#grisha x reader

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Beauty and the Beast (part 5)

A/n: Watched a foreign film about another take on BatB and thought about this fic the whole time so. Im back by unholy inspiration lets go

Word Count: 5,000+

MASTERLIST

The Exchange

The first thought that came to him, despite all the ones that should have, was disbelief. Awe even. Volcra didn't talk, and they weren't intelligent. They were beasts; mindless killing machines. They weren't even animals, they were living nightmares. All they wanted was to kill. Not to eat, not for enjoyment - just because that's what their purpose was. They were tools to divide one side of the country from the other. They were a warning: Don't play with the things you do not understand. They made the shadow summoner that made it a heretic. They made every person nearby twisted, destroyed by real magic. By darkness that expanded and ripped the land in  half.

This volcra was nothing like that. 

It was a shadow summoner. How was a volcra a shadow summoner?

How was one talking to him? Why wasn't it trying to kill him?

This was impossible.

A horrible feeling curled through Y/n's chest as something horrifying settled into him. Had his scrolls been as lie? A dramatization? Surely most volcra were one way, but were there an entire breed of the creatures that were more human than monster? There were so many possibilities. So many questions. All of it leading down a very dangerous path.

Silence stretched a little too long, and the volcra seemed to tilt its head. It seemed it had expected panic or screaming. Maybe for Y/n to take off running, or melt in place without a shred of hope. It did not expect this mere mortal, grisha or not, to stand in place and gawk - wonder coloring his eyes.

The volcra seemed to consider that. "Your curiosity is stronger than your fear." As its mouth moved, a shiver ran down Y/n's spine. It was so human, a movement set into a face so alien that it almost looked like art. A cartoon, but in jarringly realistic style.

"You're a volcra," Y/n whispered. Perhaps it was shock or denial that had his mind seeking answers instead of any other rational action of self preservation. He was exposed like this. He would have been easy to kill any other way... suppose it was that which kept him in place. Why run? Why scream? Why beg? That was pointless. Perhaps he could ask some things before it killed him. He wouldn't be able to share it with anyone outside of this place but... he would know. At the very least. And suddenly he very much had to know. "I've heard stories of volcra. Are all of you so-" He fought for a word to describe the creature in front of him. 

"Intelligent?" The volcra offered, and Y/n dared to smile. It made the creature of darkness and nightmare glare, eyes narrowed and lips pulled back. The creature seemed halfway between a bat and a man, and the features weren't quite right for human expressions, but it had been a volcra for a long time, hadn't it? It had learned how to communicate just fine. He motioned to Y/n's father, who Y/n was ashamed to realize he had completely forgotten in this moment. "Do you want to free him?"

This seemed to be going wrong. Like when someone scripts an interaction in their head and banks on it, only for the actual thing to go completely differently. Or perhaps it was that after so many hundreds of years, this creature had come to expect a specific exchange. Y/n's reaction was not one he had expected, or had come used to seeing in the least. That filled Y/n with a little bit of pride.

He focused on the older man still on the ground, frozen in terror as his eyes locked on the volcra. There was nothing but horror in his eyes. Like he was already seeing the thing that came after death taking him away forever. This man couldn't last in conditions like this for much longer. How long had he been here already? Oh god. "Yes," Y/n replied, his voice breaking for his father. He looked back to the volcra, desperate. "Do you have mercy?"

That seemed to make the volcra even angrier. "Not for humans."

Y/n's eyes widened. "He's not a human! He's a durast."

The volcra scoffed. "He has not displayed any signs of being a grisha. This is not a place for humans, it is a place for-"

Y/n's feet spread apart as he took a sturdier stance, his hands moving through the air to call upon his small science. His fingers laced together and brushed past each other several times, shapes being made and then unmade just as quickly. His father, on the ground, seemed to immediately improve. Color came back into his face and all the little scrapes and wounds on him closed and healed, as if they'd never been there. There was some kind of mark on one of his hands - an infection - that faded and healed. There was a slight redness about his face, maybe a fever or from crying, that went away. His breathing evened, even his anxiety resting as his heart was healed and his body began to hurt less. The relief was, for a moment, even greater than the fear.

Looking up at the volcra, Y/n's shoulders squared. "I am a healer. I am a grisha. This is my father, and he is a durast. My mother was a tailor."

For a second, the volcra paused, eyeing Y/n. It was impossible to tell exactly what he was thinking, but it didn’t seem to matter. His voice had not changed when he spoke again. “You being a grisha is not proof that he is," The volcra simplified. "And you saying he is isn’t proof either. Why won't he do it himself?"

It was immediately obvious this volcra hated humans more than he loved grisha, which he seemed to. Which made no sense, as a grisha had created him. Right? Hm. "My mother got caught in a machine he made and it killed her. He swore off his abilities ever since, and has been on the run from those who would persecute him." 

The volcra nodded, satisfied with this answer. "He won't be persecuted here."

Y/n pursed his lips, looking down at his father. The man's eyes were wide at the conversation happening in front of him. Stunned by Y/n's willing showing of power. No. He didn't hate Y/n, but he did fear the grisha power. He would never open himself up to his abilities again. Like Alina, his father was lost in fear and self rejection. He could have never even accessed it if he tried. This power was not possible if you did not accept it as part of yourself. "I cannot prove that he's a grisha," Y/n sighed. He looked back toward the volcra. "But I will vouch for him. Let him free, and I will take his place."

"No!" His father screamed.

For a moment, the volcra seemed stunned. "You would stay here in his place?"

Y/n nodded without hesitation. "I am younger, more flexible. I can handle these intense conditions, both mentally and physically. I can heal myself. You can keep me as a healer. Even if he was a durast, he's useless to you. There's no industry here, just ruins. But a healer? That's useful no matter who you are or why."

"No," this time his father begged. He reached through the bar, taking Y/n's hand. Y/n turned to the older man who looked at him with the most unhinged desperation. "Please don't do that Y/n. Not for me. Not ever. Please don't make me leave my child in this place. I beg of you."

This would take a different approach.

As if crumbling finally under the pressure of the moment, Y/n fell to his knees. It was easy to summon the heartbreak. The fear of losing his father. The hopelessness of never seeing him again. "You expect me to do it instead? To leave you?"

"I'm an old man, I've lived a long life. And I won't live much longer. You have your whole life ahead of you. You still have so much to experience. A father should never live past his own children." He squeezed his son's hands. "Please understand."

Y/n nodded, internally mourning his poor father. Not because he would lose him, but because god forbid this man ever understand how truly lost his son was. It would break him. Y/n would never marry, and that freed him more than it terrified him. If he left this palace now he would go back to the village, bound by duty, and he would stay there forever. Maybe it wouldn't have been too late to marry Makya... No. That life was not for him. He had felt more alive in the moments with the volcra now behind him than he had in his entire life combined. Even if this was the last time he saw another living face. Even if the volcra left him in the cell to rot after Y/n's father was gone. Even then, this actual cage would be better than the one he was currently in. 

Turning to the volcra, Y/n looked for that mercy he had searched for before, but for him this time. Not his father. "May I say goodbye to him? Hug him, one last time?"

Something unreadable played in the volcra's gaze, but he nodded. "Once it is closed again, it will not open a second time." As if by magic the door popped open and Y/n pulled it out of the way, moving into the cell before his father could get out, and held him desperately. The hug was tight and full and both of them shook with the weight of the knowledge they'd never see each other again after this. His father kept thanking him, kept telling him he was loved and that every one of his last days he would hold onto his most beloved son.

Y/n smiled. "I know." And then he pushed his father outside of the cell, the older man stumbling - too slow to stop as Y/n slammed the cell shut. He closed his eyes, hanging his head. "I came with another man, Philip. He'll be upstairs, hiding from you or perhaps looking for me if I lost him. Make sure he gets home with my father. He'll need help with the farm."

The old man panicked. "NO!" As the word tore through him as he reached for his son. But it was too late. Darkness wrapped around him and he was torn from the room. The volcra didn't even move as Y/n's father was swallowed and dragged down the hall and away from the cells. Y/n turned sharply as he heard his father's screams fade and then return, this time from a window that opened above him to the outside of the castle. Y/n watched in silence as his father and Phillip, now both bound together in darkness, were sent even further from the castle and out toward the opening of the Fold itself.

Y/n prayed they would quiet before they got out. That they'd realized if they came in they'd be killed immediately and it wouldn't save Y/n anyway. He prayed that they weren't found coming from the Fold, and that they'd get away before anyone had the chance to recognize his father. He hoped Alina forgave him for never returning. He hoped...

And then suddenly he stopped hoping. He had hoped for all the things that were possible, and now all he had were the things that would never happen. He'd never be free again, he'd never see the sun again. He'd never see his father or his friends again. he would never travel again. He would never even see the rest of the castle - he was stuck here forever. In this cell, where he would die.

This time when he fell to his knees he stayed there, head low and arms limp at his sides even as he yearned to hold himself. "I should have told him the truth." And he knew that was a lie but it tore through him anyway. "I didn't get a proper goodbye." A sob tore through him as the shock wore off and the wonder faded and all he was left with was a dull, throbbing hopelessness that shattered him completely. From his periphery he saw the volcra fade into darkness and disappear.

Now he was truly alone. He had never been so alone before. It was horrible, he decided. He lay on his side in the dirty cell and closed his eyes, the tears falling silently as his body shook. This was all he had now... he didn't realize how much he'd been blessed with until it was gone. But I suppose that's how it always goes, doesn't it?

-

Time passed. He wasn't sure how long. Then he noticed movement from the corner of his eyes and looked up, surprised. He was still a bit numb. The single blue fire was not as powerful as it might have been in this room where the only feeling he was allowed was despair. He had leaned against the wall, knees curled up to his chest, arms on top and chin resting on arms as he stared at the fire move back and forth. Perhaps that was why he spotted the deeper darkness.

The volcra had returned.

"You..." It stopped, and Y/n looked up with knitted eyebrows, confused. It seemed to be trying to be... cordial? "I assume you do not like it in here."

What a stupid question. "Why would I like it in here?"

The volcra bristled. Y/n probably shouldn't be trying to piss the thing off but he was too lost of hope to care what happened to him now. "Well - that's why I'm here. To offer you a proper room. If you want."

Y/n narrowed his eyes. "Am I not a prisoner? And therefore belong in the dungeon?"

The volcra nodded. "This has always been a place that is safe for grisha. I... have not had guests in a very long time." He paused. "Do you want the room or not? Choose  your own place here, and if you choose this room I will not return."

For a second, he almost said something snarky. However, whatever the reason why, he was being offered a boon. So he stood carefully, his body aching and sore. "I don't want to be in here anymore."

"Right. Follow me then." It turned and raised a hand before it began moving down the hall. The cell door swung again, and Y/n hesitated before following. It was so normal. So human. So weirdly nonviolent. 

"I probably shouldn't push my luck," Y/n began without meaning to start at all. "But... you seem not quite as monstrous as the stories would suggest."

A hum from the creature leading ahead of him. It was hard to decipher without facial expression or body language, but Y/n thought it might have been something bitter. "They've always seen grisha as monsters." When he stopped there Y/n thought he was done, but then he spoke again after a minute. "The magic rebounded when it was cast. Volcra were born of people. Non-grisha, nearby. But there are things here that were grisha. Because of what happened, grisha got punished more harshly."

Y/n started, eyes widening. "More harshly than being a mindless killer?"

All The volcra did was nod. "When you're told you're a monster your whole life and then you actually become one that is a different story. Especially when the people who called you monsters actually are one now, and you're indiscriminately associated with them. I look like them, so I am one of them, and their acts are mine. It's not even human versus grisha anymore. It's everyone versus volcra." He swallowed. "And grisha are still the most hated. Not only can we not help them, they are being rid of one by one. If not eradicated completely, too scared to be who they are. Like your father."

A horrible feeling settled into Y/n's gut. "Small science is so connected to one's being. If you were truly afraid of your power, or hated it-"

"You could not use it." The volcra turned to look at Y/n, a darkness there even deeper than just the color. Something haunted was in his gaze. "There is no difference between non-grisha and those who could be grisha but choose not to be. They all hurt grisha kind equally."

Y/n's gaze went a little blurry. "That's why you didn't kill my father, but still had no mercy for him."

"Yes." He turned back, but did not keep walking, instead motioning to a door in front of him. "This is your room." He opened it, turning the knob with clawed hands that were so large and so sharp that it made Y/n's breath catch in his throat. "You will stay here. Do not leave the castle itself - there are volcra out there and they will not spare even a proud grisha."

Y/n almost went into the room in silence. But then he turned in the doorway, looking up at the volcra. "You're from when the Fold was formed, then." The volcra only nodded. "But you're a shadow summoner."

There was a long pause. "Yes, I knew the Black Heretic."

Immediately Y/n's eyes widened. "What was he like?"

The volcra looked down at Y/n with narrowed eyes. "As mad as they say he is."

Ah. That made sense at least. Of course grisha hated him, and of course non-grisha hated him too. Of course the very first victims of the Fold would hate him above all. "Right." He turned, going further into the room, and the door snapped shut. Not slammed, not aggressive, but that was even worse. There was a finality to that door being closed. Like it would never open again.

Y/n took in the room in front of him. It was simple in decoration, but the architecture was beautiful. There was a window that stretched into eternal darkness that Y/n thought had once shown a gorgeous view. Now there was only the glass between Y/n and the things out there that would kill him in a heartbeat.

The room was light by the blue light, more than anywhere else in the palace had been thus far. There was a four poster bed, and a desk to write upon, a nightstand by the bed. There was also a chest to hold clothes that Y/n opened, surprised to see clothes in it. They weren't covered in dust. That didn't surprise Y/n much. What dust would have entered the Fold where not even light went? Where only air was brave enough to exist.

There was also a small bookshelf that reached Y/n's hip. He reached to them, his broken heart forgotten for a moment at the prospect of new books. Ancient books that may hold secrets of the past. That most certainly would hold secrets of the past, actually. Y/n opened one and realized it was in old Ravkan. He wasn't fluent, but... It seemed to be a storybook. A tale of real magic - not just small science. As he looked through the shelf, most of the books seemed to be on those subjects. The second shelf underneath was full of notebooks. Designs, which were easier to navigate than words. There were some notes. It seemed to be notes from a durast. The bottom shelf was full of stories of grisha. Some of them were familiar - stories of darkness and ruin. Of madness and danger and warning. The grisha had gone insane with power and consumed a village in fire or stolen a young girl or something along those lines.

Most of the stories though were regular tales of different kinds of grisha, though. Y/n soon realized that every single book was dedicated to a different kind of grisha. A sailing story about tidemakers. A story of people with mechanical wings who were squallers. A survival story in the cold with inferni. A race to the finish with daring escapades done by a healer. A battle to protect the innocent starring heartrenders. A world of royalty and drama featuring a poor boy who was helped by a tailor to escape his abusive family. A world of the future, powered by industry, with a bunch of durasts fighting for the heart of power that drove the city. One story of an alkemi who created life one fateful night. A sun summoner who brings the dawn every morning, and lets the moon have the sky every night. A shadow summoner who protects those who run and hide from dangerous things and seek to find refuge and safety.

Y/n was entranced. he had never seen stories where people like him got to be the good guys - even if they weren't the main characters. It was stunning.

"Those used to be from a man I liked."

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Y/n swiveled around and looked for a source of the voice. No one else was in the room. He sunk into the wall a little bit, eyes wide with worry. "Oh no. I'm already going insane."

A chuckle caught him off guard. It seemed to be coming from the wardrobe he hadn't paid much mind to when he'd come into the room initially. Was there someone inside?

"I knew that it would be difficult to introduce you to the concept of sentient objects so I thought it best to rip the bandaid off and start from there." Y/n's jaw dropped as at the top of the wardrobe, where two designs whirled, moved as if blinking, the two sides of the oval coming together and then moving apart. Between them, further down, just above the two doors that would have opened to reveal clothes, was a small arch that rose from the top of the opening. When the wardrobe spoke, that little opening moved like a mouth.

"How-" He couldn't form a thought enough to ask a proper question. There were too many, too suddenly; he was immediately overwhelmed.

The wardrobe chuckled and Y/n took some quick steps to move closer, inspecting it from a better angle. "I believe the Darkling mentioned that non-grisha were turned into volcra, and grisha did not?"

Y/n sputtered for a few seconds. "But! He's a volcra!" It had clicked that this darkling must have been the volcra who had lead him here, and the wardrobe didn't argue. "I thought all of you would be like him."

The wardrobe hummed in understanding. "Yes I thought I would put an ending to that as soon as possible. My name is Genya, and I am one of many grisha whose consciousness was put into an inanimate object. And here I've been since the Fold was created."

Y/n blinked a few times. "How is it that a magic born of darkness made something... cartoonish happen?"

Genya smiled warmly. She seemed amused by this whole ordeal. “It does not matter who cast it - it was magic. Chaos, corrupting. It changed things; as an attack on humans, but as a protection in grisha. So here I am, not a monster, but not a human either. I cannot be harmed… so I suppose the magic did its trick.”

“I suppose.” He sounded half horrified, half curious. That seemed to amuse her too. He suddenly snapped out of it though. “Didn’t you say you were grisha?” She hummed in confirmation. “Which one? Please, I beg of you.”

Genya considered him a moment, and then answered him, watching closely. “A tailor.”

Whatever reaction she’d been expecting, she seemed to be surprised by his shining eyes and wide smile. “Amazing,” he breathed. His words were too thick with awe to be doubted. He didn’t pause to think about it - he had more questions. “May I meet more grisha? I have so many questions - I’m desperate to know everything. Perhaps you can tell me about them? Or perhaps just yourself, and I can pester them another time. Since…” suddenly his light died. “Since I’ll be here now.”

It was hard to read Genya’s subtle expressions on the strange face but she seemed to grow sad, maybe piteous. “I can give you a rundown, and then you might have some starting idea as you slowly meet everyone.”

Y/n hummed mindlessly, suddenly distracted. “Yes, tell me.” He needed a distraction. Genya seemed to see that and indulged him, even if all she might accomplish is to give him an alternative thing to focus on.

-

The knock came quite some time after Genya finished, which is how Y/n knew he had been in this room for quite some time. He didn’t feel tired yet so he slipped out of bed and opened the door, part of him expecting the Darkling.

When he saw no one act first, he once again wondered distantly if he was going insane. Then he heard a voice. “Uh, down here.” His eyes fell to the floor at his feet, and there was a candelabra and a clock. Like Genya, their builds and designs made humanoid shapes and even little faces that allowed them to emote. The one who had spoken, the candelabra, waved with a soft smile. He flipped back through the names and descriptions he’d gotten from Genya.

“You’re Fedyor, aren’t you?”

The candelabra grinned. “Ah you’ve been briefed.” He spoke gentle and smoothly; it was incredibly soothing.

“Partly,” Y/n offered. “I asked Genya and she was kind enough to give me the beginners guide.” He tried to mimic the soothing nature and simply fell short. His eyes flickered to the clock. “So that makes you Ivan, then?” The clock simply nodded, and Y/n returned the gesture. These two worked directly with the Darkling. “Why… are you here?” Had he decided to change his mind? Were they here to escort Y/n to his death?

“Dinner,” Fedyor answered. “We’d like to encourage you to take more freedom around the castle, perhaps give you a tour. After dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Y/n shifted awkwardly. He honestly didn’t feel hungry at all… probably a bad sign. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

Only then did Ivan speak. “Be our guest. We want you to be comfortable here. We don’t often get guests, it’s an honor to have you. Especially someone so proud of your abilities. Seeing a proper grisha again, it’s special to us.”

Y/n was honestly touched. The man spoke in a flatter voice than Fedyor, but had its own smoothness and calmness. Like he was firm, dependable. Like you could fail and it would be okay because he had your back.

“Okay. Lead the way.”

Ivan and Fedyor brought Y/n through the castle and into a large dining room with a long table full of food. They stayed nearby when Y/n sat down and began eating, keeping him company. At first. Their casual back and forth came to a grinding halt when Y/n looked up and the Darkling was at the other end of the table, watching Y/n eat.

The man paused, swallowing his bite. “It’s rude to sneak up on someone. You could have announced your entry at least.”

The Darkling raised an eyebrow. “I do not answer to you.”

“I didn’t give you an order, I made observations.” Then he caught himself, looking down at the table. “My apologies. I have always… had problems keeping my temper.” As much as he was losing his need to hide, he had not yet lost his will to survive entirely.

The Darkling seemed to mind less than Y/n thought he would though. “Don’t apologize. All grisha should have as much bite as you; it’s admirable to see. Encouraging.”

When he continued simply watching Y/n eat, the man paused. “Are you not going to eat yourself?”

“Not in front of you,” the Darkling answered. Y/n hesitated, but then nodded. The Darkling leaned forward. “You had questions about grisha. I can answer them, if you’d like me to.”

At first Y/n was hesitant. It was still scary to speak about all of this openly, and he was very unsure about all these people and their exact intentions and character. But he was getting answers, and for the moment it distracted him just enough to really launch into his most thorough attempts at getting answers.

He wanted to know everything, and the Darkling was more than happy to fulfill that desire with every bit he knew.

Be the time dinner ended, Y/n was buzzing with information. He asked for an empty notebook he might be able to write this all down in, and was provided with one. He left dinner and raced his room without even thinking, and thought for just a moment he caught the Darkling smiling out of the corner of his eye.

Impossible of course.

Volcra didn’t smile.

It did convince him that this place might not be so bad after all, though. He would never see his family again and his dreams were crushed… but he was free, in a way. He was a grisha here, not a farmer’s son. Not a weirdo. Not a nuisance or good for looks and nothing else. He mattered here; he was part of something.

Even if his friends were household objects, he enjoyed them. The duster named Zoya, and the piano, David. The oven, Fruszi, and even the kettle. Baghra kept glaring at him, but even she seemed to respect him for his control over his abilities despite being self taught.

Maybe there was hope for a life here yet.

-

Male readers: @sortzz @gardening-guy-round-2

Story: @cleverzonkwombatsludge

[lupinsversion]

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐤𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 - 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

• summary: aleksander notices that something different is going on with reader, and his suspicions raise. how will he react when those suspicions are confirmed?

• contains: aleksander morozova x fem reader, mention of pregnancy/symptoms, mention of sickness/throwing up, fluff

• word count: 1.1k

masterlist || requests

Aleksander had started noticing subtle changes in his partner. She was constantly tired, nauseous in the mornings, and had a strange aversion to certain smells. His mind started putting the pieces together, and suspicions began to form. Although he didn't have any concrete evidence yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that she might be pregnant.

He would observe her closely, noting her increasing fatigue and the new patterns in her behavior. Each observation further fed his suspicions, strengthening his belief that she was indeed carrying his child.

Days passed, and he could hardly concentrate on anything else but the thought of her being pregnant. He observed her more closely, noting her mood swings, her growing appetite, and the small changes in her body. The possibility of fatherhood was both exhilarating and terrifying, and the thought consumed his mind.

One day, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands on her stomach. She was deep in thought, her expression a mixture of fear and wonder. The sight of her, lost in her own thoughts, struck a chord within him. He walked over to her, his heart beating a little faster.

"Are you okay?" He asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He sat down beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

She stared off into nothing, and when she started to speak, her voice was quiet and hesitant. “First, my breasts started to hurt. Which was strange, I’ve never felt anything like it before…”

“And then, I couldn’t even stand the smell of my favorite soup. My favorite soup, Aleksander.” She exasperated as if it were a crime.

