#nikolai Lantsov imagines

[heliads]

A Sea of Lies (1) - nikolai lantsov

As a Second Army Tidemaker, you're certain your latest mission to go undercover as a Ravkan spy in Sturmhond's fleet is nothing more than a fool's errand. The dread privateer certainly has tricks up his teal sleeves, but maybe not the ones you'd expected.

masterlist / part two

You start your day thinking the Darkling is making a joke, and that is how you know your life is over.

Nothing about today was a laughing matter, you should have sensed it from the start. You’ve been sleeping off your last mission for the last week, alternating between stopping by the Healers to fix up your wounds and helping to train some of the new Etherealki as Baghra loses her patience, but you’ve managed to piece together plenty of time to rest. The Second Army is always low on soldiers, whether from enemy attacks, or, shamefully enough, friendly fire from the First, so there’s never as much time to recover as you’d like.

The Darkling had called you into his War Room to receive your latest assignment. As one of his best spies, you’ve gained enough of his begrudging respect to be allowed into this hallowed hall of secrets, but you know better than to peer too closely at anything. Grisha have disappeared for less.

You swear it’s always colder in here, far from the never-silent throngs of Grisha outside, coaxed away from the slightest hints of sunlight. Maybe it’s just him. Regardless, you pull the sapphire fabric of your kefta closer to you, fingers running nervously over the fine blue stitching. You knew you were a Tidemaker ever since you were a child, and you could hardly be anything else now. The Darkling keeps you too busy to forget a thing like that.

He’s waiting for you when you arrive, dark eyes as shrewd as always, and he doesn’t say a word until the heavy door closes behind you. “Good morning, Y/N. I trust you’ve had enough time to recover since your last assignment?”

You nod on instinct. “Yes, thank you.”

It’s a lie. Your bones still ache from where you’d been thrown, the fractures so fresh from healing that you can feel the joins from standing alone. The Darkling isn’t interested in excuses, though. All he wants is a soldier, and you are that.

He inclines his head in acceptance. “I’m glad to hear it. I have use of your talents as a Tidemaker, although this time not on the warfront.”

You lean forward curiously, unable to stop yourself. “Sir?”

The Darkling gestures for you to come closer, indicating a map of Ravka and its harbors on the table in front of him. Several areas along the coastline have been marked with red, even stretching so far as to touch the borders of Fjerda up north and Shu Han down below you.

“These markings indicate targets of recent attacks by the pirate, Sturmhond, and his armies. He’s been intercepting merchant or military ships, often ones carrying Grisha, and taking their vessels and crews under his command. He’s grown more bold during recent months, enough to garner my attention and that of the king.”

The Darkling’s tone sours when he mentions the king, and you can’t help but share his sympathies. It is well known that the king of Ravka is nothing more than a greasy tyrant, but he’s a greasy tyrant that controls the fate of the Little Palace and all the Grisha within, so the Darkling must tolerate his whims, even when it obviously causes him great pain.

The Darkling clears his throat once and continues. “I’m interested in the great number of Grisha he’s managed to amass, which is why you’re going to be the one to get me information on them. You’ll head to the harbors and find a reason to convince Sturmhond to let you join his crew. Once he sees your abilities as a Tidemaker, he should be more than eager to let you aboard. After that, you’ll send me regular updates on the number of Grisha under his rule, as well as their designations and levels of expertise.”

It’s so absurd you almost laugh, and you’re glad you don’t, because the look in the Darkling’s eyes is nothing less than serious. “You want me to lie to one of the greatest liars on the True Sea?”

The Darkling stares at you coldly. “Are you questioning my assignment, Y/N?”

Your breath freezes in your chest. “Of course not,” you say hastily, “I just want– I want to be sure I understand the full expectations, that’s all. Won’t he be suspicious that someone from Ravka suddenly wants to join his ship?”

The Darkling waves this away. “Sell him a sob story about inhumane treatment from your homeland, I’m sure that damned pirate will eat it up. Criminals like him are more interested in a show than clear reason.”

You find this difficult to believe given that Sturmhond has been nothing if not faithful in his blockades and captures, but you know better than to argue with the Darkling. “Of course. And when do I leave?”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” the Darkling answers calmly. “There’s an early morning passage through the Shadow Fold, and from there you’ll make your way to the harbor. I’ll have other spies ready to guide you on your way, and they’ll be the ones to receive your reports whenever Sturmhond’s ship docks.”

Tomorrow at dawn. It’s so soon for your life to descend into chaos. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

“I know you won’t,” the Darkling says, eyeing you as you leave the room.

You retire back to your chambers and start to freak out. Sturmhond is infamous even without the Darkling’s description of his exploits. He’s legendary for backstabbings and betrayals, raids and attacks and mutines. This is no easy job. You’ve killed before, being an active spy in the midst of a war does that to you, but engaging with Sturmhond will require cruelty of a level you’re not sure you possess. And the Darkling expects you to lie to a man like that? You’re sure you’d have better luck trying to drown yourself in the Unsea.

Still, it’s not as if you have a choice. When the Darkling speaks, Grisha answer. You pack your bags mechanically, say goodbye to your friends, and take your last look at the Little Palace as you leave at dawn the next day. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ll never see it again. You’ve had dangerous missions before, yes, but this– this feels like suicide.

Even the journey to Sturmhond comes with its perils. You have to cross the Shadow Fold to even make it to the ocean. The moment the Fold swallows you whole, the darkness presses upon you, every shadow like a tangible weight on your back. You swear you hold your breath the whole trip, especially when the cries of volcra echo around you, but you’re lucky and no one gets hurt.

From there, the only thing to do is establish your cover, and try to find the most famous privateer across the whole of the True Sea. You sadly left your kefta behind in West Ravka, and miss its comforting weight already, the feel of the embroidery against your fingertips. You’re dressed instead in the typical garb of the locals, albeit with several knives hidden on your person. You may be quite powerful as a Tidemaker, but it’s not always best to make that obvious.

The Darkling had sent you to this specific town because he’d heard rumors that Sturmhond would be docking nearby, and as per usual, his information was good. Although it costs you a few drinks to win over enough informants, you find out where you could find his crew, and hopefully even the captain himself. You thank your sources kindly, and head out. 

By now, it’s well into the evening, the moon casting milky ripples onto the dark water of the harbor. You can’t help yourself and take a few moments to breathe in the smell of the sea, content with the familiar feeling of so much water around you, all tugging gently at your mind with the promise of being yours to command. It is in this moment of stillness that you hear something off behind you. It sounds like a scuffle.

Your soldier’s training makes you search for the source of the disturbance in the dark. You promise yourself that you’ll let it go if it’s just a few drunken louts looking for a quick bit of trouble, but you’re glad you looked when you draw closer and realize it’s a few locals harassing a Grisha. By the looks of it, a traveling Inferni had tried to use his gifts to warm his hands, and had attracted the notice of a few less than welcoming otkazat’sya.

You’re on them in a moment, you can’t help it. You have to help other Grisha, solidarity among practitioners of the Small Science is all any of you have. You call up a thick curl of water from the bay, and thrust it between the unfriendly parties, slamming the otkazat’sya attackers to the ground in a rush of dark sea. They’re out cold in a second’s flash.

The Inferni blinks up at you, startled. “Thanks for the rescue,” they mumble at last, eyes wide in the dark night.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, extending a hand to help them up.

They take it gladly enough, and it gives you enough time to take in their clothing. It’s mussed, rumpled, like it’s spent the better part of a few months wadded up in a trunk, and the cloth itself is bleached from excess time in the sun. It could just be your own fortuitous good luck, but you might have stumbled upon a member of the very crew you’ve been hoping to find.

You decide to take a risk. “You wouldn’t happen to sail on one of these ships, would you?”

The Inferni regards you warily. “So what if I do?”

You hold up your hands in mock surrender. “I’m not like those idiots, I’m not looking for a fight. Actually, I’m trying to find a way out of Ravka. You might not have noticed it, but it’s not always nice to be Grisha in these parts.”

A ghost of a smile flickers over the Inferni’s face. “Alright, I might know something. My ship is good for Grisha, too. You’re in luck, we’re looking for a few new sailors. I’m headed back there right now if you want to talk to the captain.”

You’d love to talk to the captain. “I’d be quite grateful if you could make that happen. What ship do you sail on?”

The words out of the Inferni’s lips are music to your ears. “The Volkvolny. I sail for Sturmhond. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

You have to be careful not to let your grin stretch too broadly. “Not in the slightest.”

