#apracing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

call-sign-shark · 27 days ago

Text

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!You || The Darkling x HeartrenderOC!Reader

Summary: His obsession with you growing bigger, General Kirigan decides to take you under his wing despite Baghra's warnings. As his desire deepens, his control starts to slip and leaves you at the edge of something dangerous and inescapable.

Words: 6K

TW: Unhealthy relationship, heavy pinning, obsession, possessive behavior, mention of prostitution and child assault, sexual innuendo, hurt/comfort, don't forget that it's a slow burn.

Part VI - Until Nothing is Left

Previous || Masterlist || Next

“You shouldn’t train her,” Baghra said sharply. Her voice, cutting like splintered ice, was as unforgiving as the cold wind that howled through her hut. Even though the sun was still high in the winter sky outside, its apracity couldn’t reach down there.

She leaned forward, her grip tightening on her cane until her knuckles whitened, while she carefully surveyed Aleksander. They had avoided this unpleasant conversation for days, but, ultimately, she knew she had to face her son if she wanted to stop chaos from erupting.

“She needs discipline, not your indulgence. And you…” Her piercing eagle eyes narrowed like the edge of a dagger, “You’re not thinking clearly.”

The Black General’s expression remained perfectly composed, his unyielding figure standing tall in the dimly lit room. Yet, despite his poise, the way his shadows writhed at his combat boots betrayed the boiling tension coursing through him.

“Giving her private lessons is pure foolishness and you know it.” She added, visibly displeased by his irritating, though expected, silence.

“She needs guidance only I can provide,” He countered smoothly. His soft tone was laced with terrifying finality, a quiet power that made Baghra grit her teeth.

By the Saints, this was going to be a tedious talk, she thought.

“Guidance?” She repeated, her lips twisting into a grimace, “The way you behave with her has nothing to do with guidance. Let me ask you something… Since when does the General sit in on training hmm? Whisper reassurances and offer sweet embraces? Spare time to linger over every mistake and correction?”

The heavy silence between them thickened. Aleksander’s obsidian eyes glimmered under the flickering flames that were lightening the hut as he observed his mother’s nervous movements. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It is my duty as General to train the soldiers under my command, simple as that.” He simply remarked, hoping it would be enough to discourage her from talking about the matter further. A little frown had settled on his forehead, a tell-tale sign that his patience was already reaching its limits.

“I’ve noticed everything, boy!” She continued, her voice rising like the roar of a furious lioness at her son’s attempt at denying, “She's not just another soldier to you, isn’t she?” The old Grisha went straight to the point, too worried to beat around the bush, “You’re not training her for this army, the King or even your precious cause. You’re training her for you.”

The General’s jaw tightened at her insufferable accusation. He should have known that she wouldn't let him get away with it. Not before baring her teeth and trying to mingle.

“You misunderstand me.” He corrected.

“No,” Baghra shot back, her gaze piercing to his very core, boring into the cursed soul of her son, “ You misunderstand yourself. I’ve seen how she’s carved out a place in your shadows. And I see how your entire being responds to her whenever she’s around.” She stopped, hesitating, before she finally pointed out, “She makes you feel, Aleksander.”

The tall darkness stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he shot the grey-haired woman a deathly glare, “You assume much, old woman.” His tone was now into mocking and caustic. “Far too much for someone who almost got an innocent Etheralki killed” An insolent smirk crept on his lips at the mean jab, making charming crows feet appear at the corner of his eyes. To be fair, he couldn’t care less about Tanya’s fate. His last sentence was only aimed at hurting — at undermining the wise witch’s confidence.

Her wooden cane struck the floor with a resounding crack in a vivid manifestation of her frustration, “I assume nothing!” She snapped. His remark seemed to have hit a nerve, “You’ve always been cautious, controlled. Deathly cold. But not with her because you’re drawn to her — helplessly so. You’ve been since the very beginning. And you’ve made it pretty much obvious to all the Little Palace with your recent shenanigans!”

“Enough.” A slow, measured breath escaped Aleksander’s seductive lips though his dark eyes glinted with warning, as if challenging her to keep going with that very sensitive topic. After a short while, he finally stepped closer to his mother, his voice dropping to a menacing drawl, “All this fuss…” He started, a brief predatory smirk flashing on his face, as if he had remembered something fun, before it vanished, “Did you really summon my presence just to bother me with your mundane nonsenses?” He raised an eyebrow, pausing for an instant to decipher the old Grisha’s micro expressions — then he noticed it. Noticed the way her lower lip trembled slightly.

Baghra was scared.

“No, there is something else, mother… Tell me, what makes you so afraid?”

Afraid… Baghra inhaled deeply through her nostrils, fighting the need to punch him right across the face for his arrogance, “Boy, I’m going to be honest with you.“ She started, rather opting for a metaphorical slap, “ I‘ve seen what happens when someone weaves their way too deeply into your heart.” She almost whispered for she feared the monster in him would wake up if she dared mention it too loud.

“And what happens?” He sneered with his teeth bared like a panther ready to bite, bitter sarcasm dripping from his every word, “I beg you to enlighten me then.”

“You burn for them, Aleksander. And it doesn’t stop until everything else is consumed — turned to ashes. Or rather, to shadow.” Her statement sounded like a Death knell when she purposely referred to the Fold he created out of rage and profound sorrow that woeful night he lost Luda. A memory he had spent the last centuries trying to bury in the back of his mind.

Luda…

For the first time since the beginning of this painful exchange, the Black General’s perfect composure wavered. His void-like eyes flicked away briefly before snapping back to hers, more determined than ever, “Listen, this is no business of yours, dear mother,” his tone, tinged with a possessive growl, was so icy that the wise Grisha felt her blood freeze in her veins, “Shall I remind you that no matter your little assumptions and petty remarks, Heaven is under my command and protection. How I handle the situation is not yours to judge.”

“Protection,” Baghra echoed, her voice softening surprisingly in a pity-conveying tone. “Is that what you call it?” She remained silent for a fraction of a second, studying him with an almost mournful intensity. Centuries had passed and still, the fortress he had built around his feelings hadn’t been strong enough to keep the white-haired wildling out.

At this thought, she finally dared to voice the prophecy she had foreseen the first time she had met the little seraphic Sankta, “You won’t let her go, will you? You’ll twist her so tightly into your life that she’ll no longer know where she ends and you begin.” Her statement sounded dark. Grim. Tragic. She could see it already —his possessiveness pulsing in the air. His growing affection and obsession tangled so tightly it was impossible to unravel one from the other. And it frightened her more than she wanted to admit. “Whatever is happening between the two of you should come to a halt before it’s too late.”

Aleksander’s frustration simmered beneath his calm facade, his heart pounding furiously in his chest as Baghra’s words echoed in the ancient room. How could she not see it, he wondered. Of course the girl wasn’t just another pawn or soldier — she was meant to stand at his side, her brilliance and exceptional nature amplified under his guidance. Weren’t they bound by destiny, after all? The way her icy fire matched his shadow and how very existence made him feel more alive than he had never felt were unmistakable proof of that.

And yet, the old woman dismissed it all as folly. She remained stubbornly blind to the ineluctable, and it was driving him crazy. Almost as crazy as her attempt to keep them away.

That old hag…, he thought. What was he supposed to do? Give up on his little Heartrender as she was asking him to do?

Never.

The mere idea of anyone else claiming her and shaping her future was intolerable. An affront to the very fibers of his being. Your heart was his to take, no one else. “Why, mother, do you fail to see that it is by my side that she thrives?”

“Does she?” The eagled eyes Grisha retorted, her question tinged with palpable sorrow. Despite her glaring stare, her iris shone with despair, as if she was silently pleading him to use his common sense, “You may think so now, but what will happen when she learns who you are? Aleksander Morozova. The Darkling. The Starless Saint.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Darkness seemed to grow in the room, defying the candlelight for they manifested his inner turmoil. When Aleksander finally spoke, his voice was no louder than a whisper but still carried a combination of defiance and frightening determination, “When she learns who I am, she will see the truth — that everything I’ve done, I’ve done for people like her. She will understand the loneliness of eternity and then, what it means to stand beside me, what we could become together. And if she fears me, so be it. Fear will be temporary, and won’t outweigh the pull that binds us. She belongs with me, and I will make her see it.”

Baghra’s heart skipped painfully. Closing her eyelids briefly, her shoulders shagged under the weight of her own despair, “You will break her, Aleksander.” She said quietly, disapproving, “Or she will break you.”

“You think I’d hurt her?” The tall darkness’ voice snapped, a flicker of indignation breaking his usually calm tone..

Baghra didn’t falter despite her son’s growing anger. She knew she was sticking her fingers in an open wound, “Not intentionally. But love, real love — it’s a curse. And she doesn’t need that.. What she needs is to be kept away from you.”

“No, what she needs is someone to protect her” Aleksander replied, “Someone who helps her rise from the mud people had dragged her through her whole life.” Surprisingly, his fury quietened around the end of his tirade, replaced by something softer that displayed a hint of vulnerability. Underneath the manipulation and the schemes, he seemed to truly cared for her, “Someone to hold her…” He whispered, not knowing if he was voicing her needs or his own wishes anymore. The Black General shook his head and raised a gloved hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose, as though fighting off a headache, “I will not fail her, no matter what you think.”

“What you feel, Aleksander, will consume you. It’s already happening. You’re not in control anymore.”

“I am in control,” He corrected her with a growl before waving her comment off, growing tired of this pointless fight, “Don’t mistake my care for weakness.”

Baghra finally gave up. Leaning closer to her beloved son, she rested a frail hand on his shoulder and pressed over it in a tender, motherly gesture, “You don’t see it, do you? She’s already in your heart, boy. And if you lose her…” She seemed to hesitate, her voice cracking despite all the willpower she gathered to not show any weakness before him, “There will be nothing left of you.”

Nothing left of Ravka.

He remained silent, his pitch-black eyes fixed on her. Gently, Aleksander finally responded to her affection and covered her hand with his, large and warm despite the leather that covered his skin. That sole gesture sent a wave of hope that washed over the old Grisha’s heart. Maybe she had managed to reason with him? “Please. Just think about what could happen, what other abomination you could create if you end up losing her...” She added.

“Mother,” He softly called, glancing down at her frail hand on his shoulder before his obsidian eyes returned to hers, burning with indomitability. Suddenly, his form seemed to swell in an unnatural oppressive presence, the air around him turning as suffocating as if breathing through smoke, “Rest assured I’ll ensure I never lose her,” He said, each word a blade slicing through Baghra’s brief hope. Despite her advice and pleas, Aleksander stood to his ground firmly and refused to change his mind. He was too far gone to be brought back to reason.

Terrified, she looked up to meet his eyes to find a bit of humanity but she was met with nothing but cold determination, “Whatever it takes, whatever I must do, she will stay. I don’t care if the world burns or bends — I will make it if I need to. I will not let her go.” He concluded. His long fingers tightened briefly around his mother before he stepped back, the old witch’s hand sliding along his arm as he broke the physical contact.

Baghra’s heart sank as she glimpsed something primal and unrelenting in the dark ink pool of her son’s gaze. This wasn’t just Aleksander speaking, it was the darkness she had always feared in him, unchained and resolute.

“Then you’ll learn,” She said with utter sadness, “One way or another, you’ll learn. But I fear it will be too late.”

Too late to save her.

To save him.

To undo the ruins her son and his Sankta would leave behind.

You used to be a child of the night.

Whenever Tante Heleen would turn the lights of the Menagerie off, notifying the girls of the end of their shift, a pleasant sensation of lightness would always invade you. No more dancing in cages, no more disgusting and lubricious clients to entertain, it were just you and the comforting embrace of the night, which sometimes managed to make you forget about your aching skin after having scrubbed it too roughly during your bath in a vain attempt to erase the smell of strangers’ cheap aftershave that clung stubbornly to your body. Nevertheless, you had started to dread sleeping time in the Little Palace. Though the days were draining and overstimulating, they had at least the merit of keeping your mind busy. But whenever you came back to your room, the Palace’s unnerving quiet as your sole companion, your thoughts buzzed like a hive of furious hornets. Doubts, fear, flashbacks from your traumatic past, all of it seemed to lash out at you. Yet, these weren’t the worst. No. What really plagued your mind was General Kirigan. Each time you’d close your eyes, images of him and your many encounters played on repeat in your head like a maddening broken record.

You had tried everything: reading, singing to yourself — Hell, even hurting you! But no matter how hard you had tried to trick yourself, your thoughts always came back to him. Him and his stupidly hypnotizing eyes. The softness of his lips brushing your long ivory mane. The sensation of his shadows exploring your shivering body.

Him and the rapture of being held safely in his strong arms you missed every minute of your life ever since you left Baghra’s hut.

Tired of tossing in bed for hours and fighting against a brain too restless to surrender to sleep, you decided to escape your thoughts by slipping out of your bedroom after putting on a short and light white satin nightgown. Admittedly, the garment was far too light for the freezing temperatures of Ravka but you had never feared the cold. Quite the contrary, the sensation of it tended to be incredibly soothing. According to Fedyor’s silly jokes, it was because you were made of Arctic ice — at least that was what he supposed to. That was how you ended up wandering aimlessly in the vast halls of the little Palace, bathed in moonlight and shadow. Your footsteps were light against the marble floors, inaudible as if you were a ghost haunting the place. As you explored the gargantuan corridors, your eyes were soon caught by the warm light of a fireplace and cozy little lamps coming from a wide opened wooden door. Curious, you peeped through it, wondering who could be still awake that late.

You hadn’t expected to find General Kirigan.

Or, rather, you had completely obliterated that his quarters were on the same floor as yours.

An odd sensation gripped you at the sight of him in what seemed to be his map room, leaning over a sprawling array of papers and plans probably linked with some obscur martial strategies he was elaborating. The faint glow of the lantern near him cast his sharp features in stark relief and enlightened every alluring trait of his face. For once, he looked… almost human. Fascinated, you tilted your head on the side and kept observing him discreetly. The tension in his brow, the way his fingers pressed into the table’s edge and his eyes roamed on a scribbled map — he exuded a barely perceptible vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see. Such an enchanting scene must have been hypnotizing you, for you had entered the room without realizing it, as though your body had walked in by itself, eager to rejoin the one who made it feel alive.

In the stillness, a shift in the air alerted him. Kirigan had noticed your presence almost instantly. A subtle current, familiar and electric, brushed against his senses and snatched him from his work. The truth was he didn’t need to look up to know you were near. It was as if your presence whispered through his very being, an invisible tether drawing his focus from the maps to something infinitely more compelling. The General paused, his hands still firmly pressing into the table. The rhythm of your quiet breaths, the hesitation in your steps — he felt them more than he heard them. In a reflex he couldn’t control, a faint smile, unbidden and entirely forbidden to his usual countenance, ghosted across his lips for a minute. How was it that, no matter the hour or the weight of his burdens, you could systematically unsettle and overwhelm him with nothing more than your nearness?

The tall darkness finally lifted his gaze, his pitch-black eyes undeniably softening for a fleeting moment as he turned toward the doorway where you stood, hesitant, not knowing full well what you were doing here, but still irresistibly radiant in the dim light. And in that far too revealing nightgown.

“Let me guess, you couldn’t sleep.” He said, his voice smooth and confident, as if your restless wandering was as inevitable as the pull you had on him.

However, the remnant of his conversation with Baghra came to haunt him back as he relished your attractive doll-like figure. His faint smile began to falter, the corners of his lips tightening when the weight of his mother’s words echoed in his mind. His smirk and playful gaze finally vanished, swept away by the little gust of wind that blew in the room through one slightly open window. The memory of her warning clawed its way back, her voice etched with despair as she said “What you feel, Aleksander, will consume you. It’s already happening. You’re not in control anymore”. Kirigan’s onyx gaze shifted, momentarily distant. A storm of doubt flickered behind his dark eyes before he steeled himself once more, his features hardening just like he had learn to do for hundreds of years.

“You shouldn’t be here,” He stated, his tone firmer.

Despite the dismissal, your wild nature resisted the order, even though uncertainty prickled at the edge of your confidence. You hesitated for a brief instant, caught between the magnetism of his presence and the sudden coldness of his warning. But your insolent and fearless spirit had always burned brighter than your caution. If curiosity truly killed the cat, you’d have been buried for a long time.

“Why not? Are you afraid I might see something I shouldn’t?” You teased. A spark of both rebellion and amusement flickered in the Arctic desert of your eyes. Several sleepless nights had made you even bolder than you already were. Plus, you were sick of letting your confusing feelings for him turn you into a vulnerable little thing — the opposite of your predatory nature.

Surprisingly enough, the Black General seemed to soften briefly, though his composure remained unbroken. Drawn to the audacity in your eyes, the way you seemed to challenge him without any display of fear amused him more than it should have. Saints knew he didn’t want you to leave, not really, for you were a disruption he couldn’t resist. Unsettling and intoxicating in equal measure. Always full of surprises too.

“It’s not wise,” he finally said, his words measured, “to seek such proximity with your General.”

“So why does my General keep me so close?” You didn’t hesitate, possessed by your fierce spirit a bit too much, “Shall I remind you that you are the one who assigned me the bedroom closest to yours?”

Kirigan blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sharpness of your retort. Okay, he definitely didn’t see that coming. His lips parted slightly, searching for a response, but your words lingered in the space between you. Hadn’t he been your superior, you’d have probably found his reaction utterly comical. But right now, you didn’t feel like laughing. No, you felt the need for him to reply — which was something he was incapable of. In fact, the way you had said “my General”, with such ownership, such defiance, had sent a warm ache through his body, cracking the armor he’d spent centuries crafting. He cleared his throat, thought his voice betrayed the faintest waver as he replied.

“Listen, not only should you rest but I also have a lot of work awaiting me...”

“What about you? Do you ever rest, General?” You added, more gently. Admittedly, the question was a bit ironic considering you were the one wandering in the hallways at night instead of sleeping. His lips curved faintly in response, though it wasn’t quite a smile.

“I find my peace where I can. Perhaps… in moments like this.”

Silence floated over the room after his quiet confession, heavy with a melancholy you didn’t expect. You studied him for a moment longer, catching the faint shadow of exhaustion in his expression. It seemed like he wasn’t simply tired — but he carried the world on his shoulders and you could feel it in every carefully composed line of his face. You didn’t know anything about the burden he carried, but you could tell that it must be straining.

“I understand but take care, General.” You replied softly, your siren-like voice barely above a whisper. The title felt heavy now, clearly too formal for the intimacy of the moment, but you didn’t dare say more, afraid it would pass off as insubordination or lack of respect for someone with a much higher rank than yours. Someone who, additionally, saved your life. His black eyes snapped to you, unreadable but intense, not knowing if your worries for him were a bit too… Familiar to his liking, “Well, I won’t disturb you further. Please try to enjoy this moment of peace.” Your voice was no more than a sweet murmur. You offered him a last little smile, less bratty this time, before turning to the door with hesitant steps and proceeding to leave the room reluctantly. Your hand reached for the handle, fingers brushing the cool metal.

“Heaven.”

His voice stopped you before you could step out, cutting through the silence. Your name on his lips, melting on his tongue, wasn’t a command — it was a tether. Laced with something raw, the way he had called you was a quiet plea that made your breath catch. Slowly, you turned back to face him, your heart thudding in your tight ribcage as the dark pools of ink in his eyes spilled onto your frozen iris and dragged you down to drown you in them.

“Stay.” He asked suddenly.

You froze, his single word reverberating through the quiet room first and through every one of your bones then. Did you hear well? Unsure whether to obey or question, you hesitated an instant before slowly heading back to him, surprise mingled with both curiosity and something deeper you couldn’t yet name. As you approached, Aleksander straightened behind the map table, his dark beady iris watching you with the same intensity that always burnt in his eyes whenever he focused on you. The round table remained between you as a barrier for you feared losing control and stepping over the line if you remained too close to him. Still, it did little to diminish the irresistible attraction between you and him.

“Training has been difficult,” He stated, breaking the silence again, “Baghra is relentless, I know.”

Your shoulders stiffened slightly at his words, a flicker of exhaustion passing over your broken doll face before you swallowed, forcing your expression to retrieve its neutrality. However, your fingers couldn’t help but fidget a little bit, betraying your weariness. You knew that lying to him would be pointless: he had seen that training had taken its toll on you, both physically and emotionally. Not only seen but actually intervened. His steady presence had been your anchor during the panic attack that almost led you to kill Tanya, but the shame of showing your vulnerability was still pretty much vivid.

“Yeah, but she’s…Effective, I guess,” Your lips twitched a little, “I’m afraid she doesn’t trust me nor my power anymore. I’ve seen the change in her following that incident with Tanya.”

Aleksander tilted his head, “It’s not mistrust. It’s fear. Even she has never seen power like yours. I wouldn’t pay attention to her too much if I were you.”

“Hm.” You nodded, but the frown on your seraphic face betrayed your concern.

“You spoke of peace earlier,” He began, “But tell me… have you ever known it?”

The question made your throat tighten as you tried to keep the memories of your past, wild and brutal, away from your mind. You had wanted to wave the topic off but the way his charcoal eyes locked onto yours, exuding a sudden tenderness, disarmed you. You allowed yourself to let your guard down for a brief instant.

“I don’t think so,” you sighed, your voice trembling slightly but enough for him to notice, “Not as long as I can remember.”

Kirigan studied you for a short while, the expression on his face surprisingly understanding and patient, “That’s why you’ve built walls,” he said, “Walls you shouldn’t have needed to build”.

His words tensed you, the truth in them hitting too close to home for you to keep your composure. Though gentle, his affirming tone didn’t soften the unease that was curling in your chest, such was the case each time someone else tried to mention what you had been through. With that whole year on the run came that self-preservative reflex to pretend that nothing had ever happened – it made it more bearable. Your fingers dug into the table, searching for stability, as he moved closer to you. He had grown sick of the distance that kept you apart.

“You deserve more than fear. More than the scars others have left on you.” He moved with a grace that was both bewitching and imposing, each step as smooth as a wild cat stalking someone out of curiosity rather than aggression. The more he approached, the more his presence filled the room, but there was no threat in it – only a careful, calculated patience.

“Don’t say such things,” Your breath hitched when he faced you, “You don’t even know me.”

His proximity, while authoritative, was irresistibly reassuring.

“I know enough,” He replied with a mix of firmness and tenderness, “Enough to know that you’ve endured things no one should have. Things that are hard to heal…”

“You don’t understand.” You cut him off a bit more abruptly than you had wished, but unspoken truths felt like nails scratching against your bones, “What I’ve been through… It’s not something you can fix.” The raw vulnerability in your voice made his chest tighten, his defenses crumbling in an instant. Your agony wasn’t loud or defiant – it was quiet, fractured, unyielding. It seeped into him, who felt revolted by the fact this damn world had tortured you cruelly. Not something you can fix. At that instant, Aleksander didn’t want to be a general or a saint, just a man desperate to shoulder even a fraction of your suffering.

As your woeful words hung in the air, Kirigan’s hand moved slowly, as if wary to startle you. A tremor of surprise crossed through your being when his fingers brushed the back of your hand lightly, a feather’s touch that carried unconditional care. He didn’t do more though, allowing you the space to pull away from his touch if you wanted while hoping you wouldn’t.

“Then show me,” He said quietly.

Your gaze snapped back to him, surprised and confused, “I’m sorry?”

“Let me in,” His fingers gently came to intertwine with yours, and you instinctively accepted it. The fire that spread through you at the skin to skin contact melted all the ice that protected your heart, its flames licking your insecurities and its warmth offering you the haven you had always yearned for, “Let me carry some of the weight you bear alone.” His pitch-black iris darted to you, pleading.

“I…” You began, feeling yourself faltering. Your mind screamed to retreat but something in Aleksander’s presence and touch drew you in. “I was a slave in a brothel.” You finally began to speak, the words that left your plump lips spilling out like broken glass, “The place’s called the Menagerie because we are just animals for them. As for the woman who runs it, she is the most wicked creature you can imagine – far more wicked than any tales they make about the Black Heretic or other cursed creatures.”

He clenched his jaw at the mention of the Black Heretic but didn't pay attention to it more than necessary. The violence of your account had hit him too violently, like a punch in the guts, for him to focus on such triviality. Obviously, Aleksander had been trying to imagine what had turned you into what you were now since you’d met, but never had he thought about that twisted possibility of you being sold like a whore. The fire of anger burnt in the back of his melanotic eyes.

“I was a fucking kid.” You swallowed, with your fleshy lower lip trembling and the angel-like traits of your face distorting with hatred, “A kid who happened to grow into a beast Tante Heleen kept chained and drugged when it fought too much during rapes.” You rolled your eyes and let out a sad, caustic laugh that sounded more like a sigh than anything else, “A beautiful, dangerous, and desirable White Tiger.” You imitated Tante Heleen’s sickly sweet voice, “Tss..” Finally, you looked at Kirigan again, whose grip had tightened around your hand, “Do you still think one can heal after that, General?”

When you finished, silence hung heavy between you. Despite the destructive rage that stormed within him, Aleksander had listened without interrupting, but his shadows had curled protectively around your feet.

“You are not her possession anymore.” The general’s unreadable expression wavered in that instant, as if the very fabric of his being had been torn. It had been a while since he had felt such repulsion and fury, even after witnessing the unfair treatment of Grisha for centuries — as sad as it sounded, he had grown used to it. But your story had awakened that old feeling of injustice that had driven him to protect his kin. His features, usually etched in perfect control, betrayed the brutal impact your words had on him. It was a flicker, a crack in the walls he had so carefully constructed, and for a heartbeat, his cold control slipped. “You never were her possession.” He gritted his teeth, a muscle twitching beneath the skin of his neck.

To your greatest surprise, his eyes held no disgust. What was plaguing him was pain, and that pain was deep, jagged. More than anything, it was the realization of how fragile your innocence had been, how the world had stolen it from you long before he ever had the chance to protect you.

“It’s not what my indenture says.” You replied, drained.

His shock wore off at the information you gave him, “I see.” Kirigan simply commented, overcoming this brief moment of weakness and retrieving his usual control. The gears of his mind were already working to scheme something.

Then his hand rose, hesitating for a very short while before it cupped your face. Surprised by his unexpectedly tender touch, you blinked while observing him. “You’re not alone anymore, Heaven.” His thumb grazed your cheek so softly that your body relaxed at the enamored press of his skin against your frozen flesh.

“General?” You asked in a whisper, every attempt at saying more caught in your throat when he leaned over to bring his face closer. So close your noses almost touched and that the faint, intoxicating brush of his breath melted with your own. Kirigan’s lips parted as if he might speak, but no words came. Instead, his onyx eyes fell to your full lips, lingering there for a moment too long – he felt his restraint, his self-control, taunt like a bowstring ready to snap. With his hand still on your cheek, his thumb drew an achingly slow line down your jaw.

“I will handle it.”

“What will you handle?” You leaned more against the warm and wide palm of his hand, gently rubbing your cheeks like a cat asking for more petting. The way your fruity lips grazed against his thumb and laid a little kiss on it crystallized his decision.

“Your indenture. Consider this problem solved.” The world suddenly vanished around you, replaced by a rippling but oh-so-dizzying tension. Despite the firm resolve in his eyes, The Black General’s caresses remained loving as he traced your features. He relished every detail such as your long white lashes, the barely noticeable scar at the right corner of your mouth, or the overwhelming way your breaths seemed to mirror his own, like a quiet echo fading as they mixed with his. Damn her, he thought: the urge to close the distance between your mouths was maddening and threatened to annihilate his self-control with every heartbeat.

He was craving you, craving your touch, craving your mouth...

But clarity struck him like a blade.

The tall darkness stepped back abruptly, breaking the spell you had cast on him. The separation had been so painful he felt the ache physically, “You should go back to your room now.” He urged in a clear order. And just like that, both the conversation and the intoxicating bliss of the moment came to an end. Kirigan instructed you to leave with a little movement of the hand then disappeared into his private quarters before taking the risk of losing himself entirely.

Before he breaks that little, single thread that still kept him from making you his, right here right now on the table, until your legs shake and all the Palace hears you chanting his name.

☾ Please consider interacting if you want the story to continue. It is what motivates writers to write the next chapters.

☾ Taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune @meadows5 @kasagia @watersquirtpewpewboomm @the-sweet-psycho @sarahsobsession @elizabethblood9

#aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone #general kirigan #the darkling x reader #the darkling #the darkling x you #Aleksander Morozova x Oc #aleksander morozova x y/n #aleksander kirigan #darkling x reader #darkling x you #general kirigan x reader #Darkling smut #Darkling x OC #Shadow and bone oc #ben barnes #Heaven Lavey

107 notes · View notes