#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

[ijbolgawon]

THE BASTARD'S WITCH. kaz brekker

in which. kaz finally gives in, even if it makes him look weak

wc. 1.2k

a/n. i suggest listening to this song since it's one of the main reasons i even wrote this lol

Kaz Brekker knew the sound of footsteps approaching, the distinct rhythm of each person who dared step into his office. He heard the short creak of the floorboards outside his office, the subtle shift of weight, and for a brief moment, he thought it was her.

Y/N.

His grip on his cane tightened as he turned around.

But it wasn't Y/N. It was Pekka Rollins.

Two of Pekka’s men loomed behind him, their postures too relaxed, too sure of their authority.

“Mister Brekker, isn't it?” Pekka greeted, his voice like the slow drag of a blade against stone.

Kaz didn't move. He slowly watched as the man pulled a chair in front of him as his men grabbed Kaz’s shoulders, kneeling him in front of Pekka.

He made a show of looking around, as if he were the one letting Kaz stay here, rather than the other way around.

“You’re after the Heartrender,” Pekka asked, even if it sounded more like a statement.

Kaz’s expression didn’t waver.

Pekka smiled, all teeth. “Go ahead. Take the job. But if you do, I’ll make sure your little Summoner doesn’t see another sunrise.”

A long silence.

Kaz forced himself to remain still. Not to react. Not to show the way the words latched onto something deep, something ugly.

“She’s not my concern,” Kaz said. Even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. He felt his own cane being pressed to his throat.

Pekka chuckled. “That so? Then why does it feel like she is?”

He leaned forward, slowly. “I’ve been watching her, Brekker. Ever since she came to the Menagerie, I knew she was special.”

Kaz’s fingers twitched inside his gloves, his hands itching with anger.

“She still wears that collar,” Pekka continued. “Still belongs to Heleen. Which means —” His voice dropped, his words slow and deliberate. “She belongs to me.”

Kaz said nothing.

Pekka studied him, his head tilting slightly. “So here’s the deal. If you want the Heartrender, you kill her. If you want Ghafa’s freedom, you do it for me.”

He continued, a slight smirk forming on his lips, “Or maybe I’ll just kill the witch myself. And we’ll see if you still care to finish the job after.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then another.

“I’ll deal with her.”

Pekka’s smirk widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And then, just as quickly as he came, he was gone, leaving him alone, knees stuck on the wooden floor. Kaz stood there for a long moment, his mind already working, already calculating.

He would deal with her.

The job was supposed to be simple. In and out. No blood.

Yet Y/N found herself gasping against the alley wall, pressing a trembling hand against the wound just below her ribs. The knife had been quick. She hadn’t even seen the attacker’s face.

One moment, she was making her way back from the job Kaz had sent her on, the next, steel in her ribs. Blood seeped through her fingers, warm and thick.

She straightened, forcing herself upright as she heard footsteps. Making her way back to Slat, barely alive, a trace of blood sticking to all the buildings she had passed by.

Throwing herself on the nearest chair inside, she ripped her coat open, fingers grazing over the bloody cut. Her free hand grabbed the aid kit, mindsely searching for the needle and the thread.

There is no way she could've done it by herself, but she didn't want anyone to find out she had failed at the easiest job: she was a Grisha after all.

As soon as she began stitching, Jesper made his way inside, a soft smile on his face.His grin faltered when he saw her.

“Well, that’s not good.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, “Brilliant deduction.”

Jesper walked forward, gaze flicking to the blood darkening her coat. “What happened?”

“I accidentally stabbed myself”,she jokes, showing him that she was not in the mood.

Jesper sighed, defeated. “Kaz is already pissed, you know. And now this?”

“Why is he pissed?”, he takes in her frown, then his face suddenly changes. Like the realization hit him. ‘You can't tell her’, he recalls Kaz's words, and he wishes he hadn't opened his mouth.

Jesper hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pekka paid him a visit.”

Not failing to notice the way she stiffened, he continued.

“He made a deal,” his voice was too casual, too careful. “A million kruge. Inej’s freedom. But there’s a condition.”

Y/N swallowed. “What condition?”

The door slammed open. Kaz barely had time to look up before Y/N stormed in, her coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal the blood staining her shirt.

He took it in immediately: the slight hitch in her breath, the tension in her shoulders, the fire burning in her eyes.