The Inferni– Dobrin, you find out his name along the way– has served with Sturmhond for about a year now. He’s fleeing similar circumstances as you supposedly are. Whenever money runs low in a small town, Grisha are the first ones blamed. Sturmhond is apparently quite welcoming of Grisha. Dobrin claims the Volkvolny is the first place he’s actually felt at home with so many other Grisha. It makes you feel a pang of nostalgia for the Little Palace.

The Little Palace– you’d been there since you were a child, so you can hardly remember life without it. The few memories you do have of the time before Os Alta are often terrifying, full of disapproving town elders and an absolute horror over the power you couldn’t yet control. Your family sent you to the Darkling when you were very small, and haven’t yet tried to find you again. It’s about as silent and obvious as any door slammed in your face could be.

Once your powers as a Tidemaker became apparent, you were quickly sent on missions. There’s no age limit for soldiers, not in a war, and certainly not for the Second Army. You were needed. That’s what mattered. It’s impossible to imagine the Little Palace without coupling it with the battlefield. It was home but not, more of a stylized version of military barracks than anything else. Recently, you’ve been there less and less, typically only staying around for a week or so before receiving a new assignment. This latest trip was your shortest yet.

Hearing Dobrin talk about how he gets to practice his powers with the other Grisha on the safety of their ship, though, you start thinking about what it was like in your classes as a child, how for those first few sacred years all you knew were your limits and what it felt like to break them. You weren’t a soldier yet, just a Grisha, and it was wonderful. You’d never felt more free.

You assumed Sturmhond’s Grisha would be no better than glorified Grisha soldiers, albeit working against the law instead of for it, and you’re certain Dobrin isn’t telling you anything important or risky yet, but you can’t stop a pang in your heart imagining what it could be like to grow up free on the seas instead of as a young member of the Second Army.

There’s no use in imagining what-ifs, however, and soon enough you’re forcing yourself to focus again as Dobrin leads you onto the Volkvolny. It’s hidden cleverly in a far annex of the harbor, disguised by what you’re certain is a combination of Fabrikator skill and Squaller fog. You can just make out the shapes of several figures through the shifting gloom of night and small science as you make your way aboard. You wonder how many of them are Grisha, and how many of them suspect you already.

Dobrin guides you further into the depths of the ship, stopping at last before a door and knocking smartly on it. “I’ve gone recruiting again,” he says, mirth bubbling over in his voice, and you get the sense this has happened more than a few times.

He’s answered readily enough by someone inside calling you both to enter. Dobrin pushes open the door to the captain’s quarters and nods at you to follow him. You do so warily, looking around you for other seamen in case of an attack.

All that’s waiting inside for you is a single man. His hair is dark like rust, rough from sea-breeze yet somehow tousled in a way that feels intentionally charming. The lamplight casts harsh shadows on his face, but the effect is cut by the roguish grin on his face, as well as the lurid teal coat he somehow pulls off. This can only be Sturmhond.

Sturmhond stares at you intently, and although the Darkling’s spies were certain he was otkazat’sya, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s regarding you with a Corporalki’s sense for blood. You’re certain he can see right through your alibi to the truth of your situation, to the truth of you. Only one kind of man can make an empire on the cold and bloody seas, and it’s not the type to take betrayal lightly. You have sealed your fate. All that’s left to do is see how long Sturmhond gives you before he slits your throat.

“Who have you brought me this time, Dobrin?” Sturmhond asks, not taking his eyes off you.

Dobrin answers immediately. “A Tidemaker, and a powerful one at that. She got me out of a tricky situation with some thugs down by the docks, and mentioned she needed a new place to stay. One a bit friendlier to Grisha, to say the least.”

“Well, I’m nothing if not approachable,” the True Sea’s most dangerous privateer hums. “That’s awfully good timing on your part, Tidemaker, to stumble across my hapless friend here just when he needed help. The Saints must be on your side.”

His words are deliberate and slow, the silent accusation obvious.

“If there are any Saints out there, they left me for dead a long time ago,” you answer steadily. “Maybe your crewmate was just lucky enough to time his catastrophe when a Tidemaker happened to be walking by.”

Sturmhond’s face splits in a laugh, although his eyes remain icy. “She’s got you there, Dobrin.”

Dobrin rolls his eyes, although he doesn’t seem annoyed. “Apologies, sir. I’ll try to burn otkazat’sya soldiers to ash next time. That’ll go over well.”

Sturmhond gestures between the two of you, the picture of innocence. “We find ourselves with a conundrum, Tidemaker. I cannot insist he commit such an obvious act of violence when we’re trying not to make enemies with the beautiful people of this town, but I do insist that my crew be safe. How do you suggest we handle this?”

“Let me stick around,” you counter. “It’s a lot easier to blame dead drunks on a misstep into the harbor than full-body immolation.”

Sturmhond claps once, twice, and you have to fight not to flinch. The sound is sudden and jarring in his quiet office, and rings around you like a parade drum. “There you have it, Dobrin. Negotiation. The last trick of the witty. I’m convinced, are you?”

“Quite,” Dobrin answers, winking at you when you manage to wrest your glance from Sturmhond long enough to glance his way.

“Wonderful,” Sturmhond says, drawing out the first syllable as long as possible before continuing, “We’ll start you on a probationary period, my dear Tidemaker, and re-evaluate after a few weeks. We’ll set sail in the morning, so you’d best stay the night here lest you miss our departure. There’s a few open hammocks, Dobrin will show you the way. Oh– one last thing.”

Sturmhond stands up slowly, deliberately, and walks around the table until he’s hardly a breath away. He regards you coolly, and just when you’re certain you’re about to die, he holds out his hand. “We’ve forgotten a proper introduction. They call me Sturmhond.”

You stare at his hand; tanned and wiry, strengthened by callouses from guns or knives or swords or all of the above, and certainly capable of killing you within moments, powers or lack thereof be damned.

“Y/N,” you say at last.

“A lovely name,” he says. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Y/N.”

You reach out and shake his hand. “Likewise.”

His grip is strong but not overly so, just enough to remind you who he is before he lets go again, allowing Dobrin to lead you from his office once more. You glance over your shoulder one last time before disappearing down the hold and see that he’s still watching you, eyes searching yet– amused, somehow. Like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s already heard this story before, but is still quite delighted by the ending.

Then the door shuts behind you and he’s cut off at once. You do your best to focus on Dobrin giving you a hasty tour and congratulating you on joining the crew. You’re introduced to a few other crewmates you pass as well, although on a ship with Squallers aboard, you’re certain whispers of your arrival have already flown from one end to the next. You’re shown to a hammock alongside the rest of the crew, and prepare to settle in for the night.

By all accounts, your mission is a success so far. However, the ease in which you were able to join Sturmhond’s crew makes you hesitate. If you wanted, you could have killed the dread privateer in a heartbeat, and if it weren’t for the fact that you want him alive for now, you would have. He has to know that, has to expect danger from all sides. Why would he possibly allow a stranger into the very heart of his ship with so little questioning? It’s as if he already knew what to expect, as if he already knew you, but that’s impossible. You’re certain you’d remember a face like that.

Yet when you think back to your last glimpse of him, you can’t help but remember his expression– entertained, somehow, but prepared. One doesn’t become the unlawful king of the seas without extensive ability to handle threats. Somehow, you get the sense that Sturmhond has the advantage over you, even though you’re the one sent to spy on him. You’ll have to turn the tables on him soon enough, but how do you trick a liar and a crook?

You’ve done all you can for the night. What matters is that you’re on board and ready to set sail. All that’s left to do is attempt to get some sleep and prepare yourself for the morning. Whatever dawn brings you, you’ll have to be up for anything, even the devious machinations of Sturmhond himself.

grishaverse tag list: @blondsauduun, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @saltcxrcle, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @bl606dy, @gods-fools-heroes, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen, @a-taken-url

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Something More Than Jealousy

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!reader

genre: angst

requested? yes!

~*~

The moment Y/N stepped into the war tent, she knew she was in for trouble.

She barely had time to set down her satchel of supplies before a familiar voice cut through the tense air. “I see our brilliant healer has been spending quite a bit of time with Captain Mikhailov.”

Y/N sighed and turned to face Nikolai, who stood with his arms crossed, golden hair slightly disheveled, and an expression that was far too practiced in its casual indifference.

“I spend time with everyone who needs healing,” she replied evenly, unbuckling her cloak. “Unless, of course, you’d like me to start selecting my patients based on their titles and how often they flirt with me.”

Nikolai’s jaw tightened. “I’d rather you selected them based on who won’t look at you like you’re a prize to be won.”

She raised a brow. “You mean how you’re looking at me now?”

He scoffed, pacing the length of the tent. “It’s different.”