He nodded, his mind racing. The changes she mentioned were classic signs of pregnancy. The nausea, the aversions to once-favorite foods, even the tenderness in her breasts. It all pointed in one direction.

“I’ve been throwing up the past two days…” She continued once she knew he wasn’t going to speak. “It wasn’t much, but it was still awful. I went to the healers, which was probably foolish because what could they have done for me?”

His stomach churned at the mention of her vomiting. The healers at the Little Palace were knowledgeable, but it was true that without knowing the cause, they could only offer general advice or remedies. "Why didn't you come to me first?" He asked, his voice a mixture of concern and irritation.

Her brows furrowed together, as she shook her head slightly. “What were you meant to do? Massage my breasts? Make my soup smell better? Hold my hair?” She rambled.

He couldn't help but chuckle at her sarcastic comments, the sound of his laughter breaking the tension that had settled over them. "Those are all important tasks, you know," he teased, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

She couldn’t help but playfully roll her eyes. “They may have been nice gestures, yes. But that wouldn’t help me out much, would it?”

"Oh, I don't know," he replied, his smile turning more suggestive. "My hands are very skilled, and I have been known to be quite calming."

She nudged her shoulder into his, a small bit of laughter coming from her as she felt the tension between them lift. This reminded her of why she loved him, how he always made her feel better.

He relished the sound of her laughter, the way her smile lit up her face. He loved the way she responded to his teasing, the way she always softened his hard edges. Leaning into her, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

She looked up at him through her lashes as she whispered the words that would change everything. “I’m pregnant, Aleksander.”

The moment the words left her lips, time seemed to freeze. His breath caught in his chest, his eyes widening in disbelief. He had suspected it, but hearing her say it out loud, confirming his suspicions, was a shock he hadn't fully prepared for. Thousands of emotions swirled within him, each one fighting for dominance. Shock, joy, fear, and uncertainty all vied for attention, leaving him speechless.

His thoughts raced as he tried to process her revelation. A child. A life, one they had created together, was growing inside of her. It was a prospect both thrilling and terrifying. He took a moment to regain his composure, his arm still around her shoulders, his hand gently stroking her hair.

"Are you sure?" He finally managed to ask, his voice rough with the weight of her confession. He needed to know for certain, needed to hear her confirm it again.

“I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t certain.”

His heart hammered in his chest at her words, the confirmation settling heavily in his mind. A thousand thoughts and fears flooded through him, but he fought to keep his emotions in check. He exhaled slowly, his eyes studying her face, searching for any sign of uncertainty.

She knew why he was looking at her as if he were studying her very soul. “I’m certain.” She repeated.

His eyes locked onto hers, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. He believed her, trusted her completely. If she said she was certain, he had no reason to doubt her. The realization that she was carrying his child, their child, settled within him, a mix of awe and trepidation. His hand moved to gently rest upon her stomach, his palm flat against her abdomen.

"A child," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Our child."

The words slipped from his lips like a reverent prayer, filled with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. He had never imagined himself as a father, never thought he would want to become one. And yet, now that the possibility was before him, he felt an unexpected tenderness in his heart.

“Our child.” She repeated, her hand covering his, a small smile tugging her lips upwards.

The touch of her hand on his, the sight of her smile, sent a new wave of emotions coursing through him. He had never allowed himself to dream of a family, always believing his path was one of solitude. But here she was, carrying their child, and the possibility of a future he had never dared to imagine seemed within reach.

He gently intertwined his fingers with hers, a silent acknowledgement of what was now undeniably real.

As they sat together on the edge of the bed, their hands intertwined and their minds wrapped around the news of her pregnancy, a mixture of emotions coursed through Aleksander. Excitement, anticipation, fear, wonder - it was all there, swirling around in this moment they shared. He looked down at their hands, his fingers gently tracing the back of hers.

"Our child," he repeated once more, the words tasting sweet on his tongue. He smiled then, a genuine smile of happiness. "We're going to be parents."

© lupinsversion 2024

[narcissisticmf]

jumped | kaz brekker x fem!reader

description: y/n is out one night getting supplies for the black veil and on her way back, she gets mugged. when she returns to the tomb, everyone is concerned.

trigger warnings: graphic violence, assault, descriptions of minor injuries, blood, angst, seductive behavior, etc. read at your own risk.

word count: 2.6k

Rain tapped against the cobblestones as you made your way back to the gondel. Its rope was tied to the docks, securing its place. A cloak was draped over your shoulders as the hood was pulled over your head, concealing your face from potential threats.

In your grasp, you carried a large paper bag that was filled with canned goods and other essentials the tomb was lacking. Each week, you rotated with the other Crows who would go out and retrieve supplies. You didn't mind going out, but it was dangerous to do so under the circumstances.

As you placed the filled bag gently into the gondel, you stood up straight and reached for the rope that was tied to the dock. Your hand froze as you heard several heavy footsteps coming from behind you.

You swore under your breath and reached inside your cloak to the bow and arrows that were concealed perfectly. You made haste with pulling your weapons out. You drew an arrow into your bow and pulled back with precision as you turned your whole body in the sound of the direction of the footsteps.

The rain continued to fall and the subtle haze that formed across the docks blurred your vision. The sun was already setting and the torches that lit the town were burning out from the rapid fall of rain.

Your lips parted just slightly as you controlled your breath. Your eyes flickered to the left as you heard the footsteps approach closer. Your heartbeat was steady, unafraid and unyielding.

A dark shadow was casted in front of you on the docks. You couldn't make out the face, but you had a gut feeling that whomever the person had been was not approaching for casual conversation.

As a way of warning, you released your grip onto the bow and shot an arrow clean past the person's right ear. To your dismay, they did not slow down nor turn around. You released a soft grunt of frustration and drew back another arrow.

"Whomever you are, leave now," You spoke with pure authority, not once did your voice waver. They continued stepping forward and reached into their jacket to pull out a freshly sharpened knife. Your eyes glanced at the weapon. You swallowed thickly and aimed your arrow, not at them, but at their hand which held a tight grip on the knife. "Leave now," You spoke through gritted teeth. "I promise I won't miss this time.. if you choose not to walk away."

Your threats didn't seem to make much of a difference to the body before you. You lifted your gaze to their dark hooded eyes. The haze from the rain didn't make it easy to tell who they were, but it didn't seem to matter in the moment.

Swiftly, the person before you charged forth with the knife gripped tightly in their hand. You dodged the strike by bending forward and getting behind them. You held your arrow out and shot at their leg. It struck them in the calf as you smirked at the grunt that left their lips. It sounded like a man, but you weren't too sure.

They reached down their left and ripped the arrow from their fresh, bloody wound. Snapping the arrow in half, they stood and rushed towards you again, pinning you to the slick, wet ground. Shocked by the sudden drop, you breathed quickly for a few moments before reaching up with a free hand to punch them square in the nose. They staggered off of you and held their gushing, bloody nose.

You quickly went for the gondel as they were distracted, and hopefully a little delirious. You untied the ropes and hopped into the boat, ready to make your way back to the tomb. You let out a harsh, guttural scream as a wave of sharp pain filled your right shoulder. You looked back to see the person standing there with empty hands. You lowered your gaze to the knife that was lodged into your shoulder, deep and painful.

You winced and made a horrible attempt at rowing with your non-dominant arm. Blood was seeping from your shoulder and soaking your cloak. The metallic smell filled your nostrils. Stains of the thick red liquid soaked into the bottom of the boat and on the paper bag that was filled with supplies for the tomb.

.

Grunting in pain, you pulled the gondel up onto the wet ground and tied it with your left hand to a tree nearby the water. You winced as you leaned into the boat to grab the paper bag and stumbled towards the tomb. Your vision blurred with black dots as you walked through the cemetery, the rain still pouring ferociously.

Eventually, you made it to the tomb (you weren't even sure how you managed it, but you did). You carelessly dropped the bag onto the table and grunted. Your breathing was harsh. Wylan, Jesper and Matthias were seated on the couch as you made your way in. You removed your hood off your head and turned to see a trail of blood you left behind stepping inside. The three of them stood up and walked towards you.

"What the hell happened?" Jesper asked, dragging out each word.

"Are you okay?" Matthias asked.

"Sit down, Y/N," Wylan suggested as he pulled a chair out for you.

They didn't seem to have noticed the knife protruding from your shoulder until the moment you sat down. You winced in pain, tightening your jaw.

"Oh shit," Jesper murmured.

"Can one of you three idiots get Nina?!" You hadn't meant to raise your voice, but you were in such pain you weren't in full control over your actions.

"Right!" Wylan left to find Nina somewhere in the tomb.

Eventually, Kaz appeared with a locked jaw and sharp eyes. If he was concerned, he didn't appear to be. He was good at concealing his emotions.

"What happened?" He questioned as he came around the table to look at you directly.

"Well, I went into town to get supplies," You replied and held your arm tightly, starting to see more and more black dots in your vision.

"I got her!" Wylan pronounced as he came back to the room with both Nina and Inej.

"Oh Saints.." Nina whispered and stared at you in the chair with the knife through your shoulder.

"Hello to you too," You gritted as Nina pulled a chair to sit before you. She got to work quickly, but kept careful with every motion she made.

"I'm still waiting for a legitimate answer," Kaz stated with an irritant tone.

"Okay," You exhaled, "I was on my way back to the gondel when someone was coming from behind me." You explained, "I shot a warning at them, but they didn't stop. At one point, they pinned me down so I think I broke their nose and then I made a run for it to get to the boat and as I was making my miserable getaway, they threw the knife at me."

Nina successfully removed the knife and wasted no time in covering it. You hissed when she cleaned the wound with aged whiskey. You sighed after the wound was clothed in the protectant guaze.

"Thanks, Nina," You whispered.

"You lost a lot of blood, you should rest," She pulled her lips into a tight, thin smile.

"From now on, we get supplies in pairs," Kaz announced to no one in particular. "I don't want anything like this to happen again." And then, he was gone.

.

Inside a small room, you attempted to fill a copper tub with boiled water to wash away the dirt and blood that coated your body. Your cloak had nearly been ruined, but Inej reassured you that she would try and patch it up. As you used your uninjured arm to pour the water into the tub, you hissed feeling the strain against your right shoulder.

"Need help?" Kaz entered the room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. His cane was nowhere in sight.

"Uhm, yeah," You whispered. You almost didn't hear yourself speak.

Kaz pushed himself off the wall and helped you pour the water into the copper tub. It took a bit more time to fill the tub than you would've liked. You stared at Kaz's profile as he continued pouring in the water.

"Enjoying the view?" Kaz questioned without breaking into a smile. You didn't respond, instead you merely continued gazing. "I charge twenty kruge for a show, but I can give you a minor discount," He finally met your gaze and swallowed thickly.

"Kaz Brekker making flirtatious jokes? Somebody must write this down," Your lips formed a small grin.

Kaz's lips curved upward into a slight smile. With the others, he was always stoic but around you there were moments when Kaz could relax. His shoulders eased just a bit and his furrowed brows released the tension.

"Are you well?" You asked in the comfortable stillness.

"You just got knifed in the shoulder and you're asking me if I'm well?" Kaz questioned, staring at you intently.

"I believe that was my question, yes," You nodded.

Kaz broke the eye contact and went to pour more water into the tub when it was finished boiling. He didn't entertain your question with a response, instead he continued filling the tub.

"I'm still waiting for a legitimate answer," You stood slightly up on your tiptoes to whisper into his ear the same thing he said to you not too long ago.

"I'm well," He replied with amusement in his gaze as he looked at you.

"Good," You whispered and stepped back away from him for a moment. The tub was nearly full so you started to unbutton your pants. Kaz wasn't looking, but you got the sense that he could see everything from where he stood. He had his jaw clenched, almost as if he were fighting his inner thoughts.

"Can I help?" He didn't look at you when he asked. He could see you struggling due to your injured arm.

Your breath caught in your throat as you blinked and looked up to him. "Sure," You nodded and then added, "Please."

Kaz placed the pot of water back down and walked towards you. You gazed at him as your palms began to produce a thin layer of sweat. He removed his gloves and placed them on the small table beside you. You looked up to his face, but his gaze was locked downward, as his hands moved to the button of your pants. He unclasped it effortlessly and, only then, did he raise his eyes to look into yours.

There was silence for a long while. At least, it felt like a long while.

"Thank you," You whispered.

Kaz didn't respond to your gratitude and inside nodded once with a mere dip of his chin. You weren't sure if it was because of how close the two of you stood, but you could almost hear the rapid thumping of his heart.. or maybe it was your heart.

He stepped back one step and swallowed, "Is that enough water?"

You turned your eyes to the copper tub and nodded mindlessly, completely forgetting about the bath you planned to take.

"Yes," You nodded.

"Okay," Kaz bowed his head once. "Then, I'll be on my way. You'll rest afterwards?"

You nodded softly, not trusting your own voice.

"Good," He turned and headed for the doorway, but you reached out to grasp his wrist. Kaz met your eyes again with a question in them that needed no words.

"Stay," You exhaled. "Stay with me, please." You weren't sure if your voice was shaking or if your body was shaking, but frankly you didn't seem to care in the moment. "I don't want to be alone," You stated once you trusted your voice again.

Kaz looked as though he might've been contemplating and, eventually, he slowly nodded. You sighed contently and began to remove your clothing. It didn't seem to phase either of you, but something in the room was different. You looked up to Kaz when you couldn't quite shimmy out of your top.

He stepped forward and assisted you in removing the top. You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked at Kaz. His gaze was hard, yet soft. He looked as though he could devour you in that very moment, but something had a strong grip on him. His pride, perhaps, you thought.

Kaz helped you out of the rest of you garments and assisted you into the bubbly and soapy tub. The water was warm against your greasy and dirt-covered skin. Kaz pulled a chair out to sit beside the tub, letting his bad leg stretch out. It must've felt relieving to be able to take the weight off it for a while, since he hadn't come in with his cane.

"Thank you," You whispered and leaned your head back against the tub.

He nodded again, gazing at you with both admiration and hunger. You couldn't quite differentiate the two; not that they were all that much different anyway.

You made sure not to get your wrapped arm wet as you reached for a bar of soap to clean your hair with.

"Allow me," Kaz spoke softly as he reached for the soap. You nodded with a small smile and turned so that he could easily wash your hair. His hands were perfectly pale and they felt nice as he massaged your scalp and scrubbed the soap in between the strands.

"Perhaps, if the thug life doesn't suit you forever, you might think of becoming a barber," You smiled as you head was leaned back against the tub.

"I will take it into consideration," Kaz grinned, you could hear it in his voice as your eyes were closed.

Silence stirred in the room. The only sound came from Kaz rinsing your hair after washing it. You sat there for a while, until the water ran cold.

"I'm sorry about what happened," Kaz whispered. "I should've been there."

"What?" You turned to face him, your chest covered by all the bubbles. Kaz looked at you with a nervous and uneasy gaze. "Kaz, there isn't anything you or anyone else could've done."

"I could've helped you," He replied, almost sadly.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" You asked and reached your good arm over to gently grasp his ungloved hand. They were warm and soft. You stared at your hands for a moment and breathed deeply. Kaz must've been feeling the same way because his chest rose and fell rapidly.

"I don't want anything like this to happen again," He repeated his words from earlier, but this time it was in a whisper. Kaz leaned closer to you as you stared at him with a beautiful gaze.

You gently squeezed his hand as his lips found yours. It was a kiss filled with longing and passion, but it was soft. He tasted of smoke and pinewood. You leaned your head back gently a little bit as his other hand cupped your face.

Slowly, you pulled back and felt your cheeks warm with heat. Kaz stared at you lovingly.

"So," You whispered, "are you gonna come join me?" Your eyes were filled with mischief as you gently grazed your fingers across the surface of the water.

Kaz smiled, coyly, in response and shrugged off his coat.

.

a/n: SO i just started reading six of crows, i'm half way through crooked kingdom and i'm in LOVE dude. i need to watch the show when i finish with the book. i hope you guys like this and that was okayish?? i'm kinda proud of it! if you want more six of crows stuff, PLEASE let me know!! ily guys so much!! mwah! <3 — angelina.

[gabbyshere]

Kaz: You were mugged? Why would you keep this from me?

Inej: Because they're injured.

Y/n: I wasn't injured. I was lightly stabbed.

Kaz: I'm sorry, you were stabbed?

Y/n: Lightly stabbed.

[call-sign-shark]

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

Summary: A great healer, a terrifying heartrender, you are both the disease and the cure. With such a reputation, living on the run quickly becomes necessary for survival. When General Kirigan, ruler of the Shadow Fold, sets his eyes on you, he doesn't see just a weapon, but the key to his dark ambitions. And, most importantly, the echo to his shadows.

Words: 2.5k

TW: Mention of prostitution, child SA and murder, reader is physically described.

Part I - Keep Moving, Little Girl

Masterlist || Next

The Little Palace was veiled in an eerie calm, which wasn’t very usual for a place that crowded by both young promising Grishas and renowned, experienced ones. The luxurious wall, bathed in the golden light of dying embers, gave an almost supernatural aesthetic to the place. General Aleksander Kirigan sat at his desk, his fingers steepled and his black eyes fixed on the fragile flicker of a single candle before him. The little flame danced, its body undulating as it struggled to keep the surrounding darkness away from the little bubble of warm light it created. The room was silent, save for the crackle of the hearth a bit further, and yet, despite this silence, the general’s mind was far from quiet.

He had heard the rumors countless times over the past few months – it had started with nothing more than vague accounts of a few people found dead in a mysterious and gruesome way, but the narrative slowly turned into a monstrous witch, her hair as white as frost, leaving death and blood in her wake. At first, he dismissed them. Ravka was rife with tales of rogue Grisha, exaggerated to feed the fears of peasants and nobles alike. A chimera created by children to tell scary stories, or skillfully crafted clichés to create a deep-ingrained fear of Grisha by politics. But the more he ignored them, the more the whispers persisted: they spread like wildfire and grew darker with each retelling. The most recent account had given him a pause though: a Heartrender, they claimed, whose power was unlike anything ever seen. From what has been reported, the creature could control men as if they were marionettes, forcing them to turn on each other in a grotesque display of violence. One so-called survivor claimed that, with only a few movements of her hands, he saw his colleague forced to turn the barrel of his gun to his temples and shoot himself a bullet right through his brain. Aleksander had raised a brow at the statement:

Such abilities should not exist. Not without the cursed used of Jurda Parem.

Aleksander’s jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair. If the rumors were true, this woman was no ordinary Grisha. She was a weapon – an unrefined, dangerous force that needed to be claimed before it destroyed itself or got destroyed. And if she truly possessed the kind of power described, that little white-haired heartrender could be either a great asset to his cause or an uncontrollable threat that needed to be neutralized. Or rather, a problem that needed to be resolved.

The shadows around him stirred, as if sensing his thoughts, their tendrils coiling in anticipation. He, who was often too absorbed by his own plans, surprised himself when he realized that his mind raced through the topic of that wild sorceress, weighing risks and rewards, battling between curiosity and schemes. However, one thing had become certain: he could no longer ignore the whispers. He had to find her. Kirigan rose from his seat, the folds of his pitch black kefta sweeping behind him as he crossed the room with hastened steps. He opened the door to find Ivan, who was waiting just outside, his stoic expression as adamant as ever.

“I need you to gather a small team,” The general said without preamble nor explanation. His voice was long and commanding, but Ivan could sense that he also seemed lost in his thoughts, “We’re leaving at first light.”

The tall Corporalki tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly – the only other expression he had in his palette. “May I ask for what purpose, General?”

“There’s a woman,” Kirigan replied, his tone laced with intrigue but also something darker Ivan couldn’t really pinpoint. “A Heartrender whose power surpasses anything we’ve encountered… At least if the stories told are true.” He paused, his lips curling into a faint and slightly calculating smile, “I must say that these latest accounts intrigued me. If she is what they say she is, she could change everything.”

“And if she’s not?” Ivan asked, his skepticism carefully measured. As much as he trusted General Kirigan, the tall Ravkan man with a stern face couldn’t help doubting. He was a man of facts – not of silly rumors.

Aleksander’s eyes darkened, the flicker of the candlelight reflecting in their dizzying depths. Eyes so black that no one could distinguish the pupil from the iris, “Then we’ll ensure the stories end with us.”  He turned back toward his desk without additional explanations, his mind already plotting the route, the approach, and the questions he would ask her.  Hair white as the purest snow, eyes as frozen as the deadliest ice desert…There was a part of him that wondered if she even existed, if this was nothing more than another ghost tale spun by frightened villagers. But another part – the darker, sicker and more desperate part – felt the faint pull of something undeniable. He wanted her to be real.

He needed her to be real.

In the back of his mind, General Aleksander Kirigan thought he could almost hear her, like a faint hum carried on the wind. The monster they spoke of wasn’t just some distant threat. She was out there waiting, somewhere in the Ravkan snow, all alone and vulnerable – and she didn’t even know she already belonged to him.

Your shrill scream resounded in the bedroom, bathed in the soft and muted light of Ravkan mornings. Confused, your chest heaved as though you had run for miles even though you had just woken up. Your body was damp, covered in a thin layer of sweat, some locks of hair sticking to your temples.

If there was one thing that plagued your dreams, turning them into terrific nightmares, it was that smell.

The Menagerie smelled of desperation, as Tante Heleen liked to call it. Or rather the awful combination of fun fair treats, sweat, and a dash of discreet, but still noticeable, fragrances of blood. It clung to the air just like the cheap perfume the girls were forced to wear, a sickly-sweet mask that tried hard to hide the rot that lay beneath. One full year had passed since you had escaped from this hellish place and yet, the impression this foul smell was still clinging to your skin and hair, no matter how roughly you washed or how scorching-hot the showers you took were, remained. You had known it your entire life, ever since you were left at its gate as a child.  As much as you tried, you couldn’t forget the way your tiny and cold hands tightened their grip around Tante Heleen’s skirt as the woman had dragged you inside, her soft voice cooing false kindness. Like a butcher leading a cattle through the death-smelling corridors of a slaughterhouse.

“You’ll grow into something beautiful,” Heleen had said, glancing at your long white hair while your own eyes surveyed the golden bars at the windows, though you were too young to understand why they were there as well as the malice behind the brothel Madam’s words, “A perfect White Tiger, ma petite chérie.” But the cruel truth was that beauty didn’t save anyone in the Menagerie. It only made you more of a prize to be shown off, sold to the highest bidder and then both used and abused. Beauty was nothing but a poison, a weapon Heleen turned against its bearer in this place made of gilded cages and broken spirits.

By your pre-teens, you had made quite a reputation: despite growing up in this foul nightmare, Tante Heleen never managed to break you entirely. Mastering the art of silence and deadly stares, your unyielding demeanor made you a source of fascination. The bruises on your porcelain skin faded away as quickly as the tears you refused to shed, never succumbing to the horrors clients would make you go through. The same clients who were willing to pay obscene sums not just to touch you but to try and tame you. The men who came for you were often the ones who wanted to conquer that defiance. The ones who wanted to make you scream. Still, you never gave them satisfaction. Worse, they often left more bruised than you because you did fight like a tigress. Even if they ended up overcoming you, your ice-cold eyes would bore into them, frozen and sharp, making even the most depraved feel as though they were the ones who were soiled. No, it wasn’t your beauty alone that drew attention; it was the air around you, heavy with something dangerous.