“You’re going to kill me for a million kruge?” she asks, voice latching with despair.

Kaz shut his ledger. “You should be resting.”

She scoffed, stepping forward despite the limp in her stride. “Is a million kruge more important than me living?”

Silence.

Her breath came sharp, uneven. She reached into her belt and pulled out a knife, flipping it so the hilt faced him.

“Then do it.”

Kaz didn’t move. Her fingers curled around his wrist, forcing the knife into his palm. “Do it, Brekker.”

He felt the weight of it, the cool steel pressing against his skin.

Then, slowly, he placed the knife on his desk and stepped toward her.

She backed away instinctively, but her wound betrayed her, her knees buckling, and she stumbled.

Kaz caught her before she could hit the ground, his gloved hand draped around her waist.

Her breath shuddered, their lips almost touching. “You’d do anything for your freedom, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers curled around his sleeve, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Then kiss me.”

A command.

Kaz saw the shift in her eyes, the pull of her power curling around the words. But he had already anticipated it.

His fingers pressed into her wound.

She gasped, her body jolting as pain lanced through her. And then he kissed her.

His lips crashed against hers, sharp and unyielding, stealing the breath from her lungs. It was not soft or gentle. It was the same as everything Kaz did: calculated, precise, deliberate.

When they finally pulled away, she winced, a sharp inhale cutting through the silence. Kaz looked down.

Blood.

His hand was still pressed against her wound.

Understanding flickered in her eyes, then horror.

“When a Grisha is in pain, their powers don’t work,” Kaz murmured. “I knew you were about to command me.”

He had been pressing on her wound from the moment she stumbled. Not to hurt her. Not to stop her.

But to choose. To choose the kiss. To choose her.

Y/N’s hands trembled against his arm, the pressure he was applying making her even more dizzy.

“Kaz…”

He stepped back, his touch remaining as a ghost on her skin. The weight of the moment settled between them, thick and suffocating.

“I’ll deal with Pekka.”

Then, before she could say anything else, before she could look at him like that, he turned and walked away.

[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.

[violentvaleska]

𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔

ᴏɴᴇ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʳⁱⁿᶜᵉˢˢ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ!ʟᴇᴠɪ × ᴘʀɪɴᴄ��ss!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, ʙᴜ�� 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. 

[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".

[littlest-w01f]

Shaken

"Overstimulation" with:

Stermhond x Reader

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Summary: Being unable to sleep at night on the Volkvolny, the Stermhond provides you with the perfect distraction

Cw: Overstimulation, fingering and oral!F receiving, MxF, Smut 18+ MDNI

As you stood at the rail, gazing out over the vast expanse of water stretching endlessly to the horizon, strong hands came to rest gently on your shoulders. The scent of salt spray and pine-filled your nostrils as a deep, rumbling voice spoke close to her ear.

"Sightseeing, little one?" The Stermhond asked, coming to stand beside you, hand draped over your shoulder. "Or perhaps... looking for a distraction?"

You turned to face him, taking in his ruggedly, slightly scared, handsome features. A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he looked down at you, his arm still resting on your shoulder.

"I… I was hoping to clear my head," You replied, barely above a whisper. You couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite not knowing him for long, despite the danger he represented. There was something about him that both excited and terrified you. "I've never been on a ship before... It's... Daunting... And I can't sleep"

The Stermhond chuckled, a low, sensual sound that made your heart race, his bold red hair framing his face a little, contrasting against his beautiful green eyes. "And what thoughts were troubling you so, little one? Perhaps I could provide a more… stimulating distraction."

"Is that an offer?" You teased, a coy smile playing across your lips. Despite everything you knew about pirates, or privateers, as he called himself, there was an undeniable allure to this man. His rough edges called out to the adventurous spirit inside you. "Because it seems like you're rather good at making them but would you be able to keep up?"

The Stermhond grinned, a playful glint sparking in his vibrant green eyes as he leaned in closer, bringing his face mere inches away from yours. He smelled like sea air and something undeniably masculine that made your knees weak. "Why, little one, when it comes to distractions, I'm an expert," He murmured, his voice a rich baritone that sent a thrilling shiver down your spine.

At that moment, surrounded by the endless blue expanse, the thrill of the unknown, and the intoxicating presence of this pirate, you felt a hunger stirring within you, a primal urge to surrender to the wildness that dwelled in these waters and in the man standing before you.