“Is it?” She tilted her head, watching him. “Because from where I stand, you seem awfully bothered that someone finds me desirable.”

Nikolai stopped mid-stride, turning to face her with something unreadable in his eyes. “That’s not what bothers me,” he said, voice softer now. “What bothers me is that he doesn’t know you the way I do. He doesn’t know how you hum under your breath when you work, or how you press your fingers to your lips when you're deep in thought. He doesn’t know that you hate the cold but love the way the wind feels when we’re at sea.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected this—this unguarded confession woven between the sharp wit and jealousy.

“And you do?” she asked quietly.

Nikolai took a step closer, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. “I make it my business to know everything about my people,” he said. “But with you… it was never business.”

She swallowed, heart hammering against her ribs. “Then what was it?”

His lips quirked up, but it wasn’t his usual grin. It was something softer, something real. “Something I haven’t quite figured out yet,” he admitted. “But I know this—I don’t want to see you with someone who doesn’t appreciate you. Who doesn’t see you.”

Y/N held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible, Lantsov.”

“And yet, you tolerate me.” He grinned now, though there was something tentative in it. “So what does that say about you?”

“That I’m just as impossible,” she murmured.

His fingers brushed against hers, the touch feather-light. “A perfect match, then.”

[that-one-ostrich-friend]

could you write a nikolai fic with the dialogue “will you dance with me? please, pretty please!”

thanks 🤎

May I Have This Dance?

nikolai lanstov x reader - may i have this dance?

word count: 3k

summary: nikolai and y/n share a dance and then sneak away for something more…

warnings: kissing, allusions to smut, partially shirtless nikolai, manwhore nikolai <3

a/n: first request!!!

     The evening had settled over the grand hall of the palace, where the air was filled with the soft rustling of silk gowns and the clink of crystal glasses. The palace was alive with celebration, a banquet in honor of Nikolai Lantsov's triumphs. The night was extravagant, the chandeliers sparkling overhead, their light casting a warm glow over the guests below.

     Y/n stood near the edge of the dance floor, watching the couples spin in graceful rhythm. The music played in the background, the strings and horns blending together in a symphony of joy. She had attended the event with a mix of curiosity and wariness—curiosity about the man everyone spoke of so highly, and wariness because, well, Nikolai Lantsov was unlike any man she had ever met.

     She had caught glimpses of him from across the room, charming guests with his smile, his magnetic presence undeniable. He was a man of many faces—dashing prince, clever tactician, mischievous joker. But Y/n had learned that there was much more to him than the masks he wore. It was the quieter moments, the ones spent in the corners of rooms or the subtle exchanges during casual conversation, that intrigued her the most.

     As she adjusted the sleeve of her gown, her thoughts interrupted, and a soft voice pulled her from her reverie.

     "Ah, there you are. Hiding in the corner, are we?"

     Y/n turned, her heart giving an unexpected jolt. Nikolai stood there, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His golden hair, disheveled just enough to be charming, glinted in the light as he approached her, the confidence in his stride making it impossible for her to look away.

     "I was not hiding," she replied, her tone teasing, though her pulse betrayed her calm facade. "Merely observing."

     "Observing?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression light but interested. "I hope you’re not planning on staying in this corner all evening. It’s far too beautiful a night to waste on solitude."

     Y/n chuckled, a little more nervous than she cared to admit. "And what do you suggest I do with my evening, then?"

     "Well..." His voice lowered, becoming more earnest, as he offered her a sly grin. "It seems to me you’ve been watching the dancers long enough. Perhaps it’s time you joined them."

     Y/n felt a flutter in her chest, though she couldn’t tell if it was excitement or hesitation. She had never been one for dancing, especially in such a grand setting. But Nikolai’s presence was magnetic, pulling her in like the tide.

     Nikolai tilted his head, eyes glimmering with mischief. "I’m sure you could pull off anything, Y/n. You’re already the most captivating person in the room, even without stepping onto the floor."

     Her heart skipped at the compliment, but she tried to hide it with a roll of her eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Your Highness."

     Flattery?" He raised his hand dramatically, placing it over his heart as if wounded. "I assure you, it’s nothing but the truth."

     Before she could retort, he took a step closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Will you dance with me? Please, pretty please?"

     The playful tone in his voice made it impossible to resist. Y/n’s resolve wavered, and for a moment, she simply stared at him, her mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. He was, without a doubt, a force of nature. A man who could charm the birds from the trees, and yet, he wasn’t making her feel overwhelmed, but... rather intrigued.

     "I suppose I can’t refuse such a charming request," she finally said, with a smile that was half reluctant and half excited.

     Nikolai grinned, his eyes alight with triumph. "Splendid."

     He extended his hand to her, his fingers warm and inviting. Y/n hesitated for only a second before placing her hand in his. The moment their skin touched, a current of electricity seemed to pass between them, and for a fleeting moment, she felt as if the rest of the world had faded away. The noise of the ballroom, the chatter of the guests, even the music—it all seemed distant, swallowed up by the intensity of their connection.

     With a fluid motion, Nikolai led her onto the dance floor. His steps were sure, confident, as though he had done this a thousand times before, and she found herself matching his movements without thinking. She hadn’t danced in years, but with him, it felt natural, easy. He guided her with such a graceful touch, his hand on her waist steady and reassuring, while his other hand held hers with a tenderness that caught her off guard.

     The music swelled around them, and they moved together, weaving through the sea of other couples. Y/n couldn’t help but be drawn into the rhythm of the dance, her body attuned to his. There was something undeniably captivating about him—the way he made her feel like the only person in the room. His presence was magnetic, his every word laced with charm, and as they danced, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was all part of his carefully crafted persona.

     "Are you always this persuasive?" Y/n asked, her voice teasing as she caught his eye.

     Nikolai let out a low chuckle, his gaze never leaving hers. "Only when I know the reward will be worth it."

     "And what is the reward, exactly?" Y/n asked, her heart skipping a beat as they twirled.

     "Why, the pleasure of your company, of course," he replied smoothly. "Though, I must admit, it’s a pleasant surprise that you agreed to dance with me."

     Y/n raised an eyebrow. "A pleasant surprise? You didn’t think I would?"

     Nikolai’s smile widened, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh, I had my doubts. But now that we’re here... I’m glad I was wrong."

     The softness in his voice, the way his eyes seemed to hold her attention, sent a wave of warmth through her. She felt as if he was seeing her—really seeing her—in a way no one else had. It was unsettling, how easily he made her feel both exposed and cherished all at once.

     As they continued to dance, the conversation flowed naturally between them, their words playful, light, yet somehow filled with a quiet depth. Nikolai had an uncanny ability to make her laugh, to put her at ease even in the midst of a grand ball. He was never too forward, never too brash, but his presence was undeniable, like the calm before a storm, gentle yet ever-present.

     The music gradually wound down, and the last few couples spun to a stop, leaving the floor almost empty, save for the quiet whispers of those around them. The soft hum of conversation filled the space where the orchestra had just played, and Nikolai gently guided Y/n to a slower pace, their steps slowing in tandem with the fading melody.

     When the music came to an end, there was a brief, almost imperceptible pause, and Nikolai leaned slightly closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You dance with the grace of someone who’s far too modest, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, the playful tone replaced by something far more sincere. “I didn’t expect you to be such a natural.”

     Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, and she met his gaze, a smile tugging at her lips. “Perhaps I’m just full of surprises.”

     Nikolai’s eyes twinkled, his smile wide and knowing. “I do enjoy a good mystery,” he said, his fingers lightly brushing against the small of her back as he began to steer her off the dance floor. His touch was light, yet there was an undeniable sense of possessiveness to it.

     As they moved toward the edge of the ballroom, where the soft glow of chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, Y/n’s heart raced, and a thought, bold and unexpected, crossed her mind. She glanced around the room, noting the bustling groups of guests and the glint of glassware, the scent of perfume thick in the air. She lowered her voice slightly, making sure no one could overhear them.

     “Is there somewhere... a little more private we could go?” she asked, her words a delicate challenge, daring him to either accept or decline.

     Nikolai’s eyes flickered with surprise for a brief moment, and then a mischievous smile spread across his face, the glimmer in his gaze unmistakable. “Ah, I thought you’d never ask,” he whispered, his hand lingering at her waist as he leaned in closer. “There are a few quiet spots, if you’re brave enough to follow me. 

      Y/n’s pulse quickened, but she met his gaze with an unspoken challenge of her own. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”

      With a playful bow, Nikolai offered her his arm, his smile both warm and knowing. “It would be my pleasure.”

