan watched them go, saw the care in Alina’s movements as she looped an arm around Kirigan’s waist, and the way he allowed it, his pride softened by exhaustion. It was a strangely tender sight that left a knot in Ivan’s chest. He knew Kirigan well enough to understand how difficult it must be for the General to accept that support, even from her.

After they disappeared from sight, Ivan turned his attention back to the children, but his thoughts lingered on Kirigan. He could only hope the exhausted man would rest, that he would take the time he needed to recover before the meeting with the Tsar.

But deep down, Ivan knew better.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time the last of the older Grishenka finished their drills. Ivan took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. The day had stretched on longer than expected—small delays had piled up, pushing the schedule beyond what Ivan had planned. He had wanted to make his way back to the Little Palace, pick up Kirigan, and then head together to the meeting with the Tsar. But the time had slipped away, leaving him with little choice but to rush.

All he could do was quickly freshen up in the training rooms before hastening to the Grand Palace to make the meeting on time. He would be cutting it close, Kirigan would already be there, waiting.

Ivan rushed through the corridors of the Grand Palace, the urgency of his steps echoing off the marble. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Nikolai Lantsov, the Tsar’s son, who was heading in the same direction. Nikolai easily fell into step beside him. "Are you standing in for Kirigan today?" Nikolai asked, his tone level, simply seeking clarification. "No," Ivan replied, keeping his pace brisk. "The General should already be there. I was delayed with other duties, so I couldn't join him earlier. He wouldn't miss a meeting like this." They entered the chamber together, and the atmosphere of animated conversation greeted them. Nearly every seat was occupied—except for one. The chair reserved for Kirigan remained conspicuously empty.

Ivan’s stride faltered; the confident assurance he’d just expressed wavering as he stared at the vacant seat. It wasn’t like Kirigan to be late. Beside him, Nikolai’s easy expression turned to one of quiet concern, his gaze flicking toward Ivan for a reaction. For a moment, Ivan tried to push the worry aside. Probably Kirigan was deliberately waiting until the last possible moment to avoid sitting in unnecessary discomfort. In his condition, it made sense. He would be here any second now.

But as the doors swung open, not Kirigan, but the Tsar entered. The sovereign’s expression immediately soured as he spotted the vacant chair, and the tension in the room spiked. Ivan’s stomach dropped.

With a swift, decisive movement, he adressed the king. “Your Majesty, with your permission, I would like to check on General Kirigan. I’m concerned about his delay.” The Tsar, obviously in a foul mood, scowled, waving a dismissive hand. "Send a servant to fetch him," he grumbled. "There’s no need for you to go traipsing around—" “With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Ivan interjected, frustration simmering beneath the calm. “Given that the General was only released from the infirmary today, I believe it would be best if I checked on him personally.” His tone was careful, but firm, and it carried a weight that made others in the room shift slightly, murmuring in agreement. Yet the Tsar only glared. “You ought to know his condition better than anyone, Ivan. You’re practically glued to his side.” But before Ivan could respond, Nikolai stepped in. “Ivan has been handling Kirigan’s duties all afternoon and hasn’t had time to check on him himself.” He met Ivan’s eyes briefly, silently conveying support, before turning back to his father. “I suggest you let him go and return quickly. Besides, we can hardly get started without Kirigan and his documents.” The Tsar’s eyes flickered between Ivan and Nikolai before he finally gave a begrudging nod. Ivan didn’t wait for anything more.

Bowing quickly, he turned and exited the chamber, his steps accelerating as he headed toward the Little Palace, his mind racing with every possible scenario that could explain Kirigan’s absence. Had Kirigan forgotten about the meeting? It was possible, given the tumult of the last few days, but it seemed unlikely. What if Kirigan was unwell? The image of his leader feeling worse without anyone noticing made Ivan’s chest tighten. Guilt gnawed at him; he should have been there to collect Kirigan as planned.

Even before reaching the War Room, his Heartrender senses had already begun seeking Kirigan’s pulse, reaching out like invisible threads of awareness. But there was nothing- the room was empty. Yet, after stepping inside, Ivan could feel him, if only faintly. Kirigan was in his quarters. Ivan's heart raced as he approached the door, suddenly afraid of what he might find. He rapped lightly against the wood; when no answer came, he eased the door open, the hinges creaking softly in the silence. The sight before him made him freeze in place.

There, on the large bed, Kirigan lay deeply asleep, his ashen skin contrasting sharply with the dark sheets. His torso was propped up by several pillows in an obviously unsuccessful attempt to find a comfortable position. The resting man looked utterly pained and drained; his face etched with lines of discomfort. His dark hair was mussed, his usually sharp features softened by the deep exhaustion that clung to him. In this state, he appeared painfully young and vulnerable.

The sight hit Ivan harder than he expected; Kirigan still seemed so debilitated. Yes, he was on the mend, but at this moment his condition was worse than Ivan had hoped. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, but Ivan could sense the weakness in his pulse. Regular, thankfully, but frighteningly faint. The severe blood loss had taken its toll, leaving his body still struggling to recover. It was as if each heartbeat came with effort, a reminder of how close he had come to the edge.

Ivan stood there for a moment, watching his leader sleep, his mind swirling with worry. As he had feared, the man had overexerted himself on his first day out of the infirmary. He could see the signs of it now — the complete lack of tension in his limbs, the way he lay utterly limp, devoid of his usual alertness. This wasn’t just fatigue; it was the kind of weariness that left you defenceless. The kind that scared Ivan, even if he’d never admit it aloud. But there was nothing he could do now except make sure Kirigan rested - although of course that was exactly what Kirigan would not have wanted.

The General would want to be woken, to attend the meeting. But Ivan couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was a dangerous choice, one that might have consequences, but Kirigan’s recovery was more important. He would stand by his decision and face whatever came.

Notes and security plans for the upcoming peace negotiations were piled next to Kirigan. Some had slipped from his grasp and now lay scattered on his chest as if he’d been going over them until sheer fatigue had forced him into sleep. At least Kirigan had had enough sense to settle on his bed, rather than collapsing over his documents at the desk.

Ivan carefully plucked the papers from his loose grip, heart heavy with concern. Kirigan stayed entirely unresponsive as Ivan moved around him; furthermore, his skin was ice cold to the touch.

As soon as the papers were stacked, Ivan pulled a thick blanket from the foot of the bed and gently draped it over Kirigan's still form, tucking it around him with a tenderness that he would never have allowed himself to show under different circumstances.

Kirigan didn’t stir, his unconsciousness so deep that not even this movement disturbed him. That, more than anything, unsettled Ivan. It was rare — almost unheard of — for Kirigan to be this out of touch with his surroundings.

Ivan sighed, his worry weighing on him. He couldn’t stay, not with the meeting underway, but leaving Kirigan like this was difficult.

Reluctantly, he grabbed the documents and withdrew, stepping out of the room. On his way back through the palace corridors, he spotted a young Heartrender, a recent recruit who had just finished with training. “You,” he called, trying not to let the urgency in his voice startle the boy too much. The Grisha straightened instantly, sensing the tension in Ivan’s expression. "Find Fedyor. Tell him to come to the General’s room immediately and bring a Healer with him. The General needs to be watched. Understand?"

The boy nodded quickly, his expression shifting from confusion to concern as he took in the gravity of Ivan’s words. He hurried off without further questions, disappearing around the corner with swift strides.

Ivan watched him go, exhaling tiredly. There was a small comfort in knowing that Fedyor would soon be by Kirigan's side, that someone with a watchful eye would be there to keep him safe.

Ivan turned back toward the Grand Palace, trying to focus on the cold air stinging his face rather than the nagging worry that twisted in his gut. Yet, even as he retraced his steps, his mind remained anchored in Kirigan’s chamber, his pale face burned into his thoughts.

When he finally re-entered the meeting hall, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to him. The Tsar’s lips pressed into a thin line as Ivan alone approached.

“Well, where is Kirigan?” The Sovereign’s voice cut through the room, impatient and sharp.

Ivan straightened, his back rigid as he addressed the room. “The General will not be attending, Your Majesty. I found him deeply asleep, and given his current condition, I refused to wake him.”

While he spoke, Ivan did not take his eyes off the Monarch. There was no apology in his tone, only a quiet firmness that left no room for further discussion.

Murmurs rippled through the assembled nobles and advisors, heads nodding slowly as they absorbed Ivan’s words. The Tsar seemed momentarily taken aback by Ivan's unflinching resolve, his lips parting as if to protest. But a subtle, pointed cough from Nikolai, whose expression clearly signalled to his father to refrain from causing a scene, caused the Tsar to relent. “Very well. Let him sleep. We owe him that much.” The irritation in his voice was plain, but he forced a smile, masking his annoyance with a facade of composure. “We will proceed without him. You will represent him.” The Tsar gestured for Ivan to take his seat, and so he did.

Ivan moved through the discussion as if Kirigan were right beside him. Every document, every strategy, every detail they had carefully laid out in the past days came to him easily. He spoke with the General’s authority, because he knew Kirigan’s mind as if it were his own.

The hours dragged on, the discussions intricate and tedious, but Ivan remained sharp. He could feel the strain, but he pushed through, determined to do right by Kirigan. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the meeting ended.

As the room began to empty, Nikolai approached Ivan. "You handled that well," he acknowledged the effort Ivan had put in. "The General would be pleased." Ivan nodded curtly. "Thank you, Moi Tsarevich." Nikolai paused for a moment, then asked quietly, "How is he really doing, Ivan? My soldiers told me the fight for his life was harrowing. They were quite… shaken." Ivan sighed, knowing there was no point in hiding the truth. He felt a wave of fatigue wash over him and rubbed his face, exhausted. "It's a miracle he's even standing. Others wouldn’t have survived such injuries."

Nikolai nodded solemnly, absorbing the weight of Ivan's words. "We are all fortunate that he's so resilient," he finally murmured. "Give him my regards." Ivan gave another nod, feeling a rare moment of respect for Nikolai. Of all the Lantsovs, this one was the least unbearable. As soon as the Tsarevich turned and walked away, Ivan took a deep breath and without wasting another moment, he hurried back to the Little Palace, his thoughts already on the General.

He reached Kirigan’s chambers and pushed the door open with care, a knot in his chest loosening as he took in the sight before him. Kirigan lay exactly as he’d left him, still nestled under the blanket, still deeply asleep. Fedyor sat beside him, reading over a stack of reports, his expression serene. When he looked up and caught sight of Ivan, he smiled, a gentle, knowing curve of his lips that cut through Ivan’s lingering tension.

“He just needs rest, Ivan,” Fedyor whispered, careful not to disturb the sleeping man. “The healers have checked him over again. He’s not well, of course, but there’s no sign of worsening. Just exhaustion and pain. You know how he is—he’s done too much already.”

Ivan nodded, slowly unclenching his hands as he let the relief wash over him. He looked down at Kirigan’s face, still pale but now peaceful, and felt a tightness in his throat, a surge of warmth that was almost too much to bear. “Good.” His voice was so rough with the weight of the day, he had to clear his throat so Fedyor could understand him. “That’s... good.”

He took a seat next to Fedyor, feeling the solid presence of his husband beside him, and in the quiet that settled over the room, Ivan found a measure of calm. Fedyor continued working through his reports, and Ivan allowed his own eyes to close for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of Kirigan’s breath and the soft rustling of paper.

Everything would be alright.

[anxiousqueerperson]

Ivan:Everyone is so scared of me,no one would dare talk to me at all Fedyor:*exists* Ivan:Fuck

[capinejghafa]

anon request | heartrender + hand gestures

[buffaluff]

my heartrender husbands fanart contribution for the year! ❤️❄️

for the yearly fivan secret santa, this year’s is for @lucienjynix! i hope you enjoy 💖