His breath ghosted over your skin, sending tingles racing through your body. You could almost taste the salt on his lips, the promise of adventure and forbidden pleasure hanging heavy in the salty air between you. His hand slid from your shoulder to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. "Tell me, sweet thing, what sort of distraction do you crave?" The Stermhond purred, his thumb stroking your lower lip as he waited for your response, emerald eyes burning with desire.

You kissed him hard, standing on your toes, as your lips met his, a growl of approval rumbled in his chest. The kiss was fierce, passionate, and filled with an unspoken promise of untamed pleasures yet to come. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself even closer to him, your breasts pressing against his firm chest.

He began to peel off his layers, revealing muscles earned from the life at sea, each layer discarded leaving you wanting more. The sight of his muscular torso sent a jolt of arousal coursing through your veins.

With surprising strength, the Stermhond hoisted you on a single arm, breaking the kiss only momentarily as he walked back to his quarters inside his ship. Once inside his quarters, he tossed you onto the soft bedding, the motion, paired with the ship's movement causing you to bounce enticingly as you landed. With a predatory grin, he towered over you, his towering frame casting a shadow across your curves.

He pulled you up, singlehandedly undoing your corset, pulling your dress as he kissed you roughly, he wanted to hear his name from you, but his identity was too big a secret, "I want you moaning 'Nik' as I fuck you." As he spoke those words, pressing into you fully, adrenaline coursed through your veins, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. His rough kisses left you breathless, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if committing it to memory.

With a swift tug, he removed your remaining garments, exposing your bare body to the cool air of the cabin. The contrast of warmth and cold made your skin prickle, heightening your senses. He wasted no time in lowering his mouth to your breasts, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking hungrily.

You let out a gasp as he effortlessly undid your corset, pulling your dress down to reveal your cotton garments underneath. His touch was possessive, claiming every part of you as his own. His words echoed in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "Nik…" You whimpered, feeling his hardness press against you through your clothing. The thought of being taken by him was both terrifying and exhilarating.

His calloused fingers trailed over your soft skin, tracing the curve of your waist and hips before settling on the apex of your thighs. He stroked your slick folds, teasing your sensitive bud as he watched your face contort with pleasure. "So responsive already," he mused, relishing how easily he could stoke the flames of your desire.

His fingers circled and rubbed, building delicious pressure as you writhed beneath him. You arched your back, pushing your breasts further into his hungry mouth as you gasped and moaned his name.

"Please," you panted, desperate for relief from the building tension. "More…"

With a wicked grin, he started to kiss down your body, kissing his way down your quivering stomach, he settled between your legs, spreading them wide to grant him unfettered access to your most intimate area. His hot breath fanned over your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. He licked along your slit, tasting your sweetness, before focusing on your throbbing clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

He descended upon your cunt, his tongue delving deep to lap at your slick folds. He groaned at the taste of your arousal, savouring the tangy sweetness as he explored every crevice. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for his ravenous ministrations.

He flicked his tongue rapidly over your clit, the stimulation sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. At the same time, he thrust two fingers into your tight channel, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot inside that made your legs quiver.

"Nnngh, yes!" you cried out, your nails digging into his scalp as he worked you over with relentless fervour. The dual assault of his mouth and fingers had you teetering on the brink of climax, your inner walls clenching around his digits in anticipation.

He continued his oral assault, alternating between long licks and focused attention on your swollen nub. Your juices coated his chin as he lapped at your essence, the obscene sounds filling the cabin mixing with your increasingly loud moans.

As your peak approached, he doubled his efforts, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking it mercilessly with his tongue while pumping his fingers faster, deeper, determined to make you fall apart on his mouth.

"NIK!" Your cries reached a fever pitch as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner walls spasming around his plunging fingers. He worked you through it, prolonging your ecstasy until you collapsed back onto the bed, spent and panting.

As you rode out the aftershocks, gasping for air, he slowly withdrew his slick fingers, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean, savouring the taste of you. "Mmm, you taste divine," The privateer hummed.

Rising above you, Sturmhond captured your lips in a searing kiss, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. He settled himself between your thighs, grinding his thick cock against your quivering cunt. You could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted you.

Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at you with raw, animalistic lust blazing in his eyes. In one smooth motion, he pushed himself inside you, stretching you deliciously around his girth. A low groan escaped him at the sensation of your heat enveloping him so perfectly.