     Nikolai guided her through the bustling crowd, the chatter and laughter of the guests slowly fading as they moved deeper into the quieter parts of the palace. The grand ballroom was alive with light and sound, but the farther they got from the center of the celebration, the more the world around them seemed to blur and quiet down. The only sound now was the soft click of their shoes on the polished marble floor, the air heavy with unspoken anticipation.

     As they reached a narrow, secluded hallway, tucked away from the grand festivities, Nikolai paused. The hallway was dimly lit, with only a few candles flickering on the walls, casting long, gentle shadows that danced across the tapestries. The space felt intimate, private—a perfect place for a quiet moment away from the prying eyes of the palace guests.

     Nikolai turned to face her, his expression a mixture of mischief and something deeper, more sincere. His golden hair glinted in the soft candlelight, and his eyes—those ever-changing eyes—were darker now, more focused. His lips curled into a smile, but it was a smile full of intent, full of knowing. “I must admit,” he said quietly, his voice still carrying that charming, playful tone, but now underlined with something that was undeniably magnetic, “I didn’t think you’d be the type to sneak away to a quiet corner.”

     Y/n’s pulse quickened, her heart hammering against her chest. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with possibility. She hadn’t come here to be coy, to play games. She had come here because she couldn’t stop herself from wanting more of him, more of the electrifying chemistry between them. His gaze never left hers, and in that moment, she knew that he, too, was caught in the same web of desire.

     She slowly stepped closer, her gaze dropping to the way the candlelight glinted off his clothing. His shirt—open just enough to reveal the hard lines of his chest—seemed to make him even more alluring. Without thinking, her fingers reached out, brushing against the collar of his shirt. She tugged gently, pulling him closer, her chest brushing against his. The air between them felt charged, as if the space was full of electricity just waiting to snap.

     Nikolai didn’t fight it. Instead, he moved with her, his hand sliding around her waist, pulling her to him with a firm, almost possessive grip. His body was warm, solid against hers, and the scent of him—something woodsy and faintly spicy—wrapped around her, making her senses sharpen.

     Their lips met then, and it was as if a dam had broken. His kiss was urgent, hungry, and she responded in kind, matching his intensity with her own. Her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer, her body pressing into his with a need she hadn’t realized was there. His lips moved against hers in a frantic rhythm, as if they were trying to erase the distance that had always been between them. Y/n felt herself melting into him, the heat of their kiss spreading through her like wildfire.

     For a moment, she forgot everything—forgot about the ball, the guests, the palace. There was only Nikolai, his hands gripping her tightly, his kiss all-consuming. She could feel the heat of him, his body pressing into hers, and it only made her want him more. She felt the familiar flutter in her chest, but this time it was mixed with something stronger, something she couldn’t ignore. Something dangerous.

     When the kiss broke, it wasn’t because they wanted it to. Both of them were panting, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Nikolai’s forehead rested against hers, and for a moment, they simply stood there, eyes closed, as the sound of their ragged breathing filled the space. His hands rested at her waist, fingers splayed, as though he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

     Y/n’s lips tingled from the kiss, and she slowly met his gaze again, her eyes searching his, full of questions and unspoken thoughts. Without a word, she reached for the buttons of his shirt, her fingers trembling slightly as they worked their way down, slowly unfastening them one by one. The tension between them was thickening, growing more potent with each passing second. Nikolai didn’t stop her, didn’t protest. Instead, he watched her with that same knowing gaze, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took.

     As she opened the last button, the fabric parted, revealing the warm expanse of his chest. The candlelight flickered off his skin, casting soft shadows along his muscles, and Y/n couldn’t help but run her hands over the smoothness of his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him. She traced the lines of his chest, her fingertips brushing against the firm ridges of his muscles, feeling the strength beneath the softness.

     Nikolai let out a soft, low groan at her touch, his hands finding their way to her back, pulling her closer. His lips met hers again, this time more demanding, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Y/n’s body responded instantly, her hands sliding lower, her fingers skimming the waistband of his trousers before trailing back up to his chest. Every touch seemed to ignite something within him, and the heat between them grew, intense and overwhelming.

     He responded to her touch with equal fervor, his hands exploring the curve of her back, pressing her further into the wall. There was no space between them now—just the feel of their bodies, the heat of their lips, the urgent desire that swirled around them, thick and all-encompassing.

     Y/n’s breath hitched when his lips trailed down her neck, his hands moving to her waist, pushing her dress up slightly. She could feel the steady, firm pressure of his touch, the heat of his body against hers.

     After what felt like an eternity of heated kisses and tangled bodies, their lips finally parted. The hallway seemed to settle back into its quiet stillness, but neither of them could fully catch their breath. Their chests heaved in unison, hearts racing in a way that felt both thrilling and dizzying. Nikolai's hand lingered at her waist, still pulling her close, his forehead resting against hers as they tried to steady their breaths.

     Y/n’s hair had come undone from its elegant updo, strands falling loose around her shoulders, and she couldn’t help but smile softly at the mess they had made of each other. She glanced up at him, noticing that his usually neat attire was now wrinkled, his golden hair disheveled, and his lips swollen from their kisses. A burst of laughter escaped her lips before she could stop it, her chest still rising and falling rapidly from the intensity of the moment.

     Nikolai looked at her with an amused, almost dazed expression, and a slow, boyish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “I think we’ve both seen better days,” he said, his voice still tinged with breathlessness. He reached up, running a hand through his hair, only making it messier, and chuckled.

     Y/n giggled softly, shaking her head, trying to regain some sense of composure. Her fingers went to her hair, attempting to smooth it back into some semblance of order. She knew she’d have to face the guests again soon, and though she was still flushed from their passionate kiss, she couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious about how disheveled she looked. "You’re right,” she said with a teasing smile, “we look like we’ve been caught in a storm."

     Her fingers worked at her hair, trying to pull the loose strands back into place, but she was distracted by the playful yet intense look in Nikolai’s eyes as he watched her. His gaze softened, his lips still curved into that knowing smile. He reached for her wrist gently, his fingers cool against her warm skin, and with surprising tenderness, he pulled her hand away from her hair.

     “Y/n…” His voice was low and serious now, though there was still a playful edge to it. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting hers with a certain intensity. "You know, I don’t think we’re quite ready to return to the ballroom just yet. Wouldn’t you agree?”

     Her heart fluttered again, the way his gaze lingered on her, full of unspoken promises, made it clear that this wasn’t a casual suggestion. It was an invitation—a quiet request, one that made her pulse race all over again. Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced up at him, the thought of going back to the noisy ballroom seeming less appealing by the second.

     “Where do you suggest we go instead?” Y/n asked softly, her voice almost a whisper as she met his gaze. She could feel the tension between them building once more, the same chemistry that had ignited earlier still simmering beneath the surface. Her body was still humming with the aftereffects of their kiss, and the idea of being alone with him, of indulging in whatever this connection was, felt far more tempting than the thought of returning to the ballroom.

     Nikolai didn’t say a word at first. Instead, he took a small step closer, his thumb brushing against her wrist as he lowered his voice, the words soft yet unmistakably clear. “I think it would be much better if we went back to my bedroom.” His gaze didn’t leave hers, the sincerity in his words making her pulse spike again.

      Y/n’s breath hitched in her chest, the suggestion catching her off guard. She knew she should hesitate, should think it over, but the truth was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. There was something magnetic about him, something about the way he made her feel seen, alive, and desired. Her mind was clouded with the heat of their earlier kiss, the fire that still burned between them.

     Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind swirling with everything they’d just shared, everything that still felt so new and thrilling between them. She wasn’t sure where this would lead, but in that moment, all she could focus on was the way he made her feel. The anticipation, the desire, the pull between them.

     Her gaze flickered to his lips for a brief moment, and then, without thinking, she nodded, her voice barely more than a breath. “Alright, lead the way.”

     Nikolai’s smile deepened, and he stepped closer, his free hand gently guiding her by the elbow. He turned and began walking, but his pace was slow, deliberate, as if savoring every moment of this. Y/n followed close behind, her pulse still racing, her thoughts a whirlwind. She had no idea what would happen once they reached his bedroom, but one thing was certain—there was no turning back now.

[downbadf0rficppl]

still here in the evening

Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

Summary: Part 2 of still here in the morning - Nikolai's mad at you. You don't know why. Maybe an injury will help secrets come to life?

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Violence - guns, gangs and bullets, Blood, Injury, Misunderstandings.

The wind whipped through your hair as you looked out over the deck. You were less than half a day’s travel away from West Ravka - where you’d dock and stock up on supplies before heading back out to Novyi Zem.