If being honest with yourself, you had to admit that most of the other girls at the Menagerie didn’t like you. Sometimes, you would catch them whispering about you, sometimes in awe, sometimes in jealousy, but most of the time it was in fear. Why? Because you were eerie. Unsettling, the least. Because you were something else with your pale skin – paler than the Fjerda wolf girl – and long white hair. With the slim hourglass figure and small height, which contrasted far too much with the hatred that burned in your void-like pupils. Besides, you never did much to befriend them: you didn’t weep after being summoned, didn’t cling to anyone for comfort and almost never gave yours to soothe the other poor animals’ pain. The only one you tolerated was the Suli Lynx.  

The unsease the others would feel around you only worsened when they discovered that you were a Heartrender. Frightening abilities that manifested themselves one night in an uncontrollable outburst, leading to someone’s brutal death.

The nightmare you had lingered, its remnants jagged and raw. The menagerie’s cages, the laughters, the sensation of hands that burned like brands – they had all dissolved into the room’s silence. “Memories. They are nothing but memories” you told yourself, yet the weight of your not-so-far-away past pressed against your chest like iron shackles.

“Miss, you shall leave the room by eight o’clock.” A voice spoke behind the thick wooden door of the bedroom you rented – a small barren room you had found shelter in for the night. It was no more than a shabby inn, with walls cracked and floorboards uneven. You took off the thin, tattered blanket from you and swung your legs over the side of the bed to sit on the mattress for a moment, your head in your hands. Your fingers trembled slightly, not from the cold but from the residues of the dream.

“Yeah, sure.” You mumbled, staring blankly at your boots sat by the door through your slim fingers, and the satchel rested on the old rocking chair, packed and ready to leave. Never unpacking, that was one of the rules you followed since you fled from the Menagerie. Through the frosted window the snow was falling steadily. Frosty flakes swirled like restless ghosts in the early morning gloom, covering the world outside with a white coat that muffled every little sound. All of them except the relentless thumping of your heart, which threatened to burst your ribcage open.

The floor groaned under your weight as you stood and moved towards the small basin by the windows. Almost mechanically, you splashed your face with icy water, hoping for the chill to chase away the remnants of sleep. When you raised your head to take a look at the cracked mirror, the reflection that stared back at you was a stranger’s — diaphanous, long straight hair as pale as the snow, and eyes frighteningly empty. A doll’s face, your clients said. But no doll could house the kind of fury that simmered in your cursed blood, right?

You turned away, hating what you saw. Minutes later, you were dressed, your boots were laced, and your long dark cloak pulled tightly around you. When you reached for the door, you caught yourself hesitating only briefly… Maybe you could stick around for a while this time… No.

Keep moving.

The cold hit you immediately as you stepped outside. The wind bit you through your cloak like a knife with such virulence that you couldn’t help clenching your jaw. And yet, you welcomed it, let it numb you. Snow crunched beneath the sole of your boots as you walked on a little road, endless and uncertain. With one quick movement, you pulled your hood up and buried your face against the wind, going forward with determined steps. You didn’t know where you were going but you knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t stop moving away from the Menagerie. Not yet. The world might feel vast and empty, but at least there was something usually peaceful in this isolation. Not this morning though.

Even in this desolation, you couldn’t share the unpleasant feeling that you were being watched. It was subtle – a whisper of unease that prickled at the back of your neck, making your hairs rise. As stupid as it sounded, you quickly glanced over your shoulder at the empty snowy forest behind you. Nothing stirred, no sound broke the quiet save for the howl of the wind… And still, the feeling lingered, like a cold thread winding through your thoughts. In a reflex you couldn’t quite control, your hand tightened around your cloak’s collar, not knowing if it was to hide from the cold or from these unseen pair of eyes by shrinking into your coat.

Keep moving.

Above the faraway howl of the wind, a faint whisper seemed to hum at the edges of your senses. It resonated, too soft to be real, but to real to be a hallucination. You frowned as you walked faster, all your senses in alert. It wasn’t words, only a presence, dark and vast, like shadows stretching beyond the horizon. Keep moving!  You clenched your fists and tried your best to shove the thought away. It was certainly some kind of paranoia that had gotten into you, fed by lack of sleep, proper food and shelter. A part of you rationalized, telling itself that no one had ever found you yet, and no one would – despite the little… troubles you created on your way. Crystal eyes fixed on the road ahead, your steps quickened as if you could outrun the unease that was gnawing at your mind.

But far away, very far away in the distance, a man dressed in black was studying a map. His gloved finger, covered in the finest leather, hovered over a region marked in red by himself. His lips curled into the faintest smile, as if doing so wasn’t common to him.

“She’s close”, he murmured to the shadows with a voice soft and filled with a quiet satisfaction.

“Are you sure?” They whispered back

“I can feel her,” He replied, black eyes riveted onto the horizon.

Soon, he thought,

Very soon.

Please reblog and/or comment if you liked it. 🖤

taglist: @augustwookie

[littlest-w01f]

Dark

"Shadow play" with:

The Darkling x Reader

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Summary: The Darkling uses a merzost creature to take care of you after an intense training session. Using you as practice for the magic.

Cw: Darkling's Nichevo'ya, oral!F receiving, Smut 18+ MDIN

After another intense training session, you felt your energy waning. You were soaked through with sweat, your body trembling slightly as you tried to catch your breath. "Aleks, I think I died..." You bellowed dramatically to your partner who sat at the nearby desk, working

As you collapse onto the soft bed, your chest heaving with exertion, suddenly, a shadow coalesced around you, wrapping itself gently around your body. It was cool and soothing against your heated skin, like a gentle caress. It began to move slowly over your curves, tracing its way up your legs before creeping up your torso.

"Oh, poor precious." Aleksander cooed, looking up from his battle plans and letters to smile at you.

The shadows continued its slow crawl across your flushed skin, teasing every curve and dip with an ethereal touch. As it reached your breasts, it enveloped them, causing your nipples to harden instantly. The sensation was overwhelming, sending shivers down your spine and straight to your core.

It continued its slow exploration, lingering on each curve of your body, teasing your sensitive skin with its cool touch. Your breathing hitched, a low moan escaping your lips as you felt yourself responding to its gentle caresses. Gliding along the delicate curve of your hips, over the swell of your breasts, and down again. Each touch sent ripples of pleasure coursing through your exhausted body, making your nipples harden against them.

"You look absolutely spent, sweetheart." Aleksander said softly, smirking, watching his shadows play with you.

Your heavy-lidded gaze met his, a sultry smirk playing on your lips. "I am... but I didn't expect my reward for a job well done would be this," You murmured, feeling the shadows continue their tantalizing dance across your body. They slid down your thighs, inching closer to the heat between your legs.

With a playful giggle, you lifted your hips slightly off the bed, inviting more contact. The shadows seemed to understand your silent plea, intensifying their touch, ripping your clothes off your sweat-covered body. One ghostly hand traced up your inner thigh, while another teased your nipple, rolling it between its fingers. The sensations were intoxicating, making you squirm beneath them.

"I couldn't help but watch you, you know," Aleksander turned the shadows into a humanoid form towering over you, "You deserve this reward."

The ethereal being hovering above you took on a more solid form, its presence now tangible yet still eerily cold. Its hands continued their exploratory journey, tracing your curves with an expertise only gained from years of intimate knowledge.

One hand cupped your breast, thumb circling your hardened nipple while the other slipped lower, teasing the wetness between your thighs. A third phantom-like appendage wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. The air around you crackled with sexual tension, the room filled with the scent of your arousal.

"You've been watching me?" You giggled, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "Then why not join me?"

"I'm practising merzost in little forms, mylove." He replied simply, "I'll join you after it is don't with you."

The merzost creature, a manifestation of pure magical energy, descended upon you hungrily. Ghostly appendages materialized from the darkness, caressing your skin with electric tingles, hands groped your breasts roughly.

Your back arched off the bed, a startled gasp turning into a moan as the creature ravished your body with its insatiable appetite. Electric shocks of pleasure zapped through your nerves with each touch, building a burning need inside you.

The being leaned down, pressing its cool lips against yours in a searing kiss. Its tongue darted out, exploring the depths of your mouth with a voracious hunger that matched the growing desire within you, you could see it, feel it, but not touch it. Its hands roamed your body freely, each touch igniting sparks of pleasure throughout your system.

The merzost entity's kiss consumed you whole, its essence flooding your senses as it devoured your mouth. Your mind reeled from the intensity, drowning in a sea of pleasure as its roaming hands left trails of electricity in their wake.

Trembling under the onslaught, you felt your body surrender to the creature's will. It pushed you back onto the bed, pinning you beneath its ethereal form. The pressure of its weight, though intangible, sent jolts of ecstasy through your core.

Moans spilt from your lips, lost in the haze of passion as it continued its relentless assault. Its hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide, exposing your dripping cunt to its hungry gaze. With a flicker of energy, it plunged a spectral finger deep inside you, curling it to stroke that sweet spot within.

The creature's finger pumped in and out of your slick cunt, stoking the flames of your desire higher and higher. It added a second digit, stretching you deliciously as it explored your most intimate depths. Pleasure built rapidly, your walls clenching around the invading digits, trying to draw them deeper.

Ghostly lips trailed hot kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. Teeth grazed your pulse point, nipping lightly as the creature worked you towards the edge. It crooked its fingers just right, rubbing against that special bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves of ecstasy radiating through your entire being.

Your hands fisted in the sheets, back bowing off the mattress as the coil wound tighter and tighter within you. "Aleks!" You moaned your lover's name who kept switching from his work and watching you get devoured by his creation

Aleksander's gaze remained fixed on the spectacle unfolding before him, his lover writhing in ecstasy beneath the shadow creature's ministrations. His eyes burned with a mix of lust and pride, witnessing the effects of his creation firsthand.

"Look at you, so responsive… So beautiful when you surrender to pleasure," He whispered to himself, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should make it focus more on oral stimulation... You know how I love to hear your screams."

His musings were interrupted by a particularly loud moan from you, your back arching sharply as the creature's fingers found that perfect spot inside you once more. Aleksander's cock twitched in his pants, straining against the fabric as he watched his lover teeter on the brink of climax so soon.

Two more ghostly fingers joined the first three, you didn't even know how many hands the thing had, over your breasts, one around your throat, two holding you down, playing with your clit, pumping in and out of your drenched cunt at a frenzied pace. The pressure built to a crescendo, your body tensing as the orgasm approached.

Just as you teetered on the edge, the creature withdrew its fingers completely, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could protest, it replaced its digits with its spectral tongue, delving deep into your core. The long, slender appendage lapped at your walls, savouring your essence as it thrust in and out, mimicking the motion of its fingers moments before.

Your body convulsed wildly, back arching off the bed as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you as you moaned. The merzost creature's tongue continued its relentless assault, milking every last drop of your release as you trembled and spasmed beneath it.

As the aftershocks subsided, the creature slowly pulled away, its ethereal form shimmering with an aura of satisfaction. It hovered above you, gazing down with an almost human-like expression of contentment. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, sweat-dampened hair sticking to your forehead as you lay there, utterly spent and sated.

The merzost creature hovered above you, its glowing form casting an eerie glow on your flushed skin. As you caught your breath, it descended once more, pressing its cool lips against yours in a tender kiss. Its spectral tongue lingered on your lips, tasting the remnants of your release, tongue going too far down your throat.

Its hands began to roam again, this time with a gentler touch. Fingers danced along your curves, tracing patterns of pleasure over your sensitive flesh. The creature's essence enveloped you, soothing your senses as it coaxed you back to the brink of bliss.

But instead of plunging its fingers or tongue back into your throbbing cunt, it shifted its focus downward. Something bigger, and way larger pressed against your entrance, teasing at the tightness waiting for it.

It pressed forward, pushing past your innermost barriers, stretching you deliciously wide. The sensation was unlike anything you'd ever experienced – a blend of pleasure and pain that made your toes curl. Each inch it penetrated sent jolts of ecstasy coursing through your veins, until finally, it was fully sheathed within you.

With your legs lifted high, you were opened wide, receiving every inch of the creature. It pulsed within you, alive with raw energy. Every thrust brought forth new waves of pleasure, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

It began to move, sliding in and out of your slick cunt, waves of delight rippling through your body, amplifying the connection between you and the shadow being.

Meanwhile, Aleksander watched with rapt attention, unable to tear his gaze away from the erotic scene unfolding before him. His eyes gleamed with excitement and admiration, both for his creation and for his girl lying beneath it, completely lost in the throes of pleasure.

The merzost creature obeyed Aleksander's silent command, increasing its pace dramatically. The room filled with ghostly sounds as it pounded into you relentlessly, driving deeper with each powerful thrust.

Each movement sent ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. You couldn't help but cry out in ecstasy, each moan echoing through the chamber and fueling the creature's enthusiasm.

Despite the overwhelming pleasure, you managed to keep your eyes open, locking gazes with Aleksander across the room. There was something intensely arousing about seeing him watch you like this – knowing that he was enjoying the sight of his creation pleasuring you so thoroughly, it was evident by his cock gripped in his own hand, stroking himself to the sight of you.

Aleksander's eyes blazed with primal hunger as he witnessed the merzost creature ravaging his lover. The rhythmic slap of ectoplasmic flesh against your delicate folds echoed through the chamber, punctuated by your wanton cries of ecstasy.

He pumped his own rigid cock in time with the creature's thrusts, imagining those same motions driving into your welcoming heat. Pre-cum drooled from the tip, smearing over his fingers as they worked in tandem with his strokes.

The merzost entity seemed to sense its master's arousal, doubling its efforts to bring you to the pinnacle of pleasure.

"ALEKS!" Your voice shattered the air as another mind-numbing climax ripped through you, the winds howling from your power. The creature's relentless pounding pushed you over the edge, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing over you. Your inner muscles clenched and fluttered around the invading presence, milking it for all it was worth.

Through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, you felt Aleksander replace his creations, sealing your lips together in a deep sensual kiss as you lay in your own release, his cock still throbbing hard.

He broke the kiss only to slide his hands under your back, lifting you effortlessly as he positioned himself at your entrance once more.

With a single thrust, he buried himself deep within you, groaning at the feeling of your warm, wet depths enveloping him. He began to move, setting a slow but powerful rhythm that left you gasping and moaning beneath him. "Mmm... You're perfect."

Together, you and Aleksander rode the waves of pleasure, your bodies moving in sync as if guided by some unseen force. The room filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, your heady mushy from the orgasms.

"Y/n... Y/n..." Aleksander's thrusts grew more erratic, his control slipping as the pleasure became unbearable. He pounded into you with a ferocity that bordered on savage, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that sent sparks shooting through your entire body.

Your cries of pleasure urged him on, spurring him to greater heights of carnal abandon. His breathing grew labored, his movements becoming more desperate as he chased his own climax.

Finally, with a roar of triumph, he found his release. His seed erupted within you, hot and thick, filling you to overflowing as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. His release spilt deep within you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

As the final throbs of his orgasm faded, he collapsed atop you, his weight a comforting pressure against your body. He kissed your neck softly, murmuring words of love and adoration as he gently stroked your hair.

[serpentthecrow]

Sleepy time with the grishaverse characters

A/n: I... Don't even... Sorry about that. My executive dysfunction did its magic. But here you have this as a peace offering since you guys liked the crows one. I can't even believe how long it's been. I'm probably not going to keep writing too many fics, if any at all. But this one's mandatory. And short.

Summary: headcannons on the sleeping habits of (some of) the grishaverse characters.

Alina Starkov

Hear me out

The girl's out like a light

Exactly the type of person to roll around the bed, end up in peculiar positions, and mainly, accidentally slap you or kick you in her sleep

Isn't picky, but if she COULD choose- only the softest mattress, duvet and pillows

She's petty like that

Has absolutely no night routine. Like. NONE.

Owns no pajamas. Just normal clothes passing as sleep clothes.

Gonna use her sun summoner powers when getting up in the middle of the night to fetch water etc., only to curse profusely because ✨light sensitivity✨

Midnight snacks. No elaboration is needed.

Definitely owns a stag plushie. Cause poor thing.

Mal Oretsev

Sleeps like he's in a coffin

No honestly. Like, on his back, straight as a plank. Psychopath.

The nightmares tho.

The biggest duvet stealer

Never actually uses the duvet tho. Kicks it away every time

Can barely be bothered to change

Absolutely cannot be bothered to make the bed

Hasn't got a single idea how to put on a bedsheet

Red flag: eats in bed too often

Occasionally has a dream about Nikolai throwing him overboard Volkvolny and grinning down at him, saints know why.

Would fall asleep under any circumstance. Light, loud sounds, anything. Bang two pans repeatedly next to his head, and the guy will still fall asleep if he's sure he can afford to.

Has a phoenix plushie. Pun intended.

Aleksander Morozova

does this guy even sleep? Questionable.

But in case he does:

A side sleeper

Surprisingly heavy sleeper

Rarely sleeps in bed when unsupervised tho. Not uncommon for him to fall asleep in a chair.

Black silk sheets only.

Talks in his sleep

Seriously.

If someone walked in on him sleeping, he'd be long since executed for treason.

Absolutely unaffected by caffeine

Produces a whole lotta shadows before going to sleep, roused by the slightest amount of light.

The extensive night routine is canon.

Doesn't have a plushie. The only one in this hc series btw.

Nikolai Lantsov

my favorite sailor bo- anyway

(Let's ignore Volkralai for the purpose of these hc's)

A stomach sleeper. We stan.

A pillow hugger. We stan.

Mostly blue bedding, especially in the palace or the spinning wheel, since we all know he misses the sea.

Another one with a whole-ass night routine.

Reduced amount of clothes when sleeping- usually just pants

They're pajama pants tho

Has some trouble falling asleep on land, he's used to the rocking of the ship

nap king, especially as Sturmhond

Reads a LOT before bed

A night owl- has to be reminded to got to sleep

Sometimes starts to rant about some invention of his

C A N N O T fall asleep without cuddles. Like, he's physically unable

The biggest manchild about waking up early.

Has a fox plushie. A fact.

Genya Safin

babygirl has nightmares, okay? Gotta start with that.

lowkey got accustomed to some level of luxury in Os Alta

not the biggest fan of cuddling. For understandable reasons

a warm beverage before bed

fuzzy socks

tries to maintain an exact time to go to sleep but ultimately fails because she's got trouble falling asleep

probably improves on her sleeping habits once she becomes a part of the triumvirateonly cause she has to tho

overthinking before sleep queen

does she have a plushie? Does David count? You tell me.

[violentvaleska]

𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔

ᴏɴᴇ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʳⁱⁿᶜᵉˢˢ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ!ʟᴇᴠɪ × ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss ᴏғ ᴍᴀʀʟᴇʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ ɢʀɪsʜᴀ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴜᴛʏ ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅs ғᴏʀɢɪɴɢ ᴘᴏʟɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀʟʟɪᴀɴᴄᴇs—ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪғ ɪᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴍᴀʀʀʏɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴡᴏʀɴ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ, ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴄᴋᴇʀᴍᴀɴ ᴏғ ᴇʟᴅɪᴀ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍɪsᴏɢʏɴʏ, ᴡᴀʀ, ᴘᴏʟɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴘᴏʟɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: ᴛᴡᴏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ғᴏᴜʀ ғɪᴠᴇ

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ: @xiernia @cutesydemon

ᴀ/ɴ: sɪɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜɪs ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ ʀᴇϙᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ; ʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʙʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ <3 ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪᴛ ʏᴀʏ

The day you awoke to learn your fate was a somber and stormy Friday the 13th, the skies weeping in harmony with your sorrow. The gentle patter of rain against the glass mirrored the unease settling in your chest. You stirred at the sound of Pieck, your maid, bustling into your chambers with unusual urgency. Her soft hands worked quickly to prepare you for the day, yet there was a peculiar weight in her movements. You sensed it the moment she spoke; your father, the Emperor of Marley, had summoned all his children to the courtroom.

Such a request was unheard of. You had always been kept far from the political sphere, your mother ensuring you devoted yourself to gentler pursuits - art, literaturea, music - anything but the harsh realities of war. Politics, you were told, were not your burden to bear. As a woman of royal blood, your duty lay in mastering the art of grace, not war.

Even when the war’s shadow darkened your family’s halls, you were taught to turn your thoughts elsewhere. "Focus on being a good wife." Your mother had insisted. Your elder brother had echoed her sentiments with a dismissive wave when you dared to ask about the war’s toll.

You knew its history well enough. Thirty years prior, the late Emperor Kenny of Eldia had laid claim to northern Marley, sparking a bloody conflict that defined your father’s reign. Newly crowned and untested, he had held the empire together through sheer determination, a feat you privately admired. But admiration could not blind you to the suffering wrought by war; starving citizens, grieving families, cities reduced to ash.

You had voiced your concerns to your father once, but he had merely laughed, dismissing your words as the naïve musings of a girl who lived in books. That day, however, there would be no avoiding reality. Pieck laced you into a crimson gown, its rich color symbolizing Marley’s banner, and escorted you to the throne room.

“Is it about the war?” You asked hesitantly, unable to quell your curiosity.

“I believe so, my Princess.” Pieck replied, her voice low. 

“The new Emperor of Eldia has shifted the tides. Much has changed since his coronation.”

You recalled the unease that gripped you when news of Emperor Levi’s rise reached Civita, your family’s royal seat. Eldia’s forces had expanded rapidly under his command, capturing vital cities like Liberio and Salmuo. Now they encircled Civita itself, a menacing noose tightening around your empire.

Inside the courtroom, the gathering was intimate, your family alone. Your father, Emperor Grisha, sat upon his throne, his presence commanding yet inscrutable. Beside him stood your half-brother Zeke, ever composed, and your younger brother Eren, his gaze restless.

“The war has ended peacefully!” Your father announced, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. Relief washed over you, but it was tinged with unease.

Your mother, radiant in her joy, clasped your hand. “What wonderful news, my love!” She exclaimed.

“I felt generous-” Grisha began, his tone indifferent, “-and granted him the right to declare the regions of Niedereldia and Obereldia as his own. The peasants there have long abandoned loyalty to our cause, so it is no great loss.” He dismissed the cession of territory with a mere shrug, his gaze shifting to his youngest son with a glimmer of pride.

“The Ackerman clan has offered their princess in marriage to Eren. A wise proposal, and one I have accepted, as her mother is a princess of Hizuru. This union will solidify our alliances in the East.”

The news visibly struck your mother. The warmth of her smile faded like a passing shadow, replaced effortlessly by the composed seriousness she had learned to wear over the years.

“Princess Mikasa?” Carla’s voice held a trace of disbelief. 

“She is highly sought after; I am surprised the Emperor would part with her so willingly.” Suspicion laced her tone, justified after decades of war between their nations.

Grisha’s eyes gleamed with something darker and calculated, almost sinister, as he turned to you, his gaze piercing through your passive expression.

“That is not all,” he continued, his voice low but deliberate. 

“Levi Ackerman has requested our daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The days that followed were a blur of harsh lessons and uncomfortable adjustments. You were thrust into a whirlwind of Eldian culture and history, forced to absorb the traditions of a people you had been taught to despise. Your maid Pieck tried to soothe you with kind words, but even she could not erase the whispers.