Your cries echoed throughout the ship, a lewd symphony that only added to the eroticism of the moment. Each thrust of his cock sent vibrations through your body, amplifying the sensations. You could feel every vein, every ridge of his shaft buried deep within you, stretching you to accommodate his size.

"I'm going to ruin you for other men," He growled as he drew back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing pace as he took you hard and fast, the slap of skin against skin ringing out in the small space. "You'll only be mine."

Your moans increased in the wooden walls as he pounded into you relentlessly, the force of his thrusts making the bed creak ominously. Each plunge of his cock seemed to strike that magic spot deep inside, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves.

The privateer's grunts grew louder, more bestial, as he chased his own release. He hooked your knees over his elbows, angling you to take him even deeper, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix with each brutal stroke.

"Nik! Nik! Oh gods, yes!" you wailed, your voice hoarse from screaming. Your nails scored down his back as he ravaged you, the pain only serving to heighten your pleasure. The intense pleasure triggered your next climax, sending you spiraling into yet another mind-shattering orgasm. Your inner walls clenched and rippled around his cock, milking him for all he was worth.

As he stayed inside you for a long while, he pinched and pulled at your clit to make you cum on his cock, your juices gushing out and coating his shaft as he rolled his hips, grinding against you to prolong both your orgasms, your brain turning mushy from the overstimulation. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he shuddered and jerked above you. He bit down on your shoulder, panting heavily, he collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you both struggled to catch your breaths. After a moment, he lifted his head to gaze down at you, a satisfied smirk playing about his lips. "Still think I can't keep up?"

Sturmhond's movements became erratic, driven by primal instinct as he neared his climax. His cock swelled within you, his balls tightening in preparation for release. He leaned down, capturing your lips once more in a bruising kiss, muffling your screams as another powerful orgasm tore through you simultaneously with your last one. He roared your name like a battle cry, his seed spurting into you in hot, pulsing jets.

"Not bad for an old man," You panted, a mischievous glint in your eye despite your exhaustion. Your words seemed to ignite something within him, a renewed surge of energy and lust. With a growl, he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up to present yourself to him. His hand cracked across your ass, the sharp sting quickly followed by soothing caresses.

"You're playing with fire, little girl, besides, I'm only two years older than you." He warned, landing another hard spank, watching his cum spurt out of your cunt with each impact. He spread your cheeks, exposing your dripping cunt to his hungry gaze. Leaning in, he dragged his tongue through your slick folds, savouring the musky flavour of your cum mixed with his own seed.

His fingers probed your stretched opening, scooping up the creamy fluid before bringing it to his lips for a taste. "Mmm, look at you…so messy, so dirty…" He murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "I'm going to have to punish this naughty cunt."

Without warning, he plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your soaked heat, curling them to rub that sensitive spot inside. His thumb found your clit, circling it firmly as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity.

You whined with your face pressed into the pillow, sound muffled as you screamed in pleasure. His rough handling sent waves of bliss coursing through your body, rendering you utterly helpless beneath him. You could do nothing but accept his brutal fucking, the slap of flesh echoing in the room with each powerful thrust of his fingers.

"Oh gods, yes! More!" You begged, your hips bucking back against his hand, seeking more of that exquisite torture. The feeling of being so thoroughly taken, so completely fucked, drove you wild with desire.

"That's it, take it like the desperate slut you are." He growled, adding all four fingers to your already stuffed cunt, thumb still massaging your swollen clit. The stretch burned so good, pushing you right to the edge of too much. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he scissored his fingers inside you, spreading you open wider.

Tears streamed down your face from the overwhelming stimulation, drool pooling on the pillow below. Your entire body shook and twitched with pleasure, your mind hazing over with pure lust. He worked you closer and closer to another explosive climax, the pressure building in your core to unbearable levels.

His relentless assault on your cunt pushed you over the brink, your body convulsing as another orgasm ripped through you. Your inner walls clamped down on his invading fingers, rhythmically squeezing them as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you.

As you came undone beneath him, squirting your release all over his hand and the bed, he continued his merciless fingering, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of your quivering cunt, drawing out your pleasure until you were a boneless, trembling mess. Finally, he slowed his movements, gentling his touch as he coaxed you through the final tremors. Only when your body went limp did he finally withdraw his drenched digits, admiring the sight of your gaping, twitching hole left behind.