You sighed. The past few weeks had been weird - ever since you and Nikolai had woken up together, he’d been ignoring you. It was almost as if you’d ceased to exist for him. No matter. Things should be back to normal after this stop in West Ravka. You could both forget it ever happened. 

It was almost midnight when you finally tethered the ship to a dock in Os Kervo. Tamar and Tolya grabbed your arms and practically dragged you to a local inn to celebrate. You’d had a lot of successful missions over the past few months, and just because the Captain was opposed to any kind of revelry, doesn’t mean you should be. 

You knew the truth. Nikolai was too scared of being discovered here in West Ravka - where people still knew what the monarchy looked like, even if they had been hidden away on the other side of the fold for years. Still, you let Tamar and Tolya drag you away and had a few beers to celebrate. Maybe more than a few beers. 

Meanwhile, Nikolai was sat at his desk on the ship, nursing a pint of ale. He’d tried to distract himself with work - checking the ship’s logs and inventory, making a detailed list of everything they needed before they set off on their next adventure. This would be their longest trip yet, and they were going to need a lot of supplies, especially if they kept picking up new teammates. It wasn’t enough.

His mind kept drifting back to you. Mouse. His Mouse. Nikolai couldn’t recall when you went from being just another shipmate, to the only person who was ever on his mind, but he wasn’t complaining. Still, the words that passed between you and Tolya rung clear in his head.

“He’s no one… Someone from back home.” You didn’t like him like that. You were waiting from someone back home.

Nikolai shook his head trying to clear his mind. Obviously, a girl like you had someone waiting for them back home. That was why you chose to take an extra long pit stop every time you were back on Zemeni soil. It was obvious, wasn’t it? He turned back to his logs, trying to catalogue everything they had done over the past few months since they had been here in Os Kervo. 

He had thought you were the one. The past few weeks had been difficult, trying to avoid conversation with you, trying to avoid being under your gaze. Nikolai knew that he had no self-control when it came to you - one look in his direction and he’d crumble again. And he deserved better than someone who just used him to ‘break his 'I don't sleep with crewmates' rule.’

He should’ve known something was up when you disappeared from his bed in the middle of the night, he thought, putting his journals away for safe-keeping and taking another swig of his ale. People don’t just disappear when they actually like someone.

He just didn’t think you capable of leading someone on so maliciously.

But maybe he read the signs wrong. You never explicitly said you wanted to sleep with him, did you? Nikolai racked his brains for anything you’d said to give him that impression, but nothing came to mind. Maybe his own feelings clouded his judgment. 

Nikolai took another swig of his ale. The light buzz that accompanied every thought of you now made him reckless. Nikolai clenched his jaw, determination etched across his face, as he set out towards the bar where Tamar and Tolya had taken you, his mind racing with concern and unresolved questions. The dimly lit streets of Os Kervo blurred around him. He just wanted to get to you.

You slipped out of the bar, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to keep your steps light and silent. Tamar and Tolya were relentless, always watching, trying to stop you from seeing Nikolai. They insisted that he wasn’t worth your time, that he was just in a bad mood, though they wouldn’t tell you why. 

The moon hung high and cold above the narrow streets of Os Kervo, casting long shadows in the alleys. You didn’t dare look back, afraid that one glance would reveal your escape to Tamar and Tolya. The bar’s raucous laughter and clinking glasses faded behind you, swallowed by the city’s nighttime murmurs. 

You turned a corner, your mind racing with thoughts of Nikolai. What had you done to deserve his wrath? Every attempt to remember came up empty, a frustrating blur of confusion. You didn't see the men until it was too late.

A flash of metal, the sound of a gun cocking—it snapped you out of your reverie. You stumbled, your boot catching on the uneven cobblestones, and you fell to your knees just as the first shot rang out. The alley exploded into chaos, bullets whizzing past you, ricocheting off the brick walls.

"Get down!" someone shouted, but the voice was lost in the cacophony. You scrambled to your feet, ducking low and trying to find cover. Two rival gangs, by the looks of it, were locked in a deadly exchange, their faces twisted with rage and fear.

You pressed yourself against the wall, breathing hard, your eyes scanning for an escape route. Another shot grazed the wall near your head, sending a shower of brick dust into your face. You wiped your eyes, blinking rapidly, and saw an opening—a narrow gap between two buildings, barely wide enough for a person.

Without thinking, you dashed for it, your heart pounding in your ears. A sharp pain tore through your shoulder, and you gasped, stumbling but not stopping. You squeezed into the gap, your shoulder screaming in protest, and kept moving, pushing through until you spilled out onto another street.

The shootout was behind you, the sounds of gunfire muffled by the buildings. You leaned against the wall, panting, clutching your shoulder. Blood seeped through your fingers, warm and sticky.

You collapsed to the ground, arm still covering the wound on your torso, but you couldn’t keep your body up any longer. You were close to the docks. Someone would find you. 

“Hey, hey, hey…” A familiar voice floated across the heaviness, bouncing around in the back of your head. “Don’t move. I’ve got you.”

What did he say? Why couldn’t you move? You didn’t try though, instead nuzzling into the warmth of their hand. 

“…didn’t hit anything important, you’re okay…”

What didn’t hit anything important?

“You’ll be fine. We’ll get you back to the ship and get you right.” A warm hand pressed down on your abdomen, putting pressure. A sharp pain cut through the fuzziness in your mind. Your eyes met familiar muddy green ones. Ones that you knew all to well.

Everything came rushing back, your train of thought screeching back into coherence, and you gasped, face pressed against a warm shoulder. Nikolai’s shoulder. Pain flared in your abdomen like lightning, and you cried out, gripping Nikolai’s arm. 

“Easy, now, sweetheart,” he grunted, gathering you further into his arms as his hand turned more and more red. “Can’t have you move right now.”

Fuck, it hurt. You let out a small whine as Nikolai adjusted his hand. This pain was unlike you’d never felt before - you’d been stabbed before but it didn’t hurt like this.

“Nik- I- I…-” you stammered.

“Hey, it’s okay, mouse. You’re okay. Just focus on breathing.”

You bit down another cry, forcing air out through your nose, burying your head further into his shoulder.

“Good, that’s good… Can I move my hand, mouse?”

You caught a glimpse of him ripping off a section of his shirt - somewhere in the back of your mind, you were disappointed. You liked that shirt. It was a shame to ruin it.

“Nik, it- fuck…” You were really feeling it now, warm and sticky blood seeping down your stomach. Nikolai tried to tie the strip of fabric as tight as he could but the pain seemed to deepen with every movement, spreading up through your torso to the rest of your body, and you gritted your teeth to halt a pained scream.

Nikolai glanced down at your fear-stricken face with a mix of guilt and shame, but quickly offered you a tight-lipped smile. “Nothing new to us, huh, sweetheart?”

The nickname wasn’t lost on you, but you didn’t have the energy to comment on it. You felt woozy again, as if you were slowly floating away from your body. His muddy green eyes were getting harder and harder to focus on, your body begging for the respite of unconsciousness.

Nikolai moved quickly, carefully lifting you into his arms, his expression tightening as you winced. Despite the urgency, his touch was gentle, his concern evident in every movement. The streets of Os Kervo blurred past him as he made his way to the ship, his mind racing with worries and questions.

By the time you reached the ship, Tamar and Tolya were already there, alerted by some unspoken bond or perhaps just the unmistakable sense of something gone wrong. Tamar’s eyes widened when she saw you, and she immediately set to work, her hands moving quickly as she tried to staunch the bleeding and mend the torn flesh.

“They need to rest,” Tamar said, her voice firm despite the strain of her efforts. “They’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Nikolai nodded, his face a mask of controlled emotion. He watched as Tamar worked, feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. The thought of losing you, without ever understanding why you had caused him such pain, was unbearable. As Tamar finished and stepped back, Tolya helped her move you to a more comfortable position.

Nikolai paced the small cabin, his thoughts a whirlwind. He needed answers, but for now, he needed to be prepared for the worst. Turning to the twins, he took a deep breath. “I need to ask you about their… person back home,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “In case they don't make it.”

Tamar and Tolya exchanged confused glances. “Their person?” Tolya echoed, frowning.

Nikolai nodded, frustration creeping into his tone. “I overheard the three of you talking. They mentioned someone. If something happens, we need to know who to contact.”

Tamar's eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to recall. Then, a look of realisation dawned on her face. “Oh, you mean Nikolai.”

Nikolai’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face impassive. “What do you know about him?”

“Not much,” Tamar admitted, glancing at Tolya, who nodded in agreement. “Just that his name is Nikolai. They mentioned him once, but not in detail.”