“Cannibals, wife beaters, monsters.” Piecks husband, Porco Galliard, had muttered. He had faced Levi on the battlefield and survived, earning his place as your personal guard. His accounts of the Emperor painted a chilling picture.

The first light of dawn kisses the mountains, their peaks bath in hues of gold and rose. Yet the beauty of the morning does little to soothe your turmoil, for today marks the beginning of a fate you could not escape. This is the day you would leave everything you know behind and be taken to Eldia, Paradise Island to be exact, a place that feels anything but its namesake.

“Porco-” you murmur, your voice trembling as Pieck’s delicate hands wove flowers into your hair. “What does he look like?”

Porco’s reply is sharp, his tone laced with disdain. “A small man. Coal-black hair, eyes like molten silver. Handsome, perhaps, but do not let that deceive you. Beneath that face lies a devil.”

“Porco!” Pieck chastises, her gentle features hardening as she shoots him a disapproving glare. “You will frighten her. The Emperor seeks peace, does he not? Surely he cannot be as monstrous as the stories claim.”

Her words, though spoken with care, do little to quell the unease stirring within you. Your gaze drops to the gown you wear, a garment of Eldian design, starkly different from the soft pastel gowns of your homeland. It clung to you like a shadow, foreign and unyielding, much like the life awaiting you across the sea.

The gown drapes over your weary frame, its deep forest green fabric heavy against your tired body. The neckline dips lower than your modesty allows, leaving you feeling exposed beneath its opulence. Pearls adorn the hems like drops of moonlight, while delicate elderflowers are intricately woven into the fabric; a quiet elegance that belies the unease settling in your chest.

You are to marry the devil of Eldia.

And no amount of soothing words or delicate flower crowns could silence the storm raging in your heart.

“Pieck. What if he does not like me?” 

The maid pauses, her fingers hovering over the final flower she had been weaving into your hair. Her gaze softens as she meets your eyes in the reflection of the mirror before you. “My sweet princess.” She begins gently, her voice a melody of warmth and quiet reassurance.

“How could he not? You are kind, intelligent, and far braver than you realize. Any man would be fortunate to have you.”

But her words feel hollow, distant, as if spoken into an abyss. Your fingers grip the edges of your gown, the rich fabric grounding you in a moment that feels increasingly surreal. The weight of the pearls around your neck seems to grow heavier with every passing second, much like the burden of your fate.

Porco, who had remained by the door like a sentinel, scoffs under his breath. “It is not about liking you.” He mutters, his tone blunt, though not unkind, it is clear the topic does not speak well with him. 

“Levi Ackerman is not the type to care about such things. He is a man of strategy, of war. This marriage is a transaction, plain and simple. Don’t expect affection.”

“You are an idiot!” Pieck snaps, turning to glare at him once more. “That is enough. She does not need your cynicism today.”

He shrugs but says nothing further, though the truth of his words lingers in the air like an unspoken shadow.

Your reflection stares back at you; a pale, trembling figure adorned in splendor that feels ill-suited to the fear gnawing at your core. You press a hand to your chest, trying to calm the storm within. 

“If he does not like me-” You whisper, almost to yourself.

“-Then what will I become in his world? A stranger? A prisoner?”

Pieck places her hands on your shoulders, her touch firm yet comforting. “You will become exactly who you need to be.” She says, her voice steady and resolute. “You are stronger than you think, and you will find your place, no matter where you go.”

The words offer a flicker of solace, but it is fleeting, like the delicate petals of the flowers in your hair. 

An hour later, the moment you had dreaded more than any other arrives; the time to bid farewell to your family. You had clung to the faint hope that they might accompany you, even partway, to this foreign land that would soon become your prison, your new home. But no such mercy would be granted.

The grand hall feels colder than usual, its towering stone pillars casting long shadows as the sun struggles to pierce the gray clouds outside. Your father stands before you, as composed as ever, the weight of his crown seeming lighter on his head than the emotions etched into your heart.

“This is a necessary step, my daughter.” Emperor Grisha says, his tone measured, almost distant. 

“You carry the honor of Marley on your shoulders now. Do not forget it.”

You lower your gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes. The words feel more like an order than a farewell, and they echo in your mind with a hollow finality.

Your mother steps forward, her usual grace tinged with a faint tremor in her hands. She clasps your face between her palms, her touch warm yet fragile. 

“Be strong, my love.” she murmurs, her voice soft enough for only you to hear. 

“Remember everything I have taught you. An empress must learn to endure.”

Her words are meant to be comforting, but they only deepen the ache in your chest. You long to embrace her, to plead for her to come with you, but the unspoken rules of royalty bind you as tightly as the pearls around your neck.

Zeke is next, his expression unreadable as he places a hand on your shoulder. 

“Do what is expected of you.” He says simply, his words devoid of warmth or cruelty. 

“And remember, this alliance benefits us all.”

Eren lingers behind him, his jaw tight and his fists clenched. He looks at you with something that resembles guilt, though he says nothing. Instead, he presses a small, folded piece of parchment into your hand as he steps past you, a fleeting gesture that goes unnoticed by the others. He has always been a wrack of emotions, especially now that he has been forced into a marriage quite like yourself, yet your fades part like worlds. You do not unfold the parchment, not yet.

The final blow comes when Pieck steps forward, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. 

“I cannot go with you, my Princess.” She whispers, her voice cracking.

Her absence hits you harder than you expect. She had been your constant companion, your solace in the storm. And now, even she would be left behind. You hug and kiss her goodbye, wave at your family one last time before Porco leads you to the gates. 

The carriage ride to the port of Liberio feels endless, each jolt of the wheels carving another piece of your resolve. The air is heavy with the scent of salt, mingling with the faint metallic tang of rain-soaked earth. The skies remain gray, a somber reflection of the dread pooling in your chest.

Liberio bustles with activity despite the overcast morning, its docks alive with the hum of sailors and the groaning of ships tethered to the harbor. Yet amidst the chaos, your arrival draws silence, a collective pause as curious eyes settle on your procession.

The exchange is to take place here, at the edge of Marley’s dominion. Princess Mikasa, your counterpart from Eldia, awaits you on the dock. She is a vision of quiet strength, her posture unyielding despite the biting wind that tugs at her cloak.

As your carriage slows to a halt, you catch your first glimpse of her fully. She is stunning in a way that seems effortless, her raven hair cascades like silk over her shoulders, framing a face marked by sharp, graceful features. Her eyes, however, are what capture you most. They are dark, fathomless pools, and within them, you see the shadow of a woman who has endured more than her fair share of pain.

You step down from the carriage, your trembling fingers clutching the skirts of your gown. The weight of a dozen eyes is upon you, but none feel heavier than hers. She regards you with a stoicism that borders on indifference, though you sense something flicker beneath the surface.

“Princess Mikasa.” Your voice wavers as you curtsy, the words almost lost to the wind.

“Your grace.” she replies, her tone cool but not unkind. There is an unspoken understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the burdens you both carry.

The Eldian vessel looms behind her, its sails a dark green, much like your gown. It is a ship built for war, its design as menacing as the land it sails for. Mikasa gestures to the vessel with a gloved hand, her expression betraying nothing.

“You will take this ship to Paradise.” She says simply. Her voice is low, steady, a stark contrast to the storm churning within you.

As the sailors begin transferring your belongings to the ship, Mikasa steps closer, her gaze never wavering from yours. For a moment, you think she might offer words of encouragement or advice, but instead, she leans in, her voice barely audible.

“Do not let him irritate you. My cousin can be a cold man and can get burdensome at times.” She whispers. Her words are a warning, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the cold wind like a blade.

Before you can respond, she steps back, her stoic mask firmly in place. The exchange is complete, and without another word, Mikasa boards the carriage that once carried you here, her figure retreating into the distance like a fading dream.

You stand frozen at the edge of the dock, the ship towering behind you, its gangplank like a bridge to another life. Porco appears at your side, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“It’s time.” He mutters, his tone gruff yet tinged with something you dare to interpret as concern.

With a deep breath, you gather the fragments of your courage and ascend the gangplank. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of your father’s expectations, your mother’s whispered hopes, and Mikasa’s parting words pressing down upon you.

The deck is stark, its wooden boards slick with rain. Sailors move around you with practiced efficiency, their murmurs barely audible over the creak of the ship and the crash of waves against the hull.

“I thank you for your service to me. Goodbye, Porco.” You lift a trembling hand, from cold or fear you don't know and to wave at the guard, your final goodbye for the day. His gaze, sharp with barely concealed anger, lingers on you for a moment longer before he nods stiffly. The pain in your chest tightens, but you force yourself to turn away, following after the Eldian captain who leads you across the deck. His anger is not directed towards you, but rather to the man you will have to wed.

“This is Sasha.” The Captain announces, gesturing to a young woman with warm, wide eyes and a gentle smile. 

“She’ll serve as your handmaid during your stay.” Sasha curtsies quickly, her demeanor friendly yet professional.

“And this-” the Captain continues, nodding toward a towering figure at your side.

“-Is Reiner Braun, your personal guard. He will ensure your safety.”

Reiner steps forward, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. You meet his gaze briefly, noting the weight behind his eyes, but you cannot dwell on it now. The ache in your chest is growing, and the need for solitude becomes overwhelming.

“Thank you. I would  like a moment alone, if that is possible?” You manage, your voice steady despite the storm raging within.

Sasha exchanges a look with Reiner before the latter nods. “Very well, your grace. I’ll be outside if you need anything,” he says, his voice low and measured.

You are led to a small cabin tucked into the side of the ship, its interior modest but comfortable. A pair of wooden chairs flank a narrow table, and a window lets in the salty breeze of the open sea. Reiner closes the door softly behind him, leaving you to your thoughts.

The moment you are alone, your hands dive into the folds of your skirt, searching for the hidden pocket. Your fingers brush against the parchment, and you pull it free with a shaky breath. Eren’s scrawled handwriting greets you, the hurried strokes mirroring the urgency of his words.

“Be careful who to trust. We organized one of our last remaining spies in Paradise to be your personal guard. His name is Reiner Braun. If you feel your life is threatened, do not hesitate to ask for his help. Destroy this letter after reading it.”

The words feel heavier than the fabric of your gown, settling like a stone in your chest. You glance toward the closed door, your pulse quickening. Reiner Braun, your guard, your protector, yet also a spy in service to Marley. You had not been prepared for such a revelation, nor for the dangerous game you were now forced to play.

You rise from the chair and approach the small window behind it. The salty wind bites at your skin as you pull the glass pane open. Without hesitation, you crumple the parchment tightly in your hands and toss it into the churning waves below. The paper flutters briefly before disappearing into the water, dissolving into nothingness.

For a moment, you simply stand there, your fingers clutching the window’s frame. The open sea stretches endlessly before you, vast and unyielding, much like the uncertain future awaiting you in Paradise. You feel the weight of your responsibilities bearing down on you, heavier than any crown or title could ever be.

A soft knock at the door startles you, and you spin around to find Sasha standing there, your bag slung over her shoulder. Her warm smile remains, though it falters slightly as she studies your face. 

“Are you all right, your grace?” She asks gently.

You force a smile, your composure slipping seamlessly into place. 

“Of course.” you reply, smoothing the folds of your gown as you step away from the window. “I just needed some fresh air.”

Sasha sets the bag down and tilts her head, her curiosity evident. “The sea can be a bit overwhelming at first,” she says, her tone light. 

“But it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nod absently, your mind still turning over Eren’s words. 

“Yes… beautiful and vast. It is unlike anything I have seen before.”

The couple of hours on the ship pass in a haze uneasy silence. Sasha’s attempts at small talk and Reiner’s stoic presence do little to soothe your apprehension. The vast, unending sea serves as a cruel reminder of how far you are getting from home, from everything you’ve ever known. Each wave that crashes against the hull feels like a heartbeat, counting down to the moment you’ll arrive in Paradise.

And then just six hours after leaving Marley, the island comes into view. Its cliffs rise like jagged sentinels, crowned with dense forests that stretch as far as the eye can see. The docks are bustling with activity, soldiers in dark uniforms moving with disciplined precision. Their sharp gazes turn toward the ship as it approaches, their expressions unreadable. This is Paradise, the home of your enemy and now your future, the main island and ruling seat of Eldia.

The gangplank lowers with a heavy groan, and the Captain gestures for you to disembark. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you as you step onto the dock, the unfamiliar ground solid yet foreign. Sasha and Reiner follow close behind, their presence a small comfort amidst the sea of strangers.

A black carriage waits at the edge of the dock, its design austere yet imposing. Beside it stands a man who can only be Levi Ackerman. He is smaller than you imagined, his stature compact but exuding an air of command that renders his size irrelevant. His coal-black hair is neatly combed, and his piercing gray eyes meet yours with a cold intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He is every bit the man Porco described; handsome, yes, but with a presence that feels as sharp and unyielding as a blade.

Levi says nothing as you approach, his expression unreadable. His gaze sweeps over you briefly, assessing, before he turns to the carriage. 

“Get in.” He says, his voice low and clipped. There is no warmth in his tone, no acknowledgment of the life-altering union you are about to enter.

Your heart sinks, but you force yourself to remain composed. You curtsy slightly, murmuring: “Your Majesty.” though the words feel foreign on your tongue. He offers no response, simply opening the carriage door and gesturing for you to enter.

The interior of the carriage is as cold and uninviting as the man who occupies it. Levi sits across from you, his posture rigid and his gaze fixed on the window. The silence between you is heavy, oppressive, broken only by the steady clatter of hooves against the cobblestone road.

You glance at him, searching for any sign of emotion, but his face is a mask of indifference. Finally, you gather the courage to speak. 

“I… I am grateful for your hospitality, Your Majesty.”

His eyes flicker toward you, but his expression remains unreadable. 

“Save your gratitude.” He replies flatly. 

“This isn’t about hospitality. It’s about duty.” You notice the difference in accent immediately, the way he shortens his words like the common folk would. None the less they sting the same, though you try not to show your disappointment. You clasp your hands tightly in your lap, your fingers digging into the fabric of your gown. 

“Then I hope I can fulfill my duty to your satisfaction.”

For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze returning to the window. Then, almost as an afterthought, he replies, “We’ll see.”

The rest of the journey passes in silence, the weight of his words settling over you like a shroud. You had prepared yourself for many things, but not for this. Not for the cold indifference of the man who now holds your future in his hands.

When the carriage finally arrives at the palace gates, you feel a mixture of relief and dread. The palace is grand, its stone walls rising high against the backdrop of the island’s dense forests. Yet it feels more like a fortress than a home, its beauty marred by an underlying sense of menace.

Levi steps out first, his movements precise and efficient. He turns briefly, his gaze meeting yours as he offers his hand. For a moment, you hesitate, unsure if the gesture is one of courtesy or obligation. Then you place your hand in his, the contact brief yet charged with unspoken tension.

“Welcome to Paradise,” he says, his tone devoid of warmth. And with those words, you step into a new life, one filled with uncertainty, duty, and the cold gaze of the man who is going to be your husband at the end of the week. 

[writerslittlelibrary]

"What, are you?"

masterlist

summary: when your abilities show themselves during a viscous Drüskelle attack, General Kirigan has you immediately transferred to the Little Palace for protection

pairing: Aleksander Kirigan x sun summoner reader

warnings: canon level violence, mention of blood

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2683

a/n: I watched the show Shadow & Bone a few years age, and I was absolutely obsessed. recently I picked up the books, and I cannot express how upset I am that they’ve cancelled the series. It literally had so much potential :(

also, I apologise for literally falling off of the face of the earth these past two months. I was depressed at first, and when I felt a little better me and my mom went on a two week vacation to Ireland, and this week I was at a figure skating camp, so I didn’t really get to writing lol. anyhow, I’m feeling better, and I am planning on writing more fics and hopefully do a flufftober week or something :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |—————————— ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ——————————|

The war in Ravka had been raging on for as long as you could remember. It had taken your parent’s lives, and very likely their parent’s lives as well. Now it was your turn to take your place in the army and fight in the war. 

You had never possessed much physical strength. Ever since you were a child, you were weak and fragile. It had pushed the caretakers at the orphanage to give you other tasks. 

They wanted you to posses as many skills as possible, to ensure you would have a future, even if you wouldn’t be able to fight in the war. As you got older, you seemed to develop a true talent in drawing. Your drawings were detailed and realistic, and so the caretakers pressed to ensure you would continue developing that talent. 

When you became of age, you were send to join the first army as a mapmaker. 

Currently you were stationed at a camp just next to the fold. There were several skiffs being readied to enter the fold, but after running a little detour, you found out you were not scheduled to go on any of them. 

At the moment, you were sitting with a Squaller. You had met her years ago, when both of you were just little girls. A boy had been bullying you, and she had thrown him across the field. Ever since, you had been friends. When she would return to the Little Palace, you would write to her, and when you were stationed at an encampment, she would request to be sent to the same place.

As you were laughing at something Zoya had said, you heard yelling coming from a few tents away from you. You figured it was just another soldier fight, but Zoya knew better as she stood, pulling you up with her when she seemingly spotted something that frightened her.

She pushed you behind her, grabbing your hand and she made a run to the edge of the encampment, towards the forest.

You could hear shouting behind you, and the noises of a fight reached your ears. This was not a friendly soldier fight. Too many people had been involved for that. Before you could reach the forest, you could feel two arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you away from Zoya. 

She screamed, reaching out for you before someone took her out from behind. 

The language the man spoke was foreign, and it didn’t take you long to realise they were Fjerdans. They must’ve dressed up as soldiers so they could infiltrate the tents and eliminate the Grisha. 

You fought against the man holding you down, kicking him in the stomach and managing to punch him in the face. 

He struggled, falling backwards. You didn’t hesitate to run away from him, spotting Zoya on the ground, the Drüskelle on top of her. He had a knife in his hand, undoubtedly planning on slicing Zoya’s throat. 

You ran over quickly, jumping on the man’s back in order to get him off of her. Zoya struggled for a bit, surprised by your return before regaining her composure, raising her arms to blast the man backwards. She made her way over to you, grabbing you hand once more before she was pierced by an arrow. A Drüskelle stood behind her, a few feet away, holding a bow. 

Zoya fell to the ground, and the Fjerdan you had managed to push to the ground was now behind you again, restraining you as the other one walked over to Zoya.

He grabbed her hair, pulling her to her knees, with her head pulled backwards. He mumbled a few words in Fjerdan, something about salvation of the witches before he pressed his knife to her throat. 

You screamed, fighting against the Drüskelle holding you as they prepared to slit Zoya’s throat. 

The moment the Drüskelle drew blood, you screamed. An anger releasing inside you that you didn’t know you were holding. Your view went black, a bright light shining through the blackness before you felt your body giving out. You could faintly hear screaming, and you could make out Zoya’s voice as she held you head in her lap. 

After that, everything went black. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

When your vision returned, you could make out you were in a tent. You saw Zoya’s face first, looking concerned as she wiped a wet cloth over your forehead. It appeared you were burning up, yet the cool cloth felt as though it had burned you.

You groaned, moving away from her touch and shielding your eyes. The light was too bright, even though the tent was fairly dark. 

“She’s awake,” you heard Zoya say to another person in the room, who hummed thoughtfully before dismissing her.

“Thank you, Zoya. You may leave,” you heard a male voice command. 

You saw Zoya shaking her head, holding one hand on your arm as her head was turned to the other presence. 

“Please, General. She’s confused and scared as is. Allow me stay, please,” Zoya said, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard her use the word ‘please’, let alone use it multiple times in the same sentence.

“Very well,” the male voice commanded, and you could hear large footsteps cross the tent towards where you were lying down.

You groaned, grabbing onto Zoya as you pulled yourself into a sitting position, noticing you were indeed in the tent of the Black General. You breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, and your eyes fell to two Heartrenders standing guard at the entrance of the tent.

“You’ve made quite the show, miss…?” the General trailed off, looking at you expectedly. 

“y/l/n, y/n y/l/n,” you said quietly, turning your gaze to fall on Zoya, who had moved to sit next to you on the cot you were previously laying on. 

Your head felt heavy, and your hands felt clammy. 

“Miss y/l/n, tell me, what are you?” the General asked, leaning against a desk placed in the tent. 

You looked at him confused, thinking about what he could possibly mean. 

“A mapmaker, sir,” you told him, turning to look at Zoya. You couldn’t read her expression, so you turned back to the General, who looked slightly offended. 

“Don’t fool me,” he started. “What are you,” he stated firmly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you admitted honestly, not wanting to upset him.

He looked at you for a moment, determining whether you were lying before speaking again.

“Were you tested as a child?” he asked, to which you nodded. 

“What was the result?” 

“I wasn’t Grisha,” you said, a hint of pain in your voice. You had always wanted to be Grisha. To be in a place where you belong, amongst people who were like you. Instead, you were just normal, with no place where you belonged.

“Your little display of power this morning suggests otherwise, miss y/l/n,” the General spoke.

You looked at him confused. 

“I don’t understand what you mean,” you told him honestly.

“You singhandly managed to scare all of the Drüskelle away, yet you claim to have no knowledge of what you were doing?” 

“I’m sorry, sir, I truly don’t,” you replied, flinching slightly when the General pushed himself off the desk, closing the distance between you. 

“Hold out your arm,” he stated. 

You did as he said, extending your arm towards him while pulling up your sleeve, knowing what he wanted. 

“You say you were tested as a child?” the General asked in confirmation, noting the way you nodded, almost disappointed. “Were you injured during the testing?” he asked you, seeing your face contort in confusion. 

“I don’t recall… does that matter?” you asked, looking up at him as he stood before you. 

“It is the whole point of the test,” he said, taking ahold of your arm and bringing his sharp ring towards it. Gently, he pressed the talon in your arm, and you gasped at the slight sting before a warm beam of light shot from your arm.

You eyes widened, and the moment he let your arm fall back you grasped it, looking at the cut in disbelief. 

“You are very much Grisha, miss y/l/n,” the General said, motioning towards the Heartrenders at the entrance of the tent. 

You couldn’t find any words, turning to Zoya who just looked as bewildered as you. 

“I’m Grisha…” you whispered quietly, looking at Zoya. 

Before she could say anything, the General had returned to your side, gently grasping your upper arm and pulling you up. 

“We’ll have to work quickly. The Drüskelle are already on alert after the attack, and word of your discovery will spread fast,” the General said, handing you a red Kefta, urging you to put it on. “You’ll travel in my coach,” he spoke, before handing you to the two Heartrenders. 

You looked towards Zoya, who stood and asked the General if she could accompany you. 

He shook his head, insisting that she was still needed at the camp. 

Before you knew it, you were being dragged outside and towards the Darkling’s coach. Two Oprichniki stand at the doors, opening them upon seeing your arrival. You didn’t resist, taking the hand one of the Oprichniki offered to help you step inside. 

Once you settled into the coach, the two Heartrenders followed, sitting across from you. The doors were closed, and the two Oprichniki moved to the front, no doubt riding on horses beside the coach. 

You were silent for the first part of the journey, admiring the detailed embroidery on the red Kefta adorning your body. 

“It’s bulletproof,” said the man across from you suddenly. You looked up, meeting his kind smile and realising they had been watching you. “It is why the General wanted you to wear it,” he finished.

You nodded, allowing your hand to fall to your lap. 

“I’m Feydor, and this is Ivan,” the Heartrender introduced himself, motioning towards his partner beside him. He carried a stern look on his face, turning to look outside instead. 

You nodded in reply, turning to look outside in thought. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, turning back to Feydor. He smiled.

“The Little Palace, of course,” he said. 

You nodded once more, settling your gaze outside again. “Why the hurry?” 

“By now, every Drüskelle and Shu assassin will have heard what happened at the camp. What you did. We need to make sure you are behind safe walls when they come for you,” Feydor explained, and you nodded once more.

“I don’t even know what I did,” you then said, earning the look of both Feydor and Ivan. 

“You saved us,” Feydor started. “Your light killed two Drüskelle, and scared the rest away. The disguised themselves as First army to kill Grisha. Without you, they would have succeeded.” 

You looked at him surprised, not expecting that reply to come from his mouth. You could not remember a single thing that happened at the camp, let alone the Drüskelle attack. 

After the conversation died down, you turned to look outside once more. You felt your eyes drooping, exhausting settling into your bones as the world outside passed you in a blur.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped, and an Oprichniki opened the coach door. 

“There’s a fallen tree on the road, we’re moving it now,” he stated, closing the door again. Ivan looked uneasy, glancing out the little window. Feydor did the same, studying the other window until there was shouting. 

Immediately, Ivan and Feydor got up, both heading out the doors.

“Stay here, get down, and don’t move,” Feydor said, pushing a blade of Grisha steel into your hands before abandoning the coach. 

You did as he said, crouching down onto the floor of the coach, pressing your knees against your chest. You could hear screaming outside and multiple guns firing. When it stilled for a moment, you thought it was over, until the glass of the coach broke and a smoke bomb was thrown inside.

You coughed, pushing the door of the coach open and stumbling outside, falling to your knees as you tried to catch your breath. 

You heaved, clutching the Girsha steel knife in your hand when you looked up, barely registering the boots of a figure marching towards you, grabbing your hair and dragging you away. 

You fought, struggling against his hold as he pressed his knife to your throat, pressing harshly. You felt a trickle of blood stream down you neck, and you grabbed the knife in you hand as tightly as you could before stabbing it backwards, hitting the person in the stomach. 

His hold on you faltered enough for you to push him away, running away from him, into the forest. 

You ran for as long as your feet could take you, registering the fighting still happening behind you. When you stopped for only a second to catch your breath, you were tackled to the ground, a figure laying on top of you.

His held his knife high above his head, muttering a prayer of kinds before preparing to bring it down.

You could faintly hear a horse in the background, and you closed your eyes tightly, figuring this was it. You heard a yell, but you didn’t feel the sharp pain of a knife digging into your skin. Instead, when you opened your eyes. You could see the man on top of you, slowly falling in two. 

You turn your head, seeing the Darkling standing there beside a group of other Oprichniki. You realised he had cut the man on top of you in half. 

When he fell, you pushed him off of you, moving away from the body, and catching your breath. 

The General walked over to you, extending his arm, which you gratefully took as he helped you up. He studied the cut on your throat.

“Are you alright?” he questioned. 

You nodded, moving your hand to rub the sore spot on your throat. 

“You’ll ride with me,” he stated, walking over to his horse, leaving no room for argument. 

You followed him, standing beside him as he mounted his horse, extending his hand to help pull you up. You allowed him, settling in the saddle as he took off in a gallop. 

He held onto you firmly, ensuring you wouldn’t fall at the movement of the horse. 

With you were riding multiple Oprichniki guards, and you spotted Ivan and Feydor both riding on a horse themselves. They must’ve won the fight in the woods. 

After riding for nearly half a day, the group stopped at an abandoned barn. The Oprichniki secured it, while the General dismounted the horse, extending his arm to help you off as well. When the Oprichniki secured the barn, the group moved inside. 

The horses were giving water and something to eat, while a small group of Oprichniki went outside to hunt for dinner. 

You settled on the ground, close by the fire that Ivan had made. Once the sun had set, the temperature had dropped significantly, and you could say with certainty you were freezing.

You pulled the dirty Kefta around you a little tighter, hoping to conserve some warmth. The General seated himself beside you, reaching out a gentle hand to touch the cut on your neck. You winced slightly at the sting, and General Kirigan retreated his hand to retrieve a small, black cloth from his pocket. 

Gently, he wiped the blood away from you neck and face, making sure to avoid pressing to harshly. 

Once he retreated his hand, you gave him a small smile. 

“Thank you,” you said in a quiet voice, and he nodded. 

“Once you’re in the palace you’ll be able to clean up properly. The cut isn’t too deep, but in your weakened state it is enough to stir some worry,” he explained, tucking the small cloth back into his pocket. 

You nodded once again, moving to lay down, using you arm to support your head. The palace. That is where you were headed, after all…

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @daddipantherr @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @hor1zond1ar1es @lorsstar1st @superlegend216 @ravensinthedaylight

[inayakaisen]

Hiraeth

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary: You're drunk and insecure, Kaz puts you to rights again.

[drunken comfort (if you can call it that), insecurity, yearning, desiderium]

You stumbled into Kaz Brekker's office high.

It'd been a moderately good day for you, as good as you could get, short university classes, no calls from your mother, a job gone smooth AND a little after party at the Crow Club with your best friends.

By heritage, Fjerdan-Ravkan, but Kerch to the core- you'd promptly called your roomie and told her you'd be late, giggling at her worried questions.

"Business", you hiccuped into the phone after your second drink. You were an unfortunate lightweight, but that hadn't stopped you from trying to match drink to drink with Jesper as Matthias watched on disapprovingly.

Kaz hadn't joined, like usual. The two of you had grown somewhat close over the years- bonded by time and proximity and tension. He seemed to genuinely tolerate you- even seek you out, when he was in a good mood. In return, you chattered his ear off and bestowed him with your company, healing, and Inferni skills. He'd never know, though. He'd never know about the times you'd risked your college career just to go on another job with him, the times you'd penned poems only to fling them all into the fire, all the boys and girls you'd rejected at college, telling them your heart belonged to someone else. He'd never know, you told yourself as you snuck glances at his dark hair, his siren eyes, the way his gloved hand moved across the smooth surface of yet another mansion floor plan.

"And what're you staring at?" He said, eyes still on the map. He'd let you stumble into his room, collapse into the divan beside his desk and watch him as he planned the next job, curiously not complaining.

"Definitely not you", you retorted, falling into the usual snap and retort banter routine that the two of you had followed over the years. "Do you get any sleep at all?"

"More than you", he responded, finally glancing at you. His gaze dragged over you in a way that sent a tingle down your spine, but you knew better than to get too excited. He saw you as nothing more than a comrade, a healer, a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

"How many shots?"

"Huh?" Your eyes snapped to him, still disoriented. You sat on the divan, cross cross applesauce, head leaned back against the high headrest, higher than God.

"Then why are you so drunk?" He seemed deadpan as always, his dark eyes fixed on you. You squirmed.

"I might have had two brownies...I didn't know they were the special kind."

His lips twitched, irritation and faint amusement written across his face. "Of course you did. Why stop at two? Why not eat the entire tray and wash it down with a barrel of rum?"

"I didn't know!" You said in a voice that might have bordered on whiny. Alcohol made you sappy, and you didn't know what drugs did. A deadly combination of the unknown and emotional. "Trust me."

"Luckily for you, ignorance isn't fatal." He dragged his cane across the floor, standing up. "This time , at least. How many fingers am I holding up?"

You squinted, his gloved hands mildly blurry without your glasses. Nina had taken them off as you'd been getting ready, telling you that an hour or two without them wouldn't do you any harm.

"..three?"

"Wrong." He snapped. "Four."

He stepped closer, though not close enough. That was the problem with him, you thought drunkenly. Always close, never close enough. He was an enigma that you'd tried to unravel, a closed book you wanted to open and read and run your fingers through.

Something that'd never happen.

One of his hands straightened the collar of your dress, gloved fingers barely brushing against the sliver of bare skin exposed at your neckline. Your favourite black top, the one you'd so carefully layered silver lockets on in hopes that Kaz might wander down to the bar and LOOK at you. He was looking at you now, but it was too late. Your hair had strayed from its styling, your lipstick was rubbed away.

"You're a mess." He said under his breath, voice as rocksalt as ever but sewn with mild concern, and something soft, something quite like endearment...or were you too far gone?

"Clean me up, then." You looked up at him, eyes half lidded, already drowsy. But you didn't want to be. You wanted it to last, for him to be gentle and kind to you, for this rare moment to linger. But that was a dream of a dream. Maybe you'd always be left hoping.

You could only catch the twitch of his lips as you drifted off, the way the expression in his eyes changed, mirroring yours- vulnerability, concern, endearment, gentleness. You drifted off, but you caught the last word he said as your eyes shut, quiet and gentle,

"Always".

[criminalamnesia]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

summary: Nikolai confronts you about unspoken feelings.

warnings: fluff, no use of y/n, not proofread, no gendered pronouns used (that I know of), grisha!heartrender!reader

author’s note: dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift inspired this! also listen I love zoya and nikolai but nikolai is just sooooooo ksjfjsjs I wanted to write a reader insert for him.

—

What you had with your captain was something no one understood– not even the two of you.

Sturmhond– or Nikolai, as you knew him in secret– was your friend. Your captain. But he was also something more.

He was a rogue ship, and you were a lighthouse guiding him home. He was a dangerous sea, threatening to drown you if you tested your luck– and oh, how you were so close to seeing what would happen if you did.

You shouldn’t even know his true identity. But, as fate would have it, he needed a heartrender with a specific set of skills that you just happened to have, and you needed an escape.

You were his tailor– disguising his appearance and turning him into the infamous Sturmhond. That was the only reason you were allowed to see him without his mask– you were the one to put it back together.

“You’re not surprised?” He had asked you the first night your services had been requested.

The ginger hair of Sturmhond had faded. The crooked nose had straightened, but the same smug grin was still present.

“No,” you had said. “I know that heartbeat. I knew it was you a mile from your ship.”

That took him aback. How did you know his heartbeat?

You had laughed, your eyes twinkling with something he found mesmerizing. He didn’t know you– he was sure of it. He wouldn’t forget a face like yours.

One of your hands was on his shoulder, holding him still. The other roamed his face, fingers dancing across his skin as you worked.

“You’re staring,” you stated, your fingers moving to his messy blond hair. “Trying to figure out how I know you?”

“Yes,” he admitted, eyes watching your face intently. “Were you at the Little Palace?”

You nodded. “I was.” The blond of his hair started to turn red. “But I spent most of my time in the Grand Palace.” You paused, your hand leaving his shoulder to move to his chin, tilting his head to the side. You could hear his heart beat a tad bit faster.

“The Darkling gave me to your mother, as he did with Genya. I was her apprentice. She taught me how to tailor.” You told him.

“I didn’t suffer the same fate she did, if that’s what you’re wondering. Your father had eyes for her, not me.” You couldn’t help the bitterness in your voice. Nikolai flinched.

“You were rarely home– but I met you once, when we were both still small. That’s why I know your heartbeat. The only one of the Royal Family to have a good heart– not a sour one. It stuck with me, I guess you could say.”

“I don’t remember you,” he admitted, and you gave a small laugh. His blond hair was almost completely red now.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re not the only one being tailored, Captain. The First Army can’t take me back if they don’t recognize me, now can they?”

“Are you listening?”

Nikolai’s voice broke you from your thoughts. He was sitting on the bed in his quarters on the ship. You stood between his knees, your hands on his face as you changed him back into Sturmhond.

“Mhm,” you hummed. You weren’t. This routine was something you could do in your sleep, and truthfully, you found your mind drifting off more and more whenever Nikolai required your assistance. It’s not that you found his company dull– quite the opposite, actually. But you didn’t want him to know that.

“No you weren’t,” he gave a small chuckle, one of his hands moving up to grab one of yours. He pulled it from his face as he intertwined your fingers.

“Nikolai,” you hissed, pulling your hand from his grasp. “Do you want me to mess up? I was in the middle of reforming your nose.”

He sighed, his hand falling back to his lap as you raised yours once more. You avoided his eyes, knowing you wouldn’t like what you saw in them.

Between the two of you, he was the more open with his feelings. For the past few weeks, he had continuously tried to corner you and get you to talk about whatever the two of you were. To try and figure things out. You had successfully avoided him thus far, but you knew you were dancing on thin ice.

It was only a matter of time before he recruited one of the twins to subdue you while he forced you to listen. You wouldn’t put it past him, and you knew for a fact Tolya would help him. Curse that hopeless romantic.

“You’re insufferable. And exhausting,” he told you as you grasped his chin gently between your fingers, turning his face this way and that to examine your handiwork.

“I know. You tell me quite often,” you remarked, nodding to yourself as you moved to focus your sights on his hair.

He sighed. Silence engulfed the two of you. It was almost smothering, full of unsaid words and the tension between the two of you. You were suddenly aware of how close you were to him– his knees caging you in as you stood between his spread legs. His face in your hands, his hands now on your waist.

“We keep dancing around this,” he said. You didn’t reply, choosing to focus more intently on the roots of his hair. “The whole crew thinks we’re sleeping together.”

That caught you off guard. You gave a snort, rolling your eyes. “Of course they do. You call me to your quarters in the night, every week. You always stare at me, especially when you think I’m not looking. And you’re handsy– you’ve always got a hand on my back or my shoulder or something.”

Nikolai chuckled. “Well, you’re one to talk. Every time you laugh at something I’ve said, you grab onto my arm and go ‘oh Sturmhond!’. And don’t act like you don’t stare, too.”

“I do not say ‘oh Sturmhond’,” you said, looking down at him. He grinned that same crooked smile.

“I know you’re thinking it. Probably thinking some other things, too. Like how you’d like to–”

“Shut up, or I’m going to give you a black eye.” You hissed, pulling his hair harder than you should’ve.

He laughed. “You wouldn’t. You like my face too much.”

“Im sick of it, actually,” you remarked. “I see it everyday.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.” He replied.

“You say that as if you’d let me leave. I’m the only tailor you’ve got.”

He shook his head. “That’s not the reason I wouldn’t let you leave, and we both know it.”

You dropped your hands as the last of his blond turned red. Your job here was done. There was nothing stopping you from bidding him goodnight and excusing yourself to your own cot. You knew he would drop it and let you go without another word, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You didn’t want to say anything.

“So now you’re keeping me prisoner?” You said, suddenly all too aware of his hands squeezing your waist.

“Maybe I am. At least until you admit you like me,” he said, and you scoffed.

“If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be here–” you began, but he cut you off.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

He moved to stand. You tried to step back, but his hands on you kept you rooted to the spot. You looked up at him, heat rising to your cheeks. Your chests were touching now, and there were only inches between your lips and his.

“When are we going to stop playing this game?” He whispered, one of his hands moving from your waist to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“You like it too much to stop.” You retorted.

“I’d like honesty more,” he said, and you shook your head. “As much fun as playing cat and mouse is with you, I’m growing tired of chasing. And we both know you’re tired of running.”

His hands were on your hips as he swung you around the deck, a laugh on his lips as you clung to his shoulders. You couldn’t help but smile as he dipped you, your eyes meeting his. There were unspoken promises in his gaze– too many feelings, and you had to look away.

Others danced around you two as a few of the crew played some song you’d never heard on makeshift instruments. Laughter and conversation made it hard to think straight. Spirits were high– you’d all just succeeded in breaking through a Fjerdan blockade– and that called for a celebration.

“They’re all going to think we’re together,” you had told Nikolai as he grabbed your hand and pulled you to the dance floor. He had laughed, leaning in close to whisper “let them” in your ear.

He had kissed you for the first time that night, after the party had subsided and everyone was asleep but the two of you. You had been talking quietly, watching the stars and listening to the waves, and he had kissed you and you had melted.

“Nikolai..” you sighed, your hands moving to rest on his shoulders. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“I don’t care,” he told you, and his heartbeat was as steady as it had ever been.

“I do,” you told him, meeting his gaze. “You can’t play pirate forever. What happens when you go back to Ravka, back to your family? You can’t marry me. I’m nobody– not a princess, not a diplomat. I’m an escaped servant who knows too much and would be imprisoned or executed for escaping.”

“Privateer,” he corrected, and you rolled your eyes. “And I’m the second son– a bastard second son. I’m already a disgrace in their eyes,” one of his hands moved to the small of your back, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your shirt. “I can’t disappoint them any more than I have.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think of you now, they still won’t let me anywhere near you.” You replied, and he shook his head.

“Why are we even talking about this?” He asked. “We’re not in Ravka. We’re in the middle of the ocean, and no one cares what we do.”

He was right. You were far from Ravka and his family and your pasts. You were someone new, and he was, too. You weren’t an escaped servant– you were Sturmhond’s first mate. You were his most trusted friend– besides the twins– and you were the one he wanted.

And you wanted him, too.

“I don’t care about details,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t care about families or consequences or rumors. I care about you, about that little smile you always get before you win at cards, about how you let me drag you onto the dance floor while the crew stares, and how you put up with me more than you should.”

You didn’t say anything, too stunned for words.

“I would do anything,” he began, his face slowly inching towards yours. “To dance with you again. To kiss you again. To not hide behind stolen glances and little jabs at each other.”

“Nikolai,” you murmured, your eyes flitting down to his lips.

“Yes?” He asked as your eyes found his once more.

“Just shut up.” You said, and you closed the gap between the two of you, your lips meeting his.

Maybe nothing he said would be true in the morning. Maybe he would realize this was all a big mistake, but you didn’t care.

He was right. You were tired of running, and you were so glad he was tired of chasing.

And as you kissed, that heartbeat that you’d remembered after all these years– that you’d always remember– soared.

And you knew he wasn’t lying.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Beauty and the Beast ~ Darkling (part 4)

A/n: thought about this during work to get through a difficult shift and had to write more, so here it is!

Word Count: 5200+

MASTERLIST

- The Dark -

Y/n was losing patience. The whole drama with Makya had reawakened Y/n's eyes to a horrible truth: time was running out. He may still be young, but he had aged enough that he was expected to marry. To make a family. Old enough now that he would soon run out of options.

Did that bother him? One day eventually his father would pass away. He couldn't run this farm completely by himself... although, how could he form any kind of lasting romantic relationship? He had such a huge secret, and keeping it from his distracted father was one thing - but his life partner? The person he made a future and a home with?

Did he even want to marry right now? Did he want to even pursue a relationship in this place he hated, full of people he couldn't stand who thought he was good looking but an idiot? If Makya was the only one going after him... maybe that was a sign. But what other options did he have? He couldn't leave. Not yet.

Not until Alina got ahold of her powers.

And see that was the problem. Because it was becoming obvious that she wasn't just learning slow - she wasn't growing at all anymore. Y/n had lost drive to give energy for their training anymore.

Alina didn't miss his lack luster non-attempts.

"Could you at least pretend to be paying attention right now?"

Y/n looked up to see a frustrated Alina, her eyebrows pulled together and her lips pressed in a thin line of irritation. It was the softest glare Y/n had ever seen, but he could tell that she was either on the brink of snapping his head off of his shoulders with her teeth, or bursting into tears, and he wanted neither to happen. Feeling guilty, he put his book away. "I'm sorry. It's just..." His words trailed off and he swallowed, shrugging.

Alina rose an eyebrow. "It's just what?"

A frown pulled at Y/n's lips and he looked at her head on. If he was going to teach her, he had to be straight forward and honest. "You're holding yourself back." He rose an eyebrow. "Like something is making you hesitate."

That made Alina back down, because she knew he was right. She wasn't ready to admit it though. Not really. The effort she gave was appreciated, and even somewhat truthful, but it had the feeling of a symptom rather than the actual disease. Smaller. A side effect; not the problem. "I mean I've always been told people like me were cruel and evil. Every story with a Grisha is a warning, and every Grisha hunt is the best tale and every Grisha execution is a celebration." She sighed.

Y/n nodded, considering that. "Are you afraid of getting caught," he began. "Or are you afraid of what you're capable of."

When Alina looked at Y/n now, there was a bit of fear. Not like she thought he would attack, but like she had been seen more than she wanted to have been. "I mean we're all afraid of being caught aren't we?"

It was answer enough. Not because of what she had said, but because of what she hadn't. "Do you want to talk about it?"

It was Alina's turn to consider. "Yeah." She finally let her hands fall to her sides and she moved to Y/n, sitting down next to him. She had been trying to summon the bright light she had only managed to conjure in small bursts - at best, fleeting moments. It always flickered and it took everything in her just to keep it dimly alive, even though it was about an inch in dimension.

She had made progress though and Y/n tried to hold onto that. Learning something new wasn't easy, especially when it was something like this. Something that got into your head and weakened your power with doubt and fear and anxiety. This seemed the case with her specifically.

Y/n's eyes found Alina in the quiet that began to stretch as she avoided talking about it after she had just said she wanted to. He refused to prod her through, forcing her to keep it going. She looked at him mournfully, as if he were torturing her. "What?" There was a bit of a smile in his voice when he spoke and she glared lightly. It only made him smile more.

Alina sighed. "How did you do it so easily?" Her change in subject let Y/n know that she hadn't actually wanted to talk about it. Or, perhaps she had but she wasn't ready to. Y/n let it drop, sensing her need to move on.

"I didn't do it easily," he admitted. That seemed to surprise her. "Hey I've been at this for ages. I've had time to practice, and my skill isn't as obvious as yours. I read and read and read, and then I experimented for all of the things I couldn't find out. I found out that I could boost our crops, and ever since we've been first pick for harvest time shopping. Our animals are strong and never get hurt. Even my father, who's getting on in age and whose professions and hobbies are dangerous and leave him often injured, doesn't have any problems that last long. He heals fast and is well off physically, even at his age." He shrugged.

Alina seemed awed. "You just keep this farm perfect and running all by yourself huh?"

Y/n scoffed a laugh. "Hardly. It's not perfect, and my father does help here and there. I'm young, and that means I'm strong and have more energy, but he still by far outweighs my experience and knowledge. Even now he has to intervene sometimes when I don't know what to do. He couldn't do it by himself either - it's our combined effort that keeps this place going. That's why... as he gets older..." Y/n pressed his lips together.

Alina could see the thoughts in his mind. "You think you'll need help with this place one day."

Y/n nodded reluctantly. "There's only so much I can do by myself anyway. When harvest time comes, my father does help. When it comes to getting rid of the old animals and raising up the younger animals - he helps me with that too. Not because I don't know how to handle it but because a farm this big? It's impossible to do every single thing by yourself."

"Maybe Mal and I could help one of these days," Alina offered. "We do other things for the community, it could help. To do other things as well."

Y/n offered an appreciative smile, but shook his head. "Being a farmer is a 24 hour, full time job. Mal is too busy too often. He likes going out into the Forrest - they are his adventures. His escape from society. From this place. And..." his smile softened. "As much as I appreciate the offer... Alina-"

"I'm not much help." She nodded. "That's fair." She hesitated a moment and then asked, "then what will you do? Rent with someone?" She hesitated even more. "Marry?"

For a long time, Y/n was quiet. "Not here."

Alina watched him, but he was suddenly guarded, so she couldn't read him at all. "When do you leave?"

Y/n closed his eyes, sighing. He seemed a bit defeated. Perhaps guilty as well. "I... don't know."

"What stops you?"

Y/n's eyes opened, but his head tilted back so he looked up at the ceiling. Through it even, as he grew lost in thought. "My father. He would... miss me. And this farm - it means so much to him."

Alina hummed. "So you'll give your dream up for him? He won't be around forever."

"But I also don't have forever to wait," Y/n cut in, a tad frustrated. "And at the same time, I don't want to look forward to my father passing away." He seemed to remember something, and Alina thought it might be painful. "I love my father," he said oh so quietly, and Alina winced. Nothing she'd ever heard started like that if it was good. "He loves me too." Even worse. "He tries his best and succeeds in a lot of areas. I'm glad he's in my life."

Quietly, Alina prompted, "But?"

Y/n didn't deny it was coming. "But..." His shoulders slumped. "I hate it here. I hate this stupid small town and the people who look at me and see someone I'm not. I know what they say about me. I know how they talk about me behind my back. Makya was not the first person to simplify my worth down to attractiveness."

At that, Alina rolled her eyes. "Makya is an idiot."

"But not the exception," Y/n shot back. "Everyone in this town is an idiot, I swear to god." He finally looked at her, and then his hard look softened again. "Except maybe you and Mal." His eyes shone, and they exchanged a smile. Y/n sighed, looking away. "Why don't we end it there today? We can pick up again this weekend. The next few days I need to spend on the farm again."

Alina nodded, collecting her things and rising from the table. "See you this weekend." She messed up the boy's hair on her way out and Y/n chuckled as he watched her go. The smile lingered as the door closed behind Alina, and then a moment after, but slowly began to fade.

The emptiness of the house was too heavy. The previous conversation had set a stone boulder in his chest and he was not handling it well alone, with the ringing silence.

He went to bed early that night.

The next day was as he had said - focused on his duties. The routine and mind numbing, physically exhausting work was good for him. He got to blow off steam, and then see his progress and feel a bit better. He didn't feel as frozen in place. As stuck.

As trapped.

Well, that was a lie. He did feel trapped. By straw and wood and memories and loyalty.

He tried to distract himself from that. And he mostly succeeded.

And then the stranger came.

Strangers never came to their little corner of the world. Y/n knew every single face the second they had a face to know. The second they were born, or moved in, within minutes Y/n knew them. So to see a fully grown man who wasn’t in the least familiar? Running up to his house? In the middle of the day, when no one was here and everyone was usually at work anyway?

This couldn't be good.

The man looked ragged. He limped, a scrape on his cheek and his hair twisting wildly in wisps. He was older, and his eyes were miles wide. As he got closer Y/n realized he was shaking. His suspicion was overwhelmed with concern. He approached the man, more wanting to help than being cautious. His heart had always been his weakness.

"Sir?" Y/n began, hands out in front of him as he paused, unsure how to even help.

"Y/n," the man said in response. Y/n froze. The man was unfocused, and his voice sounded hollow, but it was unmistakable. He was being addressed. "Are you Y/n?" The man asked when he got no response.

Y/n jerked to a sudden start again. "I- yes. Do we know each other?"

The stranger suddenly focused on the young man in front of him. "Oh, you wouldn't remember me. It's been... decades, now, I suppose. I knew you a long time ago. When you were just a lad. Barely born, couldn't even walk or talk yet." He almost smiled, but then his eyes watered. "Your mother and I-"

Y/n felt suddenly very uncomfortable. "You know she's dead then?"

The man nodded. "I helped your father. Move away and find somewhere new. Somewhere very far away and hidden. I helped him run."

Y/n felt a sudden, horrible feeling rise into his chest. "Why are you here? Who are you?"

"My name is Phillip," the man eased. His face was crumbling. He was agonized. "Your father and I used to be business partners. But then he went into hiding, so-" he shrugged. "But for this trip, he came back to me. He asked for my help again."

Y/n closed the distance between them in a breath. He grabbed the man's lapels. "Where is my father?"

The small, old man looked up at the boy with so much regret. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." his voice was small and weak and the horrible feeling grew.

Y/n used all of his self control not to scream or shake the man as he wanted to. "Where," he tried again. "Is. My. Father?"

Phillip's lip trembled. "We were discovered. He knew if he was caught it might lead back to you. So- he ran."

"Ran where?" Y/n demanded.

Phillip whimpered. Y/n's hold on his coat tightened. "Where, Phillip?" His tone did not leave room for kindness or stalling. He needed answers and he needed them blunt and immediate.

The poor older man coiled away from Y/n, but not in fear. In regret. "Into the Fold. The only place they would not follow."

Y/n lost his grip, his lip hands slipping from the other man's coat. He looked away, the horrible feeling exploding in a massacre until only hollow aching was left. His father was dead. Y/n turned away, eyes closing. He'd have to marry now. Spring was coming soon, they had to prepare. He couldn't plant everything by himself. He didn't have time to sell the farm or make plans to leave.

And his father was gone.

Y/n covered his mouth. Or, he tried. As his hand rose Phillip caught his wrist. "He only went because there is a chance of survival."

Y/n looked at the crazy old man. "No one has every survived the Fold."

Phillip shook his head. "Walking through the Fold is near impossible. A long journey and no luck if even one spots you.” He didn’t have to specify one of what. “But if you can remain silent, and move fast. He has done it before. Many of those desperate enough have. Stories you don't tell in case anyone finds out. In case anyone tells the King - a guaranteed hanging. The King wants no one to know it's a possible journey. He controls travel, he controls everything if he controls who can and can't cross the Fold."

Y/n's mind was reeling. "So my father might be alive."

Phillip nodded quickly. "I came to get you- he needs a healer."

The blood in Y/n's body turned to ice. "I'm not a doctor."

The old man looked at Y/n with knowing eyes. "Your mother knew, when you were born. She was, of course. And your father. They knew you'd be, and your father - well he expected what kind as well. Cause see, he was a Durant. So good with mending and fixing and molding metal. And your mother - well she was a Tailor. Working with the body, they knew you'd pick up one in some way. And then, he was always healthy and all the plants and animals here thrived so well. He knew you found the scrolls she left for you. That you learned. He never spoke of it. Didn't want to tell you- but he told me, you see-"

Y/n stepped away. "How do I know any of this is accurate? You could be lying."

Phillip shrugged, and suddenly he looked exhausted. "Your father is hurt at best," he sighed. "What do you have to lose?"

And... the man had a point. Y/n's jaw locked and his eyes narrowed. "Take me to him."

The rest of the day was packing. He left a note for Alina who would be back soon and then left it on the table. She could sell the farm or handle it for him, he didn't care. He was going to be gone.

Maybe forever.

He told her too, that he was going where she could not follow him. He didn't tell her where or why, but not to follow him. Not to bother. Either they'd survive and that would be the end of it, or they'd die and it wouldn't matter anyway.

And then they were off.

It took three months. In that time, Y/n and Phillip got to know each other quite well. Y/n liked the man. He had lots of stories about his mother and father, and clarified so many things that Y/n didn't know.

There was only one he really needed though.

"Did he really kill her?"

Phillip's lips pressed together. It seemed he had also heard the rumors. "It depends on who you ask," he answered carefully.

"I'm asking you," Y/n answered evenly.

Phillip nodded. Fair enough. "He did." He sighed, smiling softly. "He was so talented. So amazing. Everyone in town kept his secret, as he was the keystone of the place. Kept everything up and running, and had magic hands. It was fascinating to watch him. And then, one day she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It went wrong, very wrong, and... we didn't have a healer. Not yet." He shook his head. "She didn't make it, and he blamed himself. The whole town turned on him. Blamed him for it too. This man, he had wanted your mother instead you see. And he said that this was proof that Grisha were dangerous. Evil." Phillip paused for a moment. "We almost lost your father that day. And you. So he ran, and he hid, and he swore he'd never use his small science again. But, he didn't know how to work metal without his abilities. It was against his nature. Against the very way he saw metal and knew how it worked. Nothing did what it was supposed to the way it was supposed to. He's Grisha. He was made to work metal like one."

That... made a lot of sense. Y/n didn't speak much after that conversation, but he already hadn't been saying a lot and Phillip didn't seem to notice. He liked talking and that was fine with Y/n. He had always been reserved and he was still in denial. He had hope and he was willing to fight for his father with his blood if he had to. They'd both make it out of the Fold. No matter what.

When they got to the camps, suddenly they had to he a lot more careful and move a lot slower. Y/n didn't notice - he could finally see the Fold and... he didn't have words.

Drawings and stories did not do the thing justice. There was no way to truly encapsulate the experience of looking at solid darkness, undisturbed by even sunlight. Darkness swirled off the edges of the barrier, rolling into the air and disappearing like mist. Or smoke. It was wild and breathtaking. Y/n knew it was dangerous, and horrible things had happened inside it. He knew it was why humans hated Grisha so much, what it stood for. What ruin it held for his kind.

But god, it was beautiful too.

Y/n had always found Grisha to be extraordinary, and the Black Heretic to be an extension of that. Now looking at it in all its glory, there was something even more about it. This wasn't just small science. This was magic. The cost had been horrendous, but the way it bent nature and refused to be tamed... Y/n couldn't deny that he found it kind of inspiring. Who cared about what non-Grisha thought? Of course they feared something that they couldn't control. Couldn't defeat.

Crossing that threshold was even more insane. Getting past the first army was only too easy. In the last half year since the incident with his father, they had regrown lax. They had forgotten. And soon enough they were forgotten too, as Phillip prepared Y/n for what they were about to see - and then went inside.

It was like closing a door and sealing off a room. The sun disappeared as they were swallowed by the darkness. And... well, it wasn't as dark as Y/n had previously thought. It was definitely poorly light. It was hard to see at first, but once his eyes adjusted it was like walking around at night with a weak candle. Fine enough.

The limited light was a sort of greyish, with hints of blue. Y/n had heard of the special blue lamps that had been created by Grisha. They were always destroyed when found, but were apparently able to pull on the blue light that was created in the Fold, expounding on it and growing enough to actually make it easy to see. Because it built on what was already in the Fold, the volcra wouldn't attack immediately. Not unless they could tell that you were human. They couldn't hear your heartbeat or smell fear, but they did have a gift for picking up sound. If one could be quiet enough...

"There's a place," Phillip wrote out in the soft dirt under their feet. It was hard to see, and he had to retrace it several times, but it worked eventually. "We hide there."

When Phillip took Y/n to the place, Y/n about slapped him silly. When he had said place, the picture that it had conjured was some hole in the ground they'd dug out, or some kind of bunker. This wasn't just a place. It was a castle. Like, a proper palace.

Place.

Palace.

Y/n almost slapped his own forehead, and only stopped himself because dying now would have been stupid.

Once inside, Phillip started to make noise again. Which made Y/n jump, as in the last two or three days - without the sun he really couldn't tell - it had been so completely silent between them. "No worries," Phillip eased, chuckling as Y/n flinched again. "The castle has always been a safe place for Grisha."

Y/n blinked twice before he finally put it together. "You're a Grisha too?"

Phillip smiled. He extended his hands, flexing a his fingers, and suddenly a huge gust of wind ripped through the still air, blowing across Y/n's face and ruffling his hair. He couldn't help himself - he grinned. All of his stress and exhaustion eased away as, for the first time in his life, he got to see a real Sqauller in person.

As if to follow it up in an act, or maybe compare in a sort of you-show-me-your-I'll-show-you-mine, Y/n hands pressed together and then pulled apart, hands sliding through the air. Phillip gasped as he suddenly looked down at his leg, eyes widening as the wound there healed instantly. It had been older, Y/n could tell, even before they began traveling together. The mark on his neck had faded into a scar unfortunately, so Y/n couldn't touch it up, but he did heal Phillip's arm as well. It had gotten hurt while they were sneaking past the first army. Phillip had tripped and slammed his arm against a rock.

Phillip grinned as his skin sealed again, moving his arm and flexing his fingers to extend his muscles. Experiencing the little science in all its glory. “This is amazing,” he whispered, almost reverently. His eyes, bright for the first time, moved back to Y/n. There was something so personal and warm there. Something wholly and completely adoring. Y/n blushed. It was nice to be seen for who he was. To be appreciated for it.

There was a sudden feeling. Something colder on the wind that wasn’t moving. A third breath they could hear, except they couldn’t hear another breath. But it was like that - as if realizing that someone else was there. Or maybe just that there should be. Neither could tell what it was that made them feel so less alone in an eery, startling way, or which eyes made the hair in the back on their necks stand on end, but suddenly all joy was drained from both of them. Y/n swallowed, hands lining up as he focused on being ready to heal Phillip. If anything attacked them, his squaller abilities would be their only hope.

Then Y/n heard his name. It was soft, around a cough. Confused, distant, and weak. But familiar.

“Father?” Y/n choked out, eyes watering immediately as his fork broke and he raced to the source of the noise. Phillip called after him, warning him to be careful. Warning him to slow down and walk carefully. Warning him not to leap before he’s looked. But it was too late - Y/n was racing down stairs and down long tunnels, blind to how far he was going. Not thinking about how impossible it would have been for such a weak voice to have reached his ears this far, when he was in the entry room with the long ornate hall, and now he was racing down down down down… to the heart of the palace.

Into the dungeons.

He recognized them from art and story descriptions, though he had never seen such a thing in person. It wasn’t colder or wet like in the stories, but it was gloomier. Nothing but metal bars and worn down walls as far as Y/n’s eyes could see. He stilled, heart racing and eyes wildly trying to find any sign of life. “Father?” His voice was full of desperation and agony. He sounded on the brink of going mad. It was a plea for mercy from the universe more than it was a call to the man he was looking for.

The universe responded.

“Y/n?” A breath of relief, strong and all consuming slipped from Y/n as all te tension left his body and he raced to the last cell at the end of the hall. He turned, and his heart filled with joy upon seeing the old man. Y/n’s father did not seem happy to see his son though, as horror filled his eyes. “What are you doing here?” He demanded.

“I’m here to get you,” Y/n explained softly, kneeling to be at the right level for his father. The old man was laying on his side, curled up, and had propped himself up on an elbow to talk. Now Y/n reached out, cupping his cheek. Despite himself, the old man leaned into the touch, sighing in relief. Y/n softened. He knew that his father hated being alone, and that losing his mother had been something deeply effecting him. He couldn’t imagine what his poor father had been feeling, thinking he’d never see his son again either. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The old man’s eyes went wide again. “No.” He pushed his son’s hand away finally. “You need to leave. Leave me here. Go!”

Y/n’s eyebrows wound together. “I’m not leaving you here.” It was a curse. It was a bad word. An accusation. How dare his father even suggest a thing? “How did you get in here? Let me get you out.”

“You want to let him out?” Y/n froze. There was that third presence again. The one that made his skin crawl and his anxiety shoot sly high. But this time it was distant and weird. This time it was a sound. It was a proof. A voice in his ears, weaving into his body and injecting into his blood - turning it into ice. Laying over and settling into his bones - locking them in place. He was more stone than flesh and bone when he heard that low, calm voice. The smooth voice that was unbothered by the emotional reunion and couldn’t have possibly been here. The cold calm and collected one. A voice that asked a question, except it was so obviously a challenge in reality.

His father was shaking. It was that fear and frail display that broke Y/n out of his own spell. Only one of them could be frozen by fear, and his father had been here too long. Y/n turned, his father reaching out to stop him, and moved away from the man on the ground to stand to his full height. He didn’t have to search the darkness - there was a shadow at the end of the hall where Y/n had initially entered the dungeon. A hulking figure covered in shadow. Shadow that would have been complete, if the castle hadn’t been covered in little blue lanterns - something that had only just occurred to Y/n as he finally stopped thinking about where his father was and started to think of how to get out of here alive. Started to take what was around them, to see if there was any weapon or way out.

What he saw instead was that shadowed figure, not seen in any detail but an obvious, deeper darkness in the hallway. So tall and broad it was terrifying, and made his heart stop in his chest. It was like looking up into space without a moon or stars or guide you, or looking down into the depths of the ocean. Focusing on the parts you couldn’t see, where the sun didn’t reach and light couldn’t show you what was danger and what was open water. Just forever extension. Never ending, all consuming darkness that seemed to lean forward. Wanting to swallow him whole.

The voice came again, and this time Y/n swallowed hard to try and move the lump from his throat. “You are brave. To stand to me. You’re scared, but you stand anyway. I haven’t seen bravery until a very long time.” It was half interested, half mocking. Like seeing an ant fight for its life and knowing it was pointless as an unimaginably big hand came down and squashed it. As if interested in the way something so small would fight for a life that was so obviously over.

Y/n locked his jaw, his hands curling into fists as he tried to steady himself. His hands still shook but he felt better being coiled and ready. To fight or run, he wasn’t sure. “Get used to it,” was all he said. It was all he could manage.

And the voice sighed, the shadow’s shoulders moving up and down in a breath. And Y/n was truly shaken by how large the thing lurking was. And then he became frustrated by not being able to see it. Only children were afraid of shadows. “Who are you, shadow walker? Show yourself!”

A pause. And then - “If you wish.” And he didn’t move, but the shadow curling around him receded and Y/n gasped, awed for a moment despite himself at the abilities of a shadow summoner. He recognized the way the hidden beasts’ arm moved, and the way the darkness responded to it.

Then the beast underneath the hiding was revealed and Y/n gasped out loud. He may have been from a village ages from here, but he knew what a vulcra looked like.

Oh god.

[lupinsversion]

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 - 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐔𝐬 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐤

• summary: when aleksander finds himself falling for reader, he doesn’t know how to express it.

• contains: aleksander x fem reader, complicated feelings, longing, self doubt, angst

• word count: 4.5k

masterlist || requests

Aleksander felt a strange mixture of warmth and discomfort every time he looked at Y/N. Ever since she had arrived at the Little Palace, he had found himself noticing her in a way he had never noticed anyone before. It was annoying, how she seemed to always pop up in his mind when he least expected it.

He tried to ignore the feelings, telling himself that they were nothing important, just a fleeting attraction. He was the Darkling, after all, and he couldn't afford to be distracted by such petty feelings.

But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the feeling lingered on, a constant presence in his mind that he couldn't quite shake off. He found himself thinking about her when he should have been focused on leading his armies or strategizing for their next move. He found himself watching her during council meetings, his eyes drawn to her figure and her sharp eyes.

He tried to convince himself that it was simply a matter of admiration. She was young and talented, after all, and it was natural to be impressed by her skills and potential. But somewhere inside him, he knew that there was something more to it. He found himself drawn to her in ways that were deeply disconcerting. He felt a magnetic pull towards her, a feeling of longing that he couldn't seem to shake.

And as the weeks went by, he found himself growing increasingly frustrated with his own feelings. He was the Darkling, leader of the Second Army, and the most powerful man in Ravka. He had to be above such frivolous emotions, above such unnecessary distractions. He couldn't risk letting emotion cloud his judgment, not when the fate of their war hung in the balance.

So he tried to push the feelings aside, to ignore the thoughts that kept bubbling up in his mind. He told himself that she was just a grisha, one of many under his command, and that she held no more importance to him than any other soldier of the Second Army.

But no matter how hard he tried to dismiss her from his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something special about her. He had never met anyone quite like her before, and her quiet determination and resilience were intoxicating.

He found himself noticing the little things about her - the way she spoke, the way she smiled, the way she carried herself. He admired her passion for learning and her quick mind, and he adored her loyalty and her honesty.

He often found himself drawn to watch her during training sessions, his eyes following her every movement as she moved with confidence and grace. He admired her skill and her dedication, and he found her infectious optimism a refreshing change from the constant seriousness that permeated the Palace and the Second Army as a whole.

And then there were the moments when they were alone. The times when their conversations grew longer and more intimate, when they shared secrets that they dared not tell anyone else. These were moments that he secretly cherished, moments where he felt closer to her than he had ever felt with anyone else.

He realized that this growing attraction to her was a liability. He was the Darkling, the general of Ravkan Army and the Second Army, the most powerful grisha in all of Ravka. And love is weakness. Love is a liability. Love is the worst possible thing to have in the middle of a war.

He found himself torn between his growing affection for her and his duty to his country and his army. He couldn't let himself be distracted by her, no matter how much he wanted to. He knew that love could lead to recklessness and careless decisions, and he couldn't have even the slightest hint of weakness in his character.

The more he tried to resist his feelings, the stronger they seemed to become. He found himself dreaming of her at night, imagining what it would be like to hold her in his arms and feel her soft skin against his.

He woke up in cold sweats, her name on his lips, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing control. He tried to convince himself that he was just lonely, that he was just missing human companionship, but he knew deep down that those were just excuses.

In his darkest moments, he could almost admit to himself that he was in love with her, that he was falling for her hard and fast. He had never felt this way about anyone, and it scared him to the core. He had always seen love as a weakness, and to feel it now, to feel it for her, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

And the thought of admitting his feelings, to himself and to her, felt like too much to bear. He couldn't imagine what she'd say, what she'd think of him, of the Darkling, the scariest and most notorious grisha general in all of Ravka. She would probably laugh in his face, or worse, she would look at him with disgust.

The truth was that he didn't deserve her. He was too dark, too filled with darkness and shadows that would surely taint her light. She was too innocent and pure to be dragged into his world of violence and darkness. And yet, despite all his logical thoughts and his rational mind, he couldn't help but feel drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.

As Aleksander watched her train, he felt his heart rate increase. He'd been feeling this way lately whenever he saw her, like he was some kind of lovesick schoolboy. It was ridiculous, and he hated it. He knew that the only way to combat it was to distance himself from her, to create a professional and distant relationship between them rather than the more affectionate bond they had now.

He took a deep breath and walked towards her, keeping his expression neutral. "Y/N." He said quietly, his voice betraying none of his tumultuous emotional state.

She was mid cheer when she turned to him, her hands slightly in the air from her celebrations before they dropped to her sides. “General Kirigan.”

He felt a familiar jolt of admiration at the sight of her cheerful smile and her gleaming eyes, but he quickly tamped it down. He couldn't let himself get distracted by her charms again, not when there was so much at stake.

"I was hoping to discuss some matters with you. Perhaps somewhere more private?" He said, gesturing towards the direction of his office. His voice was cool and composed, betraying none of the emotions that were raging inside him.

She tried not to show her confusion, but she couldn’t help but be a bit shocked in the slightest. “Yeah, yeah. Did I do something, sir?”

He shook his head slightly, his expression giving nothing away. "No, not at all.” He assured her in a low and measured voice. "It's just a matter of some importance, and it's best discussed in private."

He gestured for her to follow as he turned and marched toward his office, his steps confident and steady. He could feel her eyes on his back, and it took everything in him to resist the urge to turn around and look at her. He wanted to watch the way her steps swayed and the way her hair bounced around her shoulders as she moved.

She hadn’t expected his steps to be so quick, and she found herself struggling a bit not to fall behind. During their short walk, she couldn’t help but try to come up with all different types of scenarios in her head.

He could sense her struggle to keep up, but he didn't slow down. He needed to get to his office quickly, before he lost his nerve and changed his mind about confronting her with his idea. As they approached the door to his office, he held out his hand to open the door, waving her in first.

She walked inside, a room that she had surprisingly never been in before. Her eyes scanned the small decorations, the hardwood of the desk, and small little hints of him that weren’t obvious to just a normal passing eye.

As he shut the door behind her and she looked around his office, he couldn't help but feel a wave of vulnerability wash over him. She was in his private space, surrounded by his things and his scent. The thought made him slightly tense, although he worked hard to hide it.

He crossed to his desk and stood behind it, leaning his hands against the edge of the desk and leaning forward slightly. His expression was neutral, his voice still level as he spoke. "I have a proposition for you, Y/N."

“A proposition, sir?” She asked curiously, her brows ever so slightly furrowing.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, trying to keep his mind from straying to the way her eyes crinkled when she frowned. "Yes. One that I think will benefit us both.” He said, his tone still coolly professional.

“I’m listening…”

He studied her for a moment, taking in the sight of her standing in front of him, her expression slightly confused and curious. He knew he should have felt in control of the situation, like a man of power making a proposition to a subordinate. But instead, he felt uneasy, as if he was the one being offered something, as if he was the one who lacked power in this situation.

He took a deep breath, then spoke. "I've noticed your talent, Y/N. Your skill with amplifiers, your dedication..." He paused for a moment, before continuing in a low and measured voice. "You're valuable to the Second Army and to Ravka as a whole. And I have an offer that I think would be very beneficial to both of us."

As he spoke to her, he could feel his heart pounding against his chest, as his mind raced with thoughts of what he was about to propose. He couldn't let her see that he was nervous, though. He couldn't let her see that she affected him to such an extent.

He continued in that cool and measured tone, trying to keep his true feelings from seeping into his words. "I want you to become one of my personal grisha. A member of my elite guard, my person circle. The jobs are better, and you'll have access to other benefits as well."

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Sir, I… thank you.” She spoke softly, gratitude swimming within her blood.

He felt a pang of guilt at the way her eyes had widened, as if she felt grateful to be offered this. He quickly buried the feeling, reminding himself that he was doing this because it was practical, because it was tactical. He couldn't let her know that deep down, he was doing this because he wanted her nearby all the time.

"There are a few... conditions of acceptance.” He added, his voice low and serious. "As expected.” He added internally, mentally berating himself for being such a fool.

"You'll need to follow my orders without question, without hesitation, and with complete obedience.” He continued, trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat.

“I expected as much, sir. I thank you for this opportunity.” Her voice was soft, genuine. She couldn’t believe that she was even offered this.

His chest tightened at her response. He couldn't believe that she was actually accepting his proposition. A part of him yearned to tell her that there was a selfish reason behind the proposition, that it was partially for his own selfish desires, not just for the sake of Ravka. But he couldn't admit that. Not now. Not ever.

"You'll also need to be available whenever I need you. Be it for missions or for training or for other duties, you'll be at my side." His tone was firm as he spoke, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I understand.” She gave the slightest nod.

He studied her closely, taking in the way her eyes held his gaze, the way her lips twitched ever so slightly as she nodded. He felt a strange, confusing mix of emotions welling up in his chest, but he quickly pushed them down. “There's one more condition," he said, his voice dropping even lower.

Her head tilted slightly to the right. She had heard of a few soldiers being chosen for this, but never once heard of any more conditions than the ones he had already listed, and she couldn’t help but wonder why this seemed different.

He watched her carefully, waiting to see if she'd still be willing to accept with this final condition. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't stop himself from wanting her by his side, from wanting her close, from wanting to keep her safe. He couldn't stop himself from wanting her for himself.

He wanted to say so much more. He wanted to tell her that he was doing this because he was selfish, because he didn't want to be distracted by his feelings. Because he wanted her beside him, always. That he was scared of the way she affected him, of the way his heart pounded when he saw her smile, of the way his chest felt tight whenever she was in danger. He wanted her there, safe and by his side, where he could hear her voice and see her face all the time. Where he could touch her, hold her, feel her warmth, smell her scent.

But he didn't say any of those things, of course. He couldn't. He was the Darkling, not some simpering, lovesick fool. He was the Darkling, feared and powerful, not some puppy who followed a girl around. He had to suppress all those feelings, no matter how much they felt like they were suffocating him.

"You will live in my wing from now on. You'll have your own room with a private bathroom, of course, but you're expected to be available to me day and night.” He said, his tone firm and authoritative, but his heart was racing beneath his chest. He could feel the tension between them, thick and electric, and he knew he was crossing a line by suggesting this.

The thought of her moving out of her shared room with her friends saddened her a bit, but she knew that this was one of the greatest opportunities that rarely showed up. After a moment of processing, she nodded.

He watched her, his heart hammering against his chest. He couldn't believe he had actually said it, that he had actually asked her to move into his wing of the Little Palace. It was reckless and selfish and foolish and probably a thousand other negative words. He knew that he was only setting himself up for more heartache by making her constantly present in his life, but he couldn't resist the idea of her being there, within arm's reach at all times.

The first few days of her being part of his personal guard were a strange time for him. He found himself both elated and uneasy at the constant presence of her in his quarters. On one hand, he was over the moon about having her near him, in his space, seeing her every day. On the other hand, he found himself feeling more vulnerable and exposed than ever before. Being constantly alone with her, being constantly around her, made it harder and harder to keep his feelings hidden.

He found himself constantly battling with himself, trying to keep his interactions with her as strictly professional as possible. At the same time, he wanted to be closer to her, to touch her, to feel her hands on his arms as they trained. He found himself staring at her more often than he cared to admit, watching her every move with a growing longing in his heart.

During training, he found himself struggling to focus on anything other than her. He was grateful for the dark clothes that covered his body, as it allowed him to hide his reactions to her presence, to the sound of her voice, to the sight of her training. He found himself constantly reminding himself that he had to maintain a strictly professional relationship with her, even though every fiber of his being urged him to cross the line into something more.

Their training sessions became a sort of torture for him, as he watched her moving with incredible grace and accuracy, her movements sharp and precise. He found himself watching with fascination as she dodged and moved and attacked, his eyes following her movements with hunger and affection. But he couldn't let her see him looking at her that way, so he masked his adoration with a sharp command or a cold comment, pretending like he was just checking on her technique.

She, however, just felt like she was disappointing him. She was certain that given some more time, he would resent her and his decision to even give her such an opportunity. She worked hard, endlessly dawn to dusk, but still, she didn’t feel as if it were enough.

She backed up a few steps when the training session came to a close, fiddling with the straps of her specially made gloves that helped her powers reach further.

He watched her fiddling with her gloves, his eyes tracing the movements of her delicate fingers, his chest tightening with longing. He knew that she was talented and dedicated, and yet she doubted herself. He wanted to tell her that she was more than enough, that she had more than proven her worth to the Second Army. But he couldn't. He had to maintain his cold, impersonal demeanor, even though every fiber of his being wanted to pull her into his arms.

He took a deep breath, clearing his thoughts from his head before speaking. "You're improving." He said, his voice low and measured, even though he wanted to say so much more. He wanted to tell her he was impressed with her progress, that she was amazing, that she was perfect. But he couldn't. He could only give her a subtle compliment, hidden behind a mask of disinterested authority.

Her head slowly turned over to him, a slight sweat to her brow as her lips parted to take slow, measured breaths. “I’m by far the longest one to improve. I’m failing, you can say it.”

His heart dropped at her words. He could hear the doubt and insecurity in her voice, hear the way she tried to hide her vulnerabilities behind casual nonchalance, and he felt a deep urge to tell her that she was anything but a failure. He wanted to assure her that she was more talented and capable than most grisha he'd encountered, that she was a valuable asset to the Second Army. But again, he couldn't. He had to maintain his façade of cold detachment.

She undid the straps to the gloves and took them off by the fingers before clasping them both into a hand, looking down at them in thought.

He took a step forward, his voice low and measured. "You're too hard on yourself. You've improved quickly, but there's always room for improvement. Don't compare yourself to others, only compare yourself to your previous performance. You're improving, don't doubt that.”

She glanced outside, noticing how it was getting dark. “I better rest, continue at dawn.”

He watched as she looked outside, knowing she was right. It was getting dark, and they needed their rest to stay strong for their next mission. He felt a sharp pang of longing in his chest as she spoke of continuing in the morning, a longing to spend more time with her, to talk with her and be near her.

Her steps were slow and measured as she moved to walk past him and towards the exit of the room.

He watched her move past him, every step feeling like a blow to his heart. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to pull her back and hold her close, but he couldn't. He stood there, frozen, feeling like a man being torn apart.

As she reached the exit, he couldn't resist calling out to her, his voice a sharp and harsh command, though full of affection deep down. "Wait."

Her head snapped in his direction, a look of confusion etched on her features.

He took a deep breath, his mind racing with a mix of emotions, of longing and need and desire. He knew he shouldn't cross the line, but he wanted to feel her presence for just a moment more, even just for a minute. He took a step towards her, his expression still controlled, despite everything going on inside him. "Just... stay for a moment.” He said, his voice softer than before, his heart pounding against his chest.

He watched her carefully, seeing the confusion in her eyes, but he saw underneath it, a glimpse of understanding, of the possibility that she felt the same way too. His heart hammered against his chest as he waited for her response, hoping beyond hope that she'd accept, that she'd stay with him, atleast for just one more moment.

“Okay.” She whispered, letting her hands fall to her sides.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him at her small, soft word, "okay". Her quiet acceptance felt like a weight being lifted off his chest, and he felt a surge of emotions, a mix of relief, longing, and adoration. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to take her hand in his, to pull her closer and hold her tight. But he didn't. He stayed where he was, trying to keep his voice steady and calm.

"Come here.” He said softly, gesturing for her to come closer to him. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to feel her presence, even if it was for just a moment longer.

Her brows furrowed but she took two small steps closer.

As she took those two small steps closer to him, he couldn't resist taking a step towards her as well, closing the gap between them slightly. He felt his heart pounding against his chest, his hands tightening into fists to stop himself from reaching out and pulling her into his arms. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump off and let his emotions carry him.

"Closer.” He whispered, his voice hushed and filled with longing. He wanted her closer, as close as possible, to feel her warmth and hear her soft breath and smell her sweet scent.

“Sir, if I walk any closer we’ll be pressed up together.” She whispered.

His heart skipped a beat as she acknowledged the close distance they'd be standing at if she moved closer, his chest filling with longing and adoration. He wanted to feel her against him, to feel her heat against his own, but he couldn't. He knew he couldn't cross that line, even if he was desperate for it. "I know.” He whispered, his voice filled with a mix of longing and restraint.

He wanted to say more, to tell her how much he wanted her closer, how much he yearned to touch her, to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. But he couldn't. He couldn't cross that line, not here, not now, not with her. But he couldn't resist a slight step towards her, closing the small gap between them a little bit more, his chest almost touching hers.

He felt her warmth, her presence, her breath brushing lightly against him, and it was all he could do to resist the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer, to press his body against hers and feel her in his embrace. It was a torturous thing, standing this close to her, feeling her body so near his, having her so close.

His eyes flitted from hers to her lips, his thoughts filled with longing and need and desire. He felt a deep ache in his chest at the proximity and intensity of his feelings, of her presence. He wanted so badly to close the small remaining gap between them, to reach out and touch her, to feel her soft skin against his fingertips.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and his mind clouded with yearning and desire. He was so close, so close to crossing that line, but he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. He took a small step back, trying to create some distance between them, but it was like trying to fight a raging inferno with a single drop of water. The flames of his need for her were too strong, too intense to be put out by something so trivial as a slight step back.

He felt as if he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, his heart pounding against his chest, yearning for the feel of her body against his, for the warmth of her skin and the softness of her breath. He wanted, no, he needed to reach out and touch her, to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, to feel her softness and warmth against him, to feel her breath mingling with his, to feel the beat of her heart against his chest and hear the soft sounds of her breathing.

He took a deep breath, composing himself and trying to push back the overwhelming feelings that threatened to consume him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to put his feelings aside and act as he should. He looked at her, his expression schooled back to his usual cold and detached mask, not letting her see the turmoil within him. "You may go, rest now. Tomorrow will be a tiring day." He said, his voice stern and distant.

Confusion and shock carried through her body in a tidal wave, he brought her so close to only dismiss her. She took another glance at him before making her exit, knowing better than to question the general.

He watched her leave, his heart aching and his mind racing with guilt and longing. He cursed himself internally for pushing her away, for being unable to suppress his emotions, for letting his longing for her take over his mind and cloud his judgment. He cursed himself for being weak, for being a coward, for not being able to be the General he was supposed to be and ignore the feelings that were slowly consuming him.

He stood there, alone in the room, feeling the weight of his loneliness and longing heavy on his shoulders. He wanted to go after her, to apologize and pull her back into his arms, to hold her close and confess his feelings. But he knew he couldn't, no, he wouldn't. He couldn't let himself be that weak, to let his emotions run wild and compromise his responsibilities, his duty, his role as the General of the Second Army.

© lupinsversion 2024

[pr-olvdr]

reblog if you agree

[gabbyshere]

Kaz: Y/n, what have I told you about staying out past your curfew?

Y/n: I need to do it more often.

Kaz: Exactly.

[call-sign-shark]

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

Summary: As you're deemed too dangerous and unstable to train with the others, you are assigned special lessons with Bahgra. The situation turns catastrophic but Kirigan is here to save you from yourself.

Words: 7k

TW: reference to prostitution and SA, graphic depiction of violence, eroticism, pinning, shadow play, smut, hurt/comfort

Note: I didn’t proof read it but I’ll do it later. Also next chapter won’t be that long aha. Also: HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Part V - Beneath His Watchful Eyes

Previous || Masterlist || Next

The more days flew by, the more it came off as an evidence for everyone but yourself: now that you had learnt the basic abilities of your Heartrender nature, continuing your training with the other Grisha wouldn’t get you anywhere. The morning sunlight filtered through the gauzy and thick curtains of your bedroom, painting the luxurious walls in soft golden hues.

Dressed in white as always — for you still refused to wear your red kefta —, you were lacing up your boots, letting your thoughts lose themselves in a swirling mix of exhaustion and unease that had become your constant companion in the Little Palace. Lately, the excruciating anxiety you usually felt prior to going downstairs with the others had diminished and this surprising phenomenon was partly due to Zoya’s sudden quietness whenever you were around. Since the incident of the dinner hall during which you had ended up covered in pig’s blood and defended by General Kirigan, the egocentric Squaller seemed to tolerate you. Or, at the very least, to bite her tongue hard enough not to taunt you anymore in the vilest way possible like she used to do. Following this event, a myriad of questions had lingered in your restless mind: was Kirigan’s intervention the only reason why Zoya left you alone? Why did the General decide to protect you from her petty behavior while you were nothing but a new and clumsy Grisha among a hundred of highly trained and skilled soldiers? And, most importantly, why did your usually numbed emotions tend to surge at once whenever he was nearby, as if he was able to trigger something buried deep within you?

A knock on the door pulled you back to reality.

“Come in,” You called with a neutral tone, standing as Genya Safin entered the room.

The Tailor was radiant as always, her round face reminding you of a delicate porcelain doll while her russet hair caught the light in a way that seemed almost magical. Even though you didn’t exchange much with her, she has been one of the scarce few who showed a bit of kindness toward you. Not directly, but through the form of timid smiles and empathic glances. Masking your natural coldness, you offered her a welcoming grin but immediately noticed that her bright smile was tempered by a hint of apprehension. Like a tamer getting into a tiger’s cage. A White Tigress, Tante Heleen’s shrilling voice corrected in your skull.

“Good morning,” Genya greeted, her voice a warm lilt that contrasted with the frozen desert of your iris, “The General has instructed you to begin the second step of your training today.”

You frowned at such news, your hands stilling and your shoulders tensing, “Training? With whom?” You dared ask, already dreading the idea of getting paired with someone else that Ivan or Fedyor.

“Baghra,” Genya replied with a careful tone, stepping closer but slowly for she knew how sensitive the instruction she had just delivered was. The name felt like a guillotine blade on a prisoner’s neck.

“Baghra?!” You repeated, your confusion deepening and your seraphic traits turning into the deadliest ice again. Obviously you had overheard whispers of the old woman’s brutal methods and reclusive nature. From what you knew, she didn’t bother training young Grisha but rather preserved her knowledge for exceptionally gifted creatures. An attention you weren’t sure to deserve. Nor want. “Fantastic,” You couldn’t help the sarcastic venom that escaped your plump lips.

Genya only nodded before walking toward the window, visibly uncomfortable. “Her hut is at the edge of the grounds. I’ll show you the way. Come with —

“Why her?” You cut her off, your voice edged with a sharp frustration, “Why not train with the others as is the case since my arrival here?” Getting familiar with public training sessions had already been a gargantuan task, so the idea of starting from scratch again left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Genya seemed to hesitate, her gaze flickering away for a moment to regain composure before her focus shifted back to you, “The General has his reasons,” she said vaguely, though her speech lacked conviction and rather suggested that she knew more than she let on.

You felt a sudden pang of isolation tighten in your chest. That was unfair. After all, you had never asked for a special treatment. Quite the contrary, you had tried your best to meddle with the crowd even though it was vain. Even here, surrounded by Grisha who should have been your peers, you were set apart — an anomaly, an outlier. An abomination, “Fine,” You said curtly, grabbing your fur coat a bit more bluntly than expected, which made Genya flinch a little.

The Tailor beauty offered you an encouraging smile before leading you out of the palace. Your steps crunched over the frosted ground as you walked away from the imposing building. The towering structure of the Little Palace looked behind the two of you, like an ancient creature made of stone and adornments. With a last sympathetic grin, Genya pointed you the way to Baghra and retreated, leaving you to face whatever awaited you inside.

“Fuck me,” You mumbled under your breath, pausing at the threshold and gathering your composure, before stepping through the heavy wooden door.

She couldn’t be as bad as they said she was, right?

The small, dimly lit room carried a faint scent of wood smoke and incense. Its walls were lined with ancient carvings of saints and symbols that told the stories of another era. As your pale iris got used to the darkness, you stood in the center of the place with your arms crossed all the while studying the stern old woman who was before you. She hasn’t greeted you or said a single word. Instead, Baghra’s eyes seemed to pierce through you like a free and wise hawk appraising a caged animal.

“So, they think you are powerful,” The old harpy began, her voice a sharp blade in the still, almost suffocating air, “But power without control is not better than an open flame in a forest. I wonder what you are, little one. The wildfire or the restorative water?”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the sting of the comment and the mocking tone that seeped through her every word. Control. You had heard it over and over, and, frankly, the constant reminders of it were starting to get on your nerves, “I never claimed to have control. Isn’t that why I’m here? To learn control from you, since it seems that no one has managed to do so? Or at least that’s what General Kirigan keeps telling me.”

Baghra scoffed, surprised by your boldness and your insolent nature, “Is that what Aleksander told you?”

So, his name is Aleksander, you thought and, somehow, it warmed your heart a little to know what he was called. Maybe because it made him more human.

“Control is only a part of it. What you need for the time being is understanding.” Finally she stepped closer, her cane tapping against the floor and as she came near, you had the familiar sensation of living shadows surrounding you, “What I want to know is what exactly are you capable of, girl? Not just the obvious — what else lies beneath those trembling hands of yours?”

Silence fell on the room.

“Speak!” She urged, tapping her cane more violently on the ground. The echo ripped through the air and made you jump slightly despite not being a scaredy cat in nature. The old hag was, indeed, not very sympathetic.

“Well,” You hesitated a little, your gaze drifting from her to the cane as if you were getting ready to dodge a potential blow from the stern harpy, “I can do what most Heartrenders can,” Your pace was slow for you were carefully choosing your words, “Stop hearts, slow breathing, crush lungs, induce pain, emotion-related changes…” The more you talked, the more your voice dropped to an unsure whisper, “During training I — ”

“I already know all of these. It’s not what I demanded. I want you to clearly explain what lies behind the rumors. What kind of miracles did you perform to get such a reputation?”

A Saint or a Monster.

A blessing or a curse.

Your shoulders slouched down at the inevitable: you had no choice but to talk about what happened during the whole year you were on the run and mention the incidents that unfolded, “I can also heal. Not only wounds but diseases. I’ve cured… Things that should have been fatal. Triggered some too..”

Baghra frowned, her sharp predatory eyes riveted on you, but she remained silent, waiting for more.

“There was this town who had welcomed me for a few days. A little girl would always come and share the little food she had with me. Ana was the name. She told me that she, as well as a small portion of the town, were plagued by a deadly, incurable disease. I just… “ You paused, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tried to remember the events in detail, “I don’t know how I did it but I cured her. I cured them all. It’s not that I did it consciously you know? It was as if… As if my instincts pushed me to do so and it happened that something inside of me knew exactly what to do. I left the day after because their reactions made me uncomfortable: they had started to bow in front of me and bring me offerings.”

“And then?” Baghra urged. Now her eyes gleamed with a curiosity she didn’t know she possessed anymore.

You continued, your voice growing quieter. Darker. “And then I left, encountered hunters and all went black. When I woke up, five mangled men were lying discarded on the frozen ground, broken in such a grotesque way that my stomach twisted. I remembered two of them throwing up and crying bright red blood. As for the three others… There was something else.” An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine at the memory, the metallic smell of twisted and exposed flesh coming back to you as if someone was gutted alive right here, right now, “They moved against their will, like puppets. They turned — No, I think I’ve made them turn against each other. I was so enraged you see but…” You swallowed hard.

Baghra’s cane came to slam against the ground again, the sound reverberating like a gunshot, “Control of another’s body and mind,” she muttered, fascinated. “Dangerous. Do you know what kind of devastation you could cause with that power? If you lose control for even a moment… Or if it fell in the wrong hands.”

“I know,” You interrupted, faking annoyance while your voice clearly shook, “That’s why I’m afraid of it. Which is even more frustrating considering that I’ve never been particularly afraid of something.” And somehow, that detail, which might seem insignificant to most, bothered you more than you wished to admit. Daring a quick glance at the grey-haired and eagle-eyed Grisha, you noticed how she studied you for a long moment, her traits still holding authority and sternness despite the brief glow of empathy. It lasted just a fraction, but it was enough to conclude that she wasn’t the heartless bitch people talked about.

“Fear can keep you sharp, but too much of it will paralyze you.” She finally said, her words wrapped in an unexpected sense of understanding. “Show me.”

“I beg your pardon?” You almost choked at her firm order. For a moment, you thought she was joking or at least taunting you since humor didn’t seem to be part of her. Yet, Baghra replied to your surprise with a raised eyebrow, full of judgment.

“Show me what you’re afraid of.” As her sharp command broke the silence, panic surged immediately through your being like a destructive tidal wave. Your chest tightened at the idea, each breath shallow and uneven. Not even summoned by a client at the Menagerie did you feel the weight of such anxiety.

You frowned, trying your best to hide your turmoil and keep up with appearances but your voice betrayed you, “On what?” You dare ask, “A chair? You, maybe?” The air around her felt oppressive, pressing against your pale skin.

Baghra, insensitive to your sarcasm, turned toward the corner of the room where a young Etherealki you’d already noticed during training stepped out of the shadow timidly. How long had she been standing there? The woman’s wide eyes darted nervously between you and the old witch, unsure. “Tanya has volunteered,” Baghra’s statement sounded so deadly cold that you felt like you had just heard yourself talk. “She knows the risks.”

Boom. Boom.

Your heart raced and sweat beaded at your temples, dampening a few ivory strands of your long mane. To be fair, you weren't just afraid of failing; it was the possibility of losing control and becoming the mass-murderous monster you had already let out a few times that you feared most.

“I— I just… can’t.” Words managed to reach your lips.

The Etherealki hesitated, not quite reassured by your reaction, then stepped forward, her hands nervously playing with the hem of her blue kefta as she spoke. “I-I’m ready,” she stammered, though her voice betrayed her fear, “Go ahead.”

You felt your whole chest tighten a second time, as though your ribcage was slowly but surely crushing your organs, reducing them to a pulp at the simple thought of what you were asked to do. It wasn’t much about empathy, on which you had always run low, but more about your refusal to face the reflection in your mirror in case she died, “Are you sure?” You breathed.

Tanya nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Baghra’s voice cut through the tension. “Control her movement. Nothing else.” She ordered as though it was the easiest thing to do.

A shaky exhale left your mouth. Carefully, you stepped forward, the cold hum of your power thrumming through your veins. With unsure movements, you raised your hands and focused on summoning your abilities that were impatiently waiting beneath your skin. Slowly, Tanya’s arm began to rise, her movements jerky and unnatural.

It worked. And the Etheralki wasn’t choking on her own blood nor bashing her own head against the nearest wall so far. That was a win. The taste of success didn’t last long though.

“Relax,” Baghra barked, suddenly hitting your fingers with her cane. The wooden stick struck your knuckles with a sharp crack, sending a bolt of pain through your hand that radiates up your arms.

“Aouch! Are you crazy?!” You hissed, fingers instinctively recoiling and the control you held over Tanya loosening. Yet, you forced yourself to stay still. The sting burned like a biting reminder that the old harpy wouldn’t hesitate to hit you again. Relentless methods… Now you understood.

“Your grip is too tight. Her arms were starting to twist in her back.”

Insults would have certainly flown from your pretty mouth hadn’t you been too focused on not hurting the young Etheralki. Instead, you adjusted the pressure and Tanya’s movements became smoother, more fluid, as you guided her to lift one arm, then the other, until they wrapped around her own throat.

A thin trickle of blood ran from one of your nostrils as you maintained the connection and narrowed your focus on the girl’s quickening heartbeats, which resounded in your skull.

Baghra stepped closer, watching with a mix of curiosity and alert when she noticed Tanya’s finger digging into her own flesh, “Good. Now release her.” She intervened because she didn't want to take the risk of seeing you force the young girl to strangle herself.

You exhaled loudly, dropped your hands, and watched the poor Etheralki stumble back. Her palms patted her throat as she gasped for air.

“I’m sorry,” You blurted, stepping toward her.

Tanya shook her head, “it’s fine,” she said, panting, “I’m fine.” To be fair, you couldn’t tell if she was trying to be genuinely kind or if her immediate reply was only motivated by the sheer will to stop you from stepping too close. The way she rapidly grabbed her chapka and left the hut when allowed to do so hinted at the second option. You stared at the entrance from which she departed, absentmindedly wiping the blood from your nose with the back of your hand.

“Heaven.” Baghra’s voice snatched you from your thoughts. Turning around, you saw her approaching you as carefully as if she was coaxing a wild beast, though her expression remained unfathomable, “You’re more than a Heartrender, indeed. I suspected it the moment I saw you but now it’s undeniable.” Her sentence floated in the air for a few seconds, the anticipation of what she would say next adding to the build-up tension, “Your power doesn’t just affect the body — it is the very essence of a person you can break and control.”

You turned to ice again despite how uneasy her statement made you feel, “Is that… Bad?”

Baghra sucked on her teeth before replying, “Not bad per se. But dangerous. You really need to master it quickly, little girl. And by it, I’m not only referring to your little science but also to the rage you’ve been keeping buried for so long. For some reason, you seem to end up losing control and hurting people whenever you use your abilities too intensely. Also, there’s something else…”

“What?” You growled. As if today’s revelation and experiments hadn’t racked your nerves enough, you thought.

An odd silence settled between the two of you, heavy and electric. The old witch’s dark eyes roved over your slim silhouette with a scrutiny that sought to strip away your very skin and reach the fibers of who you were. The elder woman rested her hands on her cane, unmoving, she clung to it as if bracing against a revelation she wasn’t yet ready to voice. You shifted uncomfortably under her stare, but Baghra’s focus didn’t waver.

There was something eerily familiar about you — an echo, a flicker of something she had thought long buried in the recesses of her memory. Back from the time the Fold was created. It laid in the tilt of your chin, the defiance in your gaze paired with that undercurrent of pain… A ghost of another time.

“Interesting,” Baghra muttered to herself, barely loud enough for you to hear. There was no warmth in her tone, only a thread of unease woven through the words. She feared that saying what she thought aloud would summon old wounds to life. Whatever it was — whatever connection the old woman could feel pulsing faintly like a forgotten heartbeat — remained unspoken. In all her wisdom, Baghra knew better than to meddle in such mysteries before their time.

Some destinies were inescapable. She concluded grimly.

“Never mind,” she said finally, turning away. “We’ll continue tomorrow. Now you are requested to leave.”

Harsh and inconsiderate, but you still obliged and, to be fair, you were more than happy to exit her place.

As you left the room, the harpy remained behind, her thoughts swirling like a howling hurricane. General Kirigan… When you had mentioned Aleksander earlier, it had been as if your soul already knew him.

Baghra gritted her teeth and at this very moment, never had she hoped so dearly for her predictions to be wrong.

You had waited impatiently for the moment you could curl up under the soft blanket of your bed after a warm bath and yet, you soon regretted daylight. Rolling from one side to another you had fought against insomnia for hours. It didn't help that the temperature of your room was high, rendering every attempt to relax properly fruitless.

Sleep finally condescended to visit you after you had removed all your clothes and sunk back into the comfortable freshness of the mattress. A few hours later, amid the night when the darkness was the thickest, you found yourself caught in that strange liminal space between sleep and wakefulness.

The sensation was indescribable — your body might have been heavy with exhaustion but your restless mind still refused to let it fully go. Besides, the silence around you grew unnerving rather than comforting. The eerie calm of the Little Palace seemed to press in on you, to the extent you almost wished you could hear the sound of Tante Heleen’s quill scribbling on paper or even the clicking of the golden chain at your neck whenever you moved. But all you were met with was a deafening emptiness.

As you lay there, trapped in such a strange state, the faintest stir of air brushed across your frozen flesh, resulting in a shiver running down your spine.

Your foggy mind was trying to rationalize and blame it on the strong wind outside but the truth was your window was closed and the heavy, thick curtains pulled in front of it. Had the wind been responsible, the curtain would have moved.

Soon after, you felt the thin bed sheet that covered you gently sliding off your body, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. What was that? Your breath hitched in surprise at the unexpected freshness. Shivering again, you opened your heavy eyelids, your arctic blue eyes scanning the odd shadows. Strangely, they seemed to thicken and gather at every corner of the room, growing bigger as you peered at them.

And from the shadows came the irresistible pull.

The sudden sensation crept over you, seeping into your consciousness. A familiar call that sent adrenaline pumping through your veins and turned your pulse into a wild drumbeat in your ears. The feeling didn’t come from a sight or a sound strictly speaking, but rather from something far more primal and instinctive. The frozen meadows of your crystal iris darted around the bedroom again but there was nothing. So why did the sensation remain, coiling in your chest and whispering that you were not alone? That you were watched?

The tendrils of shadow you were surveilling suddenly jumped from the corner with deliberate intent, crawling lazily but dangerously close like a pool of spilled ink. Once they reached the bed, they circled it and rose, devouring each light source. The moon, the candles, the twilight hue... Everything disappeared, guzzled by them until all remained was a pitch-black darkness that kept you prisoner.

If you had managed to remain rather quiet until then, panic definitely invaded you when an odd chill brushed your arm. You stopped breathing: it hadn't felt like the winter air but softer, like a touch. “F—Fuck” You squealed a little as the whisper of a second movement crossed your cheek, just like the graze of invisible fingertips.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Then it kept going, wandering all over you one place after the other and leaving you quaking each time. The darkness touched you again and again, trailing down your spine, and brushing the curve of your collarbone. What had started like a grazing sensation soon turned into the actual caresses of a ghost lover. As though they were the extension of his own hands.

The softest and most caring caresses you had ever experienced.

Your eyes fluttered close when the tendrils of shadow resolved themselves to wander all over your almost petrified body in a languid, intimate exploration. Gripping, electric, your being reacted vividly to them — feeling your nipples hardening, you couldn’t help but instinctively arch toward the phantom touches as if drawn by a force you couldn’t resist. The oddness of the whole experience vanished for an instant as you relished in their gentleness and the perfect knowledge of the most sensitive parts of you they seemed to have.

Heat pooled in your stomach and between your legs for the shadows danced across you, grabbing you by the hips to explore your inner thighs and graze the pearly petals of your already wet slit.

“Al— Aleksander…”

You moaned without realizing it. The name had left your mouth instinctively all the while you threw your head back. Caught in a swirl of pleasure and intimacy, you gave yourself to the darkness and parted your legs. A darkness that felt like the tip of a warm tongue coming to taste your intoxicating and hands cuddling every inch of your gleaming-with-sweat body.

“Fuck!” You groaned again as an electrifying wave of pleasure crashed against you like waves on the shore.

Everything was so real, so sensual, you couldn't distinguish dream from reality. A fire of arousal ignited in your entire being, fueled by lust. More... Your mind begged your hands brutally closing around the bedsheets and trapping the fabric in your small fists.

Heaven.

Your name seemed to echo faintly in the silence in reply, not truly spoken but rather felt.

No, it was definitely fucking real.

Alarmed by such an unbelievable realization, you came back to your sense and fought the pleasurable daze that enveloped you until you were able to turn toward the voice to search for its owner. A voice you had recognized and couldn't mistake for anyone else's. Still, nothing. Just plain blackness. The shadows tightened their embrace around you even more greedily when you moved though, as if afraid you would try to leave them. They curled around your legs and hips in a lover’s caresses, gentle yet incredibly possessive.

Stay.

And all of a sudden it wasn’t just the shadows; it was him. You felt a hand — warm and strong — cradle your face and tilt your head on the side to free the way to your neck. Overwhelmed, you squirmed a little but couldn’t fight the invisible force that was keeping you pinned to the mattress rather firmly.

Stay with me.

You could almost feel his soft lips against your ear, could almost hear his breath as he murmured words you barely comprehend but that made your heart race faster anyhow.

“Come to me…” It wasn't just a feeling anymore, it was a sound, a murmur that echoed in the void. “I’ve been waiting for you all my life…” Those were the exact same words you had heard when the Drüskelle had captured you, seconds before the General came to rescue you.

And then the dream shattered, dissipating as quickly as it had appeared.

The intensity of the moment and the brutality with which everything had come to a stop left you awake, gasping, and drenched in sweat. How long did it last? You couldn’t tell, but when you reopened your eyes, the shy morning sun was bathing your bedroom in a soft, reassuring light.

“What the hell…” You panted, dragging your quaking body to the edge of the bed before pulling the white blanket and wrapping it around you. What the hell was wrong with you? Dizzy and shivering, you let out a shaky sigh and buried your burning face in your cold hands. Was it real? Was it a wet dream? Was your mind sick? Was it that damn place that was driving you crazy?

A second sigh resounded in the silence of your room.

Fortunately, the Black General was rather busy lately so you wouldn’t have to suffer fleeting but very embarrassing encounters. At least you hoped so for you weren’t sure to be able to look at him right in the eyes after the obscene dream you just had.

With your pulse still racing, you tried to forget that unsettling experience, shoving it in the back of your mind to focus on the work awaiting you today, even though the tingling sensation from the phantom touches still haunted your skin.

Because no matter how much you ignored it, how much you pushed the inevitable, Aleksander had already made his way through the very fabric of your soul.

If you had to pinpoint your best quality, it would be your ability to adapt to changes quite rapidly. That was probably why you had jumped in this new training routine without complaining too much once you had realized that you had managed to survive the first lesson with Bahgra. While insufferable, the old hag indeed taught you something useful.

Nevertheless, today’s training session had been particularly grueling. You let out a low growl of pain and wiped the blood that was dripping from your nose with the back of your trembling hand, the electric and wild sensation of power rattling against every nerve of your body. While some time had passed since your disturbing and erotic dream, your thoughts kept coming back to it and it made containing your powers ever more difficult.

“Concentrate.” Baghra’s voice sounded as pleasantly as nails scratching a black board. The old woman had been drilling you relentlessly to push you to control it, but the power within you had visibly a mind of its own.

Standing across from Tanya, the brave volunteer who returned to the hut and accepted to be your partner against all expectations, you could feel her unease radiating off her. While you understood that no one in her situation would have played it cool, she did seem particularly tense today. Etheralki's whole being was shivering, her wide eyes wide with apprehension.Could she possibly sense your own fatigue and struggles?

“Control it. Don’t let it control you.”

You nodded briefly but it didn’t keep you from mumbling a few insults under your beard before closing your eyes for a brief moment in order to relax. However, the fatigue that had been building up for the past months was taking a toll on you. The control, the lessons, the loneliness, the General’s growing effects on you… It was getting too much, even for you.

You know, one day you’re gonna crack if you keep sweeping everything that troubles you under the rug. One does not simply ignore what hurts. Fedyor once told you.

Pushing your limits a bit too far, a flood of emotions crashed against you and rendered all attempts to calm more than tricky.

“When are you going to listen to me, stupid little girl?!”

The hag was growing more impatient and even though her frustration was understandable since you had done everything wrong since this morning, the words she had used were the final nail to your coffin. Fedyor was right.

She had barely finished speaking when her frustrated taunt triggered a hurricane of aching memories to surge back. The cold, the violence, the screams, the smell. That disgusting and haunting combination of funfair fragrances, blood, sweat and tears.

Baghra didn’t know it but she had used the exact same words and tone Tante Heleen had used that one night she had got caught stealing food. Obviously, you had been heavily punished for that.

The memory struck like a lash itself, sharp and violent. Almost as brutal as the phantom bite of the whip across your back, the pain searing not just your pale skin but carving itself deep into your soul. Each cruel blow came accompanied by the echo of Tante Heleen’s voice, mocking, mean, and melting with Baghra’s. Stupid girl. Going to listen. Simmering in your blood, your overstimulated power only made it more vivid, to the extent that you could genuinely feel the sensation of the coarse leather against your back. The ache bloomed like a fire spreading across you, a sadistic reminder of your humiliation. Desperation. Of wounds that never truly healed.

LiStEn YoU sTuPiD GiRL.

The bitch scolded again. Baghra or Tante Heleen? You couldn’t differentiate them anymore.

And with the last flash of memory of the whip tearing your skin apart came a scream from your pretty mouth — a banshee’s shriek, haunting, blood freezing, that resounded in the room. So piercing Baghra immediately protected her ears with the palms of her hands. Following your cry, Tanya gasped loudly for your unleashed power burst, uncontrollable, and made her body both convulse and twist under the command of your moving fingers. The room itself seemed to spin as the energy slipped out of your control.

“Stop it!” You had the blurry impression that Baghra had screamed at you but her voice sounded so far away you thought she also, just like the flashbacks, belonged to your past. And all your life you’d drilled yourself to think that all that belonged to the past should be ignored, if not buried six feet deep.

One quick look at the frozen and determined expression etched on your broken doll face was enough for Baghra to understand; you had gone too far and she wasn’t sure she could fetch you back from the dark waters of your trauma. “Heaven, you’re hurting her!” She called your name again but you didn’t hear, the scorching hatred in your eyes turning her blood into liquid nitrogen. The wise woman’s instincts faltered, feeling powerless against the disaster unraveling before her. ”HEAVEN!” She barked, louder, but her voice lacked its usual commanding tone.

Tanya’s final gasp echoed before she crumpled to the ground, blood coming from her nose and eyes. In an instant, the old Grisha feared that you had really killed her.

“No! Tanya!” She cried out, a hint of panic weaving itself with the very tone of her usually neutral voice. Baghra was about to move, her eagle eyes assessing whether she needed to knock you out or bounce on the poor motionless girl in an attempt to push her out of your line of sight. It was about acting rapidly if she didn’t want the weight of an innocent Grisha’s death on her shoulders for she had been the one who had the idea of training you with a living target. When the fatality of the situation fell on her, realizing she couldn’t stop you anymore, Baghra stepped closer, her movements measured but hesitant. She stretched out her wooden cane as if to snap you back to reality, but the aura surrounding you was impenetrable, thick with chaos and grief. For the first time in years, fear crept into Baghra’s calculated resolve.

Then, everything went still. Black. Incredibly peaceful.

In the midst of your chaos, shadows had burst from the corners of the room as if replying to the tragic call of your despair and to the screams of your aching soul. They had slithered on the floor, bypassed the old witch and the Etheralki without the slightest hint of care, only to wrap around you in a cocoon, a bubble of obscurity. Just as they did in your dream.

Surprisingly, these same shadows were tangible, almost palpable: their sensation might have been a bit suffocating, one may even say thick, but they were definitely not oppressive — just agreeably heavy. At least enough to ground you. And when all you could see through the filter of your infernal fury was gruesome red and gold, pitch blackness settled in your mind and, with it, a calm you had never dream of washed over you, like a dark embrace that held you steady despite the storm.

Aleksander.

The recognition of him had been instant and didn’t require one single glance — you could have recognized his aura amongst thousands.

With crystal eyes filled with both fear and confusion, your lashes dared flutter open. The sight of the Black General appearing through black fog welcomed you, his imposing silhouette stepping toward you with both haste and confidence. No matter how terrifyingly deadly your powers were, Aleksander was everything but afraid. The tall darkness reached for you without a word nor hesitation, his arms pulling you tightly against him. Your body posed no more resistance. Quite the contrary, it fell limp against him just like a puppet whose strings had just been severed.

You melted as his warmth seeped into your arctic skin. A warmth that lit a comforting fire inside of you despite the thick layers of clothes which separated your two yearning beings. Ever-so-gently, one of Kirigan’s large hands ran up your neck and tangled in your magnificent long white hair to tug you closer. You shivered when his calloused fingers stroke your flesh. This time, it was real. Your eyelids shut tight again under the feeling of his strength, his body steady and unyielding as he enveloped you so tightly you were convinced that you would merge together.

You didn’t fight it.

You didn’t even want to.

Despite your loathing for unwanted and unexpected physical contacts, your small hands, trembling from exertion, moved instinctively and reached for him too. First and foremost, you touched his broad back, feeling his tense muscles under your moist palms. Your fingertips then brushed over the rich fabric of his kefta, the sensation of the wool slowly pulling you from numbness, before they trailed up to his square shoulders. Your hands rested there for a brief instant before you let your fingers curl through his dark hair, feeling the silken strands slip between your fingers.

Aleksander didn’t pull away during your exploration of him. In fact, he seemed to lean into your touch even more with a low hum of approval rumbling in his chest and his lips barely brushing against your ivory mane. Even though he had been a tad bit surprised by the fact you hugged him back at first especially since he hadn’t displayed any kind of affection to anyone in years, the General rapidly melted like butter under your caresses. His shoulders slouched a little and, with his face hidden from your sight, his traits softened in a turned briefly melancholic. Aleksander, who had thought he would never experience the devastating pleasure of holding someone he loved ever again, found a place he could finally feel bliss: your arms. For a moment, he couldn’t even tell which one of you was grounding the other. Deep down, and even if the goal behind display of affection had been to save you from your mind, it was you who embraced him so hard that he could feel the shattered, broken piece of his cursed soul stick back together. While still remaining an immovable anchor, the commanding figure of the General slipped away momentarily to reveal a glimpse of his real self.

“By the Saints…” The whisper had escaped Baghra’s lips as she watched the scene from outside the shadow. Her son, corrupted by ambition and pain, and that little wild Grisha clinging to each other for dear life...

She was aghast, astonished by the strange quality she noticed in Aleksander’s demeanor — a tenderness she had never seen before except once, with that little Healer from many centuries ago. The old witch clenched her jaw, for what she was witnessing now was the confirmation of the truth she had foreseen the first time you’ve met. And that truth was fate. There was something undeniable between her son and you, a bound that stretched beyond de realm of simple attraction. Yes, it was fate that was definitely pulling you together and you, little Heaven, was the key to whatever it was that Aleksander was becoming.

Aleksander could have released you now that you had calmed down a bit and that any risk of you snapping back to a killing spree mood had decreased but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Rather than stepping away, his grip became firmer and he didn’t stop until he could feel your heart beating against him. He pulled you closer and closer, your small breasts flattened against his chest and your heart catching the pace of his to drum in unison. It surely was a fleeting moment of peace, a moment that made you feel like the world had been lifted from your shoulders, if only for a minute. Barely acknowledging Baghra and the young Etheralki presence anymore, you lost yourself in the warmth, the comfort and the intensity of the moment. A little purr almost left your juicy lips as the General’s fingers tenderly traced along the line of your hair, soothing.

“I’m here.” His tender voice resounded, coming not only from his charming lips but from all around you.

The corner of your lips tugged into tiny, reassured and genuine smile.

”As always it seems…” Your voice dragged, words escaping your mouth before you thought of them because you didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to question what was happening between the two of you, nor why the General had always acted so differently with yours. For once, it was enough just to feel. To let his arms, body and shadows envelop you until you forget everything —the fear, the pain, the doubts. With him you were safe and you knew that if you were to break ever again, he would be there to keep you from crumbling apart.

“As always.” He whispered in your ear before reluctantly pulling back. The comforting warmth that had lulled you faded away cruelly.

He didn’t step back too far though, just enough to grab your chin and force you to look into his eyes. His unreadable gaze was so dark that there was no way to tell where his pupils stopped and where his iris started. You blinked, chasing away the remnants of dream dust from your long lashes as reality started to creep back.

“Are you alright?” He was quiet, almost whispering so that only you could hear. His hands were still resting on you, steady and loving.

You nodded in reply, though your body still felt the tremors of the experience, “I… Think so.”

But Kirigan didn’t release you immediately. In truth, his obsidian eyes lingered on you a moment longer until it fell on your lips, rosy and plump. Almost absentmindedly, as though struggling with his own desires, he simply put one of your long white strands back behind your ear in a gesture so intimate that your legs weakened. “Good.” He commented, before his thumb trailed down your jawline one last time and reached your lips. Heat suddenly flushed your cheeks, the blurry but steamy memories of that odd dream of him jumping back at you. His thumb gently pull at your fleshy lower lips and finally, with a soft sigh, the General let you go. He broke the contact, his other hand sliding along your arm in one last caress.

Cold settled back in his heart. And in yours.

“You’ve got a long way to go, Heaven.” He said, his tone far more soft than when addressing someone but that familiar authority and distance had come back. After ignoring the two others, he shot a quick glance at them to make sure that Tanya was fine. Or, at least, not dead.

You swallowed, teeth clenched, “I’m sorry to disappoint, General.”

“You’re not.” He cut more bluntly than he wished, “I just think that we still need to make a few adjustments to your training.” Aleksander stated, dark pupils surveying the slightest detail of your seraphic face.

“And what kind of adjustments if I may ask?” You hid again behind your fortress of ice, already embarrassed of the vulnerability you had shown to him earlier.

“A few private lessons with me.” The General’s lips curled into a subtle smirk, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but carried an edge of amusement at the surprise you had tried to conceal behind your mask of coldness. The faintest dimple appeared on one side, softening the sharp and stubbled line of his jaw.

Baghra’s whole body stiffened while she watched the exchange quietly, knowing there was more to this suggestion than you realized. Much more. She looked at her son, unapproving, and knew.

She knew that he wanted to keep you, possessive and jealous as he was, beneath his watchful eyes.

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