With a wicked grin, he dived back into pleasuring your sensitive cunt. His tongue lapped at your wetness, savouring every drop of your sweet cum. He focused especially on your throbbing clit, flicking it mercilessly with his tongue.

He licked and sucked at your sensitive flesh, alternating between broad strokes and teasing flicks, keeping you balanced precariously on the knife's edge of sensation.

"Too much," You cried out, buckling your hips as he held them still, it felt like you could cum from a single touch by him, "Ah-"

Your legs began to tremble, threatening to give out entirely if not for his firm grip on your hips. He could feel you teetering on the brink again, your body tensing, preparing for another shattering climax. With a final, hard suck on your clit, he sent you hurtling over the precipice once more, your vision whiting out as rapture consumed you.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and shuddering helplessly beneath him. He rode out the aftershocks with you, his tongue never ceasing its relentless assault on your oversensitive clit until you were a whimpering, spent mess.

Finally, he pulled back, giving your abused clit one last tender lick before crawling up your body to claim your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved deep, tasting himself on your tongue, mingling with the remnants of your own arousal.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and a hint of cruel amusement. "So many orgasms in one session? That's impressive," He mused, wrapped an arm around you.

His laughter rumbled through his chest as he gathered you close when he noticed your dropping eyes, tired, your sweaty bodies pressing together intimately. He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so that you lay draped across his broad frame. One large hand stroked idly along your spine while the other tangled in your damp hair, gently massaging your scalp. For several long moments, you simply lay there, basking in the afterglow. Gradually, your breathing slowed, and heart rates returning to normal, eyes dropping shut.

[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

[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.

[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.

[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

[thesuntomyshadows]

Y/N: You won't tell anyone, will you?

Nikolai: Cross my heart and really, really hope not to die, because I'm too young, handsome, and witty.

[dearestdem1]

I have this headcanon that Fjerdans have horrible senses of humour.

As in, dad jokes. Silly puns. Things that aren't funny but you still laugh at. Especially Matthias.

Just imagine - they're all on a job together (he never died, okay), they're hiding somewhere, and they hear someone make a joke about Shu-s, only in the context of them as shoes. He'd just give them all away by laughing. You can't convince me otherwise.

(He definitely makes dad jokes.)

[roseandxanderfics]

“The Fox’s Dilemma” - Kaz Brekker x reader

Summary: Kaz and a mysterious Grisha with the power to manipulate light team up for a high-stakes heist, but as their dangerous alliance deepens, so does their undeniable attraction.

———————

Kaz Brekker was many things. Ruthless. Calculating. Unyielding. He had built his empire from nothing, using his mind, his ambition, and his ability to manipulate every situation to his favor. He was always in control, always the one pulling the strings, never the one left exposed. But there was one thing Kaz had never been able to fully control: the Grisha.

He had no problem with Grisha—he used them when he had to, he manipulated them, he even tolerated them at times. But this Grisha was different.

You were different.

Kaz first met you during a job, one of the many that made him the infamous leader of the Dregs. It had been a simple deal—steal a few Grisha artifacts, slip past the patrols, and get paid. But the moment he laid eyes on you, he realized that the task was going to be anything but simple.

You were standing in the shadows, watching the exchange unfold, your eyes glinting with an unreadable expression. It wasn’t just your beauty that drew his attention, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud. It was your power. You were a Grisha, but not the kind he was used to. No Heartrender, no Squaller, no Inferni—no, you were something far subtler, something more dangerous.

You were a Fabricator, a master of light. But your powers went far beyond what Kaz had anticipated. You could weave illusions—create entire worlds of light and shadow that could trick anyone’s senses. You could manipulate how people saw the world, and with that power, you could make them believe anything you wanted them to believe.

Kaz had never met anyone like you, and that alone made you dangerous.

⸻

It wasn’t long before Kaz sought you out, his reasons cloaked in mystery, just as always. He needed something, and you were the only one who could provide it.

“Are you looking for another job, Kaz?” you asked, your voice calm and steady, betraying none of the curiosity that flickered behind your eyes.

Kaz stood before you in the dim light of the little bar where you’d met. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He was dressed in his usual attire—sharp, meticulous, like everything about him had been carefully crafted for a single purpose.

“No. This is… different,” Kaz replied, his voice low. “I need your help. You have an ability that could be very useful.”

You raised an eyebrow. “My ability? I’m sure there are others who would be more than capable.”

Kaz’s smirk faded slightly. “Not like you. You can create illusions—perfect, believable illusions. That’s something I need. Something that will give me an edge.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “And why should I help you, Kaz Brekker? What’s in it for me?”

Kaz’s eyes flicked to yours, sharp and calculating. “You’ve heard of the Ice Court?”

Of course, you had. Who hadn’t? The Ice Court was the most secure prison in all of Kerch, home to some of the most dangerous criminals and secrets imaginable. A place that was nearly impossible to infiltrate.

“You want to break into the Ice Court?” you asked, skepticism creeping into your voice.

“I don’t need to break in,” Kaz replied, his tone clipped, “I just need a distraction. A diversion. You can make the guards see something that isn’t there. You can get us the opening we need.”

You were quiet for a moment, considering. You had no love for the Ice Court, but you weren’t particularly fond of Kaz Brekker either. And yet… his offer was tempting. You had no real ties to anyone, no reason not to use your power as leverage.

“What’s the catch?” you finally asked.

Kaz smiled, the glint in his eyes telling you everything you needed to know. “Help me, and you’ll get something you want in return. But I always keep my word, Grisha. I’ll get you what you need.”

The air between you crackled with an unspoken tension, a silent understanding passing between you. Kaz Brekker always played his cards close to his chest, but you knew he had something in mind, and that intrigued you more than anything.

You crossed your arms. “Fine. But I get to set the terms. And if I don’t like what I see, Kaz, I won’t hesitate to walk away.”

Kaz didn’t flinch. His gaze never wavered. “Agreed.”

⸻

The plan was set. You and Kaz, working together, preparing for the infiltration. You would be the distraction—the light weaver, blinding the guards and confusing their senses. In the chaos, Kaz and his crew would slip past undetected, grab what they needed, and escape.

But the closer you got to the job, the more you realized how much you had underestimated Kaz Brekker. He wasn’t just a thief; he was a master strategist, and he had a way of making everything seem effortless.

You had your doubts. Working with Kaz was dangerous, and the stakes were higher than you were comfortable with. But there was something else that kept you there, something you couldn’t ignore. It was the way Kaz looked at you—like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve, a game he was determined to win.

And maybe, just maybe, you liked it.

⸻

The night of the job, the plan went off without a hitch. You stood outside the Ice Court, hidden in the shadows, focusing on the guards. Your power hummed in your fingertips, the familiar rush of energy coursing through you as you began to weave the illusion. You bent light around you, shaping it into an image of false reality, a vision of chaos that would disorient the guards and give Kaz and his crew the perfect opening.

Kaz was precise, always. He’d already slipped past the first line of defense, and now it was up to you to ensure the rest of the plan went smoothly.

The guards’ reactions were immediate—eyes wide with confusion, weapons raised, shouting to each other in alarm. It was perfect. They were seeing things that weren’t there, their senses twisted by your illusions.

Kaz moved like a shadow through the chaos, but as you watched him, something shifted in you. The way he operated was so cold, so calculated, and yet there was something about him that made you question whether he truly had control of everything. You’d seen him take risks before, seen him push people to their limits. But in that moment, watching him move effortlessly through the disarray, you realized something important.

Kaz Brekker wasn’t invincible. He was just good at making everyone believe he was.

⸻

When the job was over, and the artifact was secured, Kaz came to you. There was no fanfare, no celebration—just the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.

“I did my part,” you said, watching him carefully. “Now, what do I get in return?”

Kaz didn’t speak for a long time. His expression remained unreadable, but you could see the shift in his eyes. There was something more there now, something he wasn’t saying.

“You’ll get what you want,” he finally said. “I keep my word.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Instead, you turned to leave, but Kaz’s voice stopped you.

“Stay,” he said, the word surprisingly gentle. It was so unlike him that it made you pause. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You turned back to face him, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’ll never be done with me, Kaz Brekker. But the question is—will I ever be done with you?”

Kaz didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and for the first time, you saw something raw in his eyes—something that could be called… vulnerability. You didn’t know how long it would last or what it meant, but in that moment, Kaz Brekker wasn’t the cold, calculating thief. He was just a man, standing before you, unsure of what came next.

And in that moment, for all his arrogance and control, you realized Kaz Brekker wasn’t the only one who was dangerous.

[sorawritesstuff]

yes he's a villain but what if he's in love with me