Nikolai’s mind raced, connecting the dots. They didn’t know. They had no idea that the Nikolai you spoke of was him—Sturmhond, the privateer. He felt a strange mix of relief and guilt. Relief that his identity remained safe, but guilty that all of this had been a misunderstanding. “Thank you,” he said finally, his voice softer. “That’s… helpful.”

Tamar frowned, sensing his unease but not pressing further. “They’ll pull through,” she said confidently, more to reassure herself than anyone else. “They’re strong.”

Nikolai nodded absently, his gaze fixed on your pale face. As the night deepened, he slumped into the chair, needing to be near you, so he could apologise.

When you next awoke, the pain was pretty much gone, and you were decidedly not dead. It was a good start.

You were lying in a bed. For a second, the sun filtered through the windows and you thought you were in your bed. All the way back home in Novyi Zem. Your sister would run in in a moment asking for you to make her tea - you did it the best, not too milky and not too sweet. You opened your eyes to the sight of dark wooden panels. You were on the ship. The bed was familiar, though. The last time you were in it, a warm heavy arm had been resting across your chest. Your heart ached at the thought.

You looked over to the sight. The Captain was curled up in an armchair next to the bed, head cupped in his palm, his hair, loose and unkempt, clearly having had a hand run through it over and over. He must have nodded off at some point during the night. You were happy to see him sleep - he looked so calm and peaceful, unlike the past few weeks. 

His eyes fluttered awake, almost as if he felt your gaze over him. His flickered to your covered waist before meeting your eyes. His gruff expression melted into one more sympathetic, and he reached out to squeeze your hand.

"You're still here?" You croaked. 

"I promised you I'd still be here in the afternoon."

fin.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Confessions and Confidences // Nikolai Lantsov

Request: what about a nikolai fic with the "there was only one bed" trope? IM A SUCKER FOR THAT TROPE PLEASE- something like nik and the reader went somewhere like ravka ovest (during siege and storm/ruin and rising) to promote his return and they end up staying for the night in a hotel somewhere but it wasnt the one they made a reservation in so there's only one room. - @the-massive-simp

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! I am so sorry it has taken me so long to write it, but I have to tell you - I loved writing this so much. I hope you like it, and I hope I have done it justice.

Warnings: female reader, pining, mutual pining, lots of feelings, friends to lovers, one bed trope, fluff, cute.

Word count: 2k+

“Tell me how I did… honestly,” Nikolai requests, loosening his tie and rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension that had built there over the last three hours.

The carriage jostles you from side to side, leaving you faintly nauseous as you meet the eyes of the Ravkan prince. A fond smile creeps over your face. “You had them eating out the palm of your hand.”

Nikolai pauses; his fingers a freezing on the tight Windsor knot of his tie. He meets your gaze only fleetingly, but long enough for you to see the insecurity hidden in those crystalline blue eyes. Nikolai returns to his ministrations, fiddling with the navy blue tie as he asks you. “Do you think so?”

He huffs before giving up with the tie. You roll your eyes, scooting forward on the carriage bench, reaching for the wrinkled material. “I don’t think,” You murmur, working on the tightened knot. “I know so. I was in the crowd, Nikolai. I hear every gasp of awe and every hum of agreement.”

Nikolai’s gaze fixes on your face, searching for what he does not know, but his eyes do not leave your face as you battle with his godforsaken tie.

Silence falls in the carriage as you work with his tie, feeling it begin to loosen. A shout of victory rings true when the navy material gives way and Nikolai feels the tie relent. Satisfied, you sit back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I know,” You laugh, “I’m amazing.”

Nikolai snorts, tipping his head in recognition of your talent. “Of course,” He drawls, “I would never have done it without you… or the valet riding in the carriage behind us.”

Pouting childishly, you kick his shin. “Hush,” You say, “You know you would never survive without me.”

“Naturally,” He answers with a coy grin.

You smile at each other; unabashed, joyful smiles that leave your cheeks hurting in a matter of moments. You meet each other’s gaze; a silent battle breaking out over who will break and look away first as the tension begins to build. A tension that had become more and more noticeable over the last few months; feelings that you thought you had long since buried making their way to the surfaced with every touch, every laugh and every glance sent your way by the blue eye prince sat across from you.

You break first, turning your face to stare out of the window. “So,” You state, clearing your throat. “Are we heading back to Ravka tonight?”

Nikolai shakes his head. “It’s far too late and I think we all deserve a rest. I had someone ride ahead to find a hotel for the night.”

“Lovely,” You sigh, already dreaming of the bubble bath that awaited you.

Nikolai laughs, settling further into his seat as he lets any anxieties over tonight leave him in a rush. Instead, he thinks of the warm, comfortable bed waiting for him in his hotel room.

—————————————————————————

The scout Nikolai had sent out earlier meets the royal party close to their hopeful destination. Nikolai thanks the scout, promising him extra money in his wage packet and a day off for himself and his horse to recover.

Shocked by the prince’s generosity, the scout leads the party to the hotel in silence, thinking of what he would do with his newly awarded day off.

As the carriage stops outside the hotel, it becomes clear that it isn’t grand but rather a family run establishment that looks well loved. Nikolai exits the carriage and falls for its charms. He greets the owner with a warm handshake.

“We are honoured for your business,” The owner states, bowing at the waist.

“We are honoured to be your guests,” Nikolai replies, gesturing to you and the rest of the party.

The owner smiles. “I have provided my best rooms, but I’m afraid you may have to share if that is no trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” You smile, seeing the stress leave the owner’s face. “If you would give us the room keys, we can allocate ourselves.”

“Of course,” The owner allows, returning to his desk to find the keys he had put aside earlier.

You turn to Nikolai in the meantime. “How do you want to do this?”

Nikolai shrugs; he goes to speak but is interrupted by his valet, Roberts. “Sir,” Roberts begins, “With all due respect, we have already sorted ourselves out.”

“Oh?”

Roberts nods. “We often have to share on the road so we tend to stay with the same partners. It would seem that yourself and Miss (Y/N) may have to share this time too.”

You pause for thought, glancing at Nikolai. “Thank you, Roberts,” You dismiss with a friendly smile. You watch Nikolai watching the hotel owner hand everyone their room keys before he stops in front of you both.

“Your room key, your highness.”

Nikolai takes the key with a simple nod of gratitude. The owner smiles before departing. The rest of the party have disappeared, noting the time and the early start in the morning.

“Come on,” You murmur, nudging Nikolai to get a move on. “There’s a bath with my name on it and you’re holding the key.”

Nikolai breaks out of his trance, smiling in a way that could disarm entire armies. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. Would we?” He offers you his arm. “Are you sure you don’t mind sharing with me?”

“No,” You answer, fixing him with an unimpressed look. “I don’t mind so long as I have dibs on the bed closest to the window.”

The blue eyed prince laughs. “Deal.”

It’s a short walk to your shared room. Up a flight of stairs and along the corridor to the fourth door on the right. You quash yawn after yawn on the walk to the room, feeling your bones grow heavier as the tiredness begins to settle in. Finally, one yawn escapes you just as Nikolai slides the key into the lock.

“Will I have to fish you out of the bath when you inevitably fall asleep in there?”

You scoff. “Of course not. I’m wide awake.”

“Sure you are.”

“Stop arguing with me and open the door, Lantsov,” You command in time to his laughter.

“As you wish.”

The door clicks open to reveal a small and modest room. The late summer sun bathes the room in a warm light showcasing the bathroom to the left of the entrance, a single cream armchair and a bed.

A lone bed. One bed. Big enough for two, but not what was expected.

You pause at the sight of it. Numerous pillows and a duvet that all but screams comfort and coziness – they taunt you as you know this could be a problem.

“I’ll take the chair,” You announce, hauling your things to the corner of the room, ready to make camp for the night.

“Absolutely not. I’ll take the chair. You have the bed.”

“You’re royalty. Your title deems you to have the bed.”

“I’m also a privateer and have slept on much worse than an arm chair.”

You glare at the stubborn blonde. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“I agree. What shall we do?”

You sigh, “Look, I’m exhausted and you’re practically dead on your feet. I’m fine with sharing the bed if you are.”

Nikolai hesitates for a single moment before agreeing. You smile, happy that things are settled. “I’m still sleeping by the window, and I have first dibs on the bathroom.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Nikolai laughs, perching on the end of the bed to toe off his long worn in leather boots.

His laughter follows you to the bathroom where you immediately set the bath running and shut the door. You sit on the edge of the bath, testing the water temperature now and then as you try to calm your pounding heart. It was one thing to share a room with Nikolai, but it was another thing entirely to share a bed with the man who was the main character in your dizziest of daydreams.

Adding plenty of bubbles, you begin to talk yourself through the night. You let it become your mantra as the bath finishes and you undress. You repeat your actions of the evening to yourself as you slip underwater, wondering if it was all going to go to hell in a hand-basket.

Meanwhile, Nikolai undresses before rummaging through his overnight bag to find a pair of night trousers to sleep in. He remains shirtless, knowing he would get too warm in the night. Ready for bed, he closes the curtains and settles under the covers. He fluffs the pillows once… twice… before huffing and getting back out of bed. He paces the floor, back and forth as he feels panic mounting in his chest, rooting there and cutting off his breath. It was one thing to share a room with you. It was another thing completely to share a bed with you. Not when he found himself reaching for you in the middle of the night; not when he wants to be the first and last person you speak to everyday; not when he yearns for you with every fibre of his being.

The bathroom door opens, steam pouring out and Nikolai freezes. You look deliciously rumpled; soft and warm with your skin still flushed from the heat of your bath. Nikolai clenches his hands into fists; resisting the growing urge to pull you into his arms, confess everything and kiss you senseless.

“Aren’t you in bed yet?” You ask, hanging your towel to dry.

Nikolai shakes his head, doing his best to rid himself of the quickening of his heart. “Too much on my mind for me to settle.”

You come over; any of your own anxieties fade as you press a hand to his cheek, seeing the slight panic reflected in his blue, blue eyes. “You were great tonight, Nikolai. A true Ravkan prince. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you,” He whispers, leaning into your touch.

“Let’s go to bed,” You say, a tired smile on your face as you pull away from the blonde, leaving him cold from the lack of your touch.

Doing your best to quash any butterflies, you slide into your promised side, letting out a moan of comfort. “This has to be heaven,” You announce sleepily; the words drowned out by a yawn.

Nikolai chuckles, sliding into bed next to you, finding it much easier to settle with you beside him. He fluffs the pillows, plumping them so they sit better under his head, and waits for sleep to come.

He waits and waits. He feels tired; he feels the weariness sitting upon his shoulders and his eyes want to close but they remain open, staring at the ceiling. “Are you awake?” He asks the darkened room.

Your sigh breaks through the room. “Yeah,” You answer, a slight tone of frustration to your words. “It’s as if I am so tired that my body won’t settle, and my mind won’t shut off.”

“I understand that all too well,” Nikolai sympathises, turning on his side to face you.

“Something you experience often?”

Nikolai nods, humming in agreement. “More now than before,” He explains softly. “It used to happen when I was away; my mind would be too loud, but I would go out on deck and stare up at the sky and watch the stars as they blazed their path across the sky. Instead of focusing on whatever what bothering me, I would think of the stars and what their paths would hold. They were directing us somewhere, but to where?”

“And what about now?”

He sighs. “And now I feel pulled in a thousand different directions. The role I play within my family and the role of Sturmhond…”

“You are beloved either way, Nikolai.”

“I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“You couldn’t. I was in the crowd tonight, Nikolai. I heard the whispers between couples and families; they were all in support of you. They agreed with your motivations, they loved your presence. If they could have you for themselves, I’m certain they would. I know there were a few ladies in the crowd willing to try.”

“You always know what to say…” He croons.

“I know you, Nikolai.”

He smiles; bright and true. It lights up his face, only enhancing his handsomeness. It makes your heart skip a beat. “Now, tell me about the ladies wanting me to themselves.” He chuckles, enjoying the slight boost to his confidence.

You huff, crossing your arms across your chest. “I shan’t. I’ve done enough for your ego for one night, I think.”

Nikolai splutters, incredulous at your refusal. “But… But…”

“Nope.” You refuse, shaking your head.

A smirk grows on his face; he leans closer to you before stating, “I understand now… You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?!” You cry, annoyed at how quick he hit the nail on the head. “I am not jealous.”

“Yes, you are. You’re jealous.”

You huff, casting your gaze to your lap, overcome with your feelings. It was all becoming too much; loving him from afar. Hearing the young women tonight, listening to how attractive they found Nikolai and how they believed they would make the right match for him. It hurt; it hurt hearing it and knowing that deep down it was true. Nikolai would find someone and love someone and marry someone who wasn’t you, and acknowledging that hurt more than anything.

“Hey,” Nikolai prompts gently, “I’m joking. I don’t expect you to be jealous. I’m sorry if I’ve gone too far.”

“But what if I am? What if I am jealous?” You breathe, your heart beginning to pound at your candor. Throwing caution to the wind, you meet his stare, seeing the understanding land there in the slight raise of his brows and turn of his lips.

“Well…” Nikolai begins, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I would have to tell you not to give it a second thought. There’s nothing and no-one to be jealous of.”

“Oh?” You whisper, feeling hope begin to bloom in your chest.

His thumb brushes your cheekbone as he hums in response. “You have nothing to be jealous of. I’ve been yours for a while now.

“Mine?”

Nikolai nods; his blue eyes no longer clouded with panic, but clear with intent and starting to brim with hope. He presses a kiss to your cheek; quick and fleeting. “Yours. I think I always have been.”

“I think I have always been yours too.”

“Thank the Saints,” Nikolai breathes, relief written clearly on his face. “It would have been awkward if this was one sided, love.”

“Oh Hush!” You laugh, nudging him slightly.

Nikolai grabs your arms, pulling you into an embrace that feels like the beginning of everything. You settle into him; your face pressed against his bare shoulder, inhaling the all too familiar scent of his cologne - oud with notes of vanilla.

A kiss is pressed to the top of your head. “We’ll talk more in the morning, but I want you to know that I’m eternally grateful for one bed.” Nikolai murmurs, promises ready to be made on the tip of his tongue.

You kiss the junction between his neck and shoulder, humming your agreement before sleep finally claims you both, deep and dreamless and in anticipation for what the morning holds.

[thearchvillain]

gardenias. | nikolai

part II (part I)

nikolai lantsov x reader

summary: the setting is a grand event hosted at os alta with the intention of finding a future queen for crown prince vasily. the reader is a merchant's daughter trying to keep a low profile after her parents had dragged her there (against her will) with the hopes that she might catch the prince's attention. she, on the other hand, has different plans. plans that get entirely upheaved by none other than the younger prince nikolai who interrupts her illicit late-night meeting in the winter garden. now she's caught attention of one of the two people whose scrutiny she'd been trying so hard to avoid for the last few days of the event and she's not entirely sure she actually minds it.

preview: He held her gaze for a moment, hardly moving a muscle himself, before he spoke again, his voice firm. “No games. Remember?” The huff that left her might have been a chuckle, only completely devoid of any humour. She stared down at him for a moment, eyes glassy and tired, like it had all just caught up to her and she was finally crumbling. “I almost believe you. I think it’s the face. It’s a kind one.” Her eyes searched his face, clinical, like one would observe a painting of him on the gallery wall. “Or maybe you’re just handsome.” “Why, thank you.” He offered her his best attempt at a self-assured smirk and decided it fell flat. Even his ego was dampened by the moment, which was a feat in itself. He sighed. “What did they do to you?” “Is that a rhetorical question?” Kind of. “Do you want to answer it?” She shook her head. “Then it was rhetorical.”

word count: 3.4k (compared to 5k in the 1st part this is tiny)

pinterest 📸

tropes/warnings: not cannon, adult language

a/n: well, this is like a year too late to the game, but i could not get it out of my head. keep in mind that pieces of information and explanations are left out intentionally, we are only aware of what nikolai is aware of (which is not much, as he'll come to find out) and yes, i might have engineered some ✨drama✨ to bring them closer together emotionally, so we don't all get stuck on surface attraction and vague suspicions

nikolai's POV

If one imagined the Court to be an organism - which was not a hard thing to do, given how reliably it behaved - then the whispers of its courtiers were the lifeblood, coursing steadily through its golden vessels. And if rumours were a sickness, then one could hardly be surprised to see them spread to every last corner of this monstrous creature as quickly and reliably as a plague would. Which was very quick, indeed.

Nikolai had hardly managed to get his hands on a plate of some highly garnished and questionably nutritious food before the whispers reached him. It was not a particularly subtle affair, as these things rarely were, and Nikolai had a sneaking suspicion this was entirely by design. He didn’t think he imagined that the ladies had been standing a bit further away just a moment ago, and he knew with certainty that as far as whispers went, these could hardly be classified as hushed. They made a show of leaning in and raising delicate hands to their lips, but it was the eyes that betrayed them - sharp and quick, glossy with excitement, and slipping surreptitiously in his direction as if to check if he was listening. He was.

And if he took his overly-decorated food elsewhere in the garden, then the mill would start all over again, like a broken melody. She does have that look about her. Her poor parents, they’d say, but Nikolai did not believe their pity. It was, he thought, just a well-aimed knife. Hush, someone’s mother reprimanded, voice sharp, her mother’s right there. But by the looks of her, Nikolai doubted it was anything Mrs Braam hadn’t heard before. She sat, straight-backed and completely devoid of colour, at one of the wrought-iron tables set around the palace gardens. There was an abandoned tart on the plate in front of her, forgotten and replaced by the glass of brandy she gripped with a shaky hand, and next to her was an older Kerch woman who was valiantly attempting to drown out the whispers with conversation. Nikolai averted his gaze, unwilling to participate in this cruel charade.

But when his gaze landed in the distance it caught, as if on a shard of glass, on the pale green silk of her dress. Around her, a few ladies and their handmaids had formed a tactical formation of sorts, attack dogs in the finest silks, their eyes sharp and vaguely threatening. If even one of them caught someone staring, they’d turn in unison like hounds that scented blood and stare them down into submission, then turn back around and smile sweetly at Miss Braam, as if nothing had just transpired. Nikolai was therefore very careful to look only when one of them was taking a shot with her mallet, lest he meet the end of one of those glares.

And so he watched her in increments, like a series of paintings of an obsessed artist - the twist of her body as she swung her mallet, the errant lock of her hair cascading over her shoulder, the lovely twist of her smile when the ball went through the hoop. The fourth time he looked she was leaning on her mallet, watching the girl in purple take her shot, and he realised she had her mother’s eyes and none of her pallor. There was a brush of colour high atop her cheekbones so that in her green dress she looked like a maiden of spring, vivid in her liveliness. If she was concerned with the gossip, she did not show it. And when she caught him looking the fifth time, she met his eyes the same way she did last night in the greenhouse, steady and unflinching. And then she smiled.

_____________________________

She was smiling again when she entered the library in a flurry of silk later that afternoon, her voice light as she called out to the librarian, “Have you found it?”

Nikolai flipped a page, eyes skimming the blueprints and the calculations, and waited for her to notice him. If it was a bit theatrical, he blamed it on the boredom and not the fact that her irritation was a source of great amusement for him. And he knew before she even let out an annoyed huff, that she was bound to be irritated by his ploy.

“Your Highness.” Her voice was even, though it seemed to require not an unsubstantial amount of effort to keep it so. “I didn’t know you were using the library.”

Nikolai flipped another page and looked up at her only long enough to offer her a smirk. “No need to play coy, Miss Braam. I’ve sent everyone away. We’re alone.”

“Wonderful,” she said dryly and shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it. Nikolai allowed himself a private, self-satisfied smile. If she had been so keen on getting away from him she could’ve simply walked back out, but she hadn’t. “And I presume you were also the one that sent someone to tell me the book I was looking for was found?”

“Catching on quick.” Finally, Nikolai shut the book he was perusing and looked up at her. She was wearing the same dress she wore to brunch, the colour a muted jade in the soft, warm shadows of the library. And when he looked up to her face she had her eyebrow raised, like a school-teacher that had caught him staring. Nikolai offered his best boyish smile. “You look lovely.”

“Oh, shut it.” It was not the response he usually got, but he was still amused as he watched her turn her back on him and start fiddling with the lock. He had half a mind to ask if she was blushing again but she jerked that pin in place with such ferocity that he decided against it. Besides, it was answer enough.

Instead, he said, “And a personality to match it.”

She checked the door once, then jerked it again for good measure, and finally when she was satisfied that no one could enter and catch them speaking, she turned around and levelled him with a look. “Careful, I might decide to be polite and bore you out of your mind.”

“You’d combust.”

She pursed her lips but did not deny it. “What do you want?”

Nikolai uncrossed and crossed his ankles again, sinking deeper into his sprawl across one of the chairs that were neatly arranged around a long table, his gaze following her as she made her way towards him. “Only the pleasure of your company.” Then, his voice gone low and serious, he continued, “That, and to ask how you were doing — after the brunch, I mean.”

“Oh, that.” For a moment he saw something cross her features, a look of startled confusion, as if she hadn’t quite expected him to ask, or at least not in such a way. Or maybe he was just imagining things because next he knew she was propping her hip against the table and looking distinctly unconcerned. “As any scandalous woman - basking in the attention, utterly debauched.”

He must have frowned or made some sort of unstudied expression because suddenly she was laughing at him and using the brief moment of confusion to lean forward and steal the book from his lap. She smelled like something sweet and flowery, like a late summer afternoon.

There was a tone of playful accusation in her voice as she said, “So they did find the book.”

He ignored it. “You don’t seem particularly upset.” It was hard to tell if it was a statement or a question, but even Nikolai could not push down the bewilderment that coloured his words.

Y/N, to her credit, didn’t seem to mind his confusion. She moved one of the chairs and sat on the edge of the table, legs crossed, the book open across her lap as she ran her fingertips along one of the blueprints. “It would be quite counterproductive to be upset,” she said conversationally, flipping a page, “given that I’ve started the rumour myself.”

Slowly, Nikolai eased himself back into his chair, allowing the confession to settle over him, eyes never quite leaving her. He could tell from the too-casual way she flipped the pages that she was very much aware of his gaze and very intent on pretending she wasn’t.

He lost his patience after she flipped the fourth page. “How?”

She stroked the edge of the book fondly, like it was a pet or a lover, and took her time with flipping the page before she deigned to answer him. “I made sure to be seen sneaking into my room last night. Then I told one of my maids to talk about a handsome lieutenant she’d seen sneaking around the place at roughly the same time.” She flipped another page and sighed happily at whatever she saw on it. “Anyway, I figured someone would piece it together into a scandal sooner or later. By breakfast, the story was that we were seen together, and by brunch, well…” She looked up at him and smirked. “I’ll spare you the lurid details.”

Nikolai was rather proud of the way he didn’t wonder about the lurid details and instead focused on the matter at hand. “Why?”

“I wish to spare your princely sensibility.” She was flipping the pages and ignoring him again, though he could tell she was thoroughly amused by the game she was playing from the way the corner of her lip twitched slightly.

He drew a furtive breath in through his nose and closed his eyes to steel himself against the taunts. He was not fifteen anymore, he could hold it together. “No, I meant why in the name of Saints would you do that?”

“I do very little in the name of Saints or Ghezen these days, Your Highness.” Nikolai did not doubt that. She let the book fall open on her lap and leaned back against her hands, watching him thoughtfully. Then she shrugged and said, rather matter-of-fact, “I told you I bite when cornered.”

“Yes, but I didn’t think that meant you’d bite yourself.”

There was something vaguely unsettling at the way she smiled at him then. A woman cornered, a desperate snap of the teeth, a final show of defiance. Her voice was oddly flat in comparison as she said, “An animal will chew its own leg off to be free.”

For a moment, all Nikolai could do was stare. It occurred to him only then that the two of them seemed to have in mind two vastly different versions of last night’s events. He felt that on an intellectual level, this was quite a jump from the playful threat he’d left her with last night. His hands gripped the armrests, but he could not feel his fingertips, and for a minute he seemed to be overly aware of the blood rushing through his ears and the steady beat of his heart. He could not hear his stumbling thoughts over the sound of it.

Then he heard himself say, as if from far away, “Is that what you think of me? That this had been my intention?”

“I think,” she said, having gone very still where she sat, “that I’m not going to play your game.”

The air between them shifted, growing raw and strange as if someone had cast a strange spell over it. Belatedly, Nikolai realised that this was not the question he’d truly meant to ask, but he also knew that she wouldn’t have answered it either way. Not when her spine was so rigid and her fingers white-knuckled where she wrapped them around the edge of the table, not when she looked at him carefully as if half-expecting him to lash out. What are you so afraid of? He’d meant to say. But he thought she might not know the answer anyway, or that the answer would simply be everything.

Slowly he reached up to rub his face, careful not to shift from his spot and startle her. Then he leaned his head back against the backrest of his chair and observed the point where the tall shelves met the ornate ceiling. The silence between them felt like being underwater, still and suffocating.

“Okay,” he said after a while, to no one in particular. Then he drew a breath and looked back down at her. “Alright. No games.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He was looking at her down his lashes, head still tipped back, his voice carefully bland. She looked like she might object, so he continued, “So let me just make this clear. You attempted to shoot your reputation to pieces because you thought that would stop me from approaching you tonight?”

She hid her uncertainty like a snake hid its legs, but Nikolai saw it flash briefly across her features before she pressed her lips together and stared him down. “You and the others. But mostly you, yes.”

“You lashed out without thinking, didn’t you?”

A muscle feathered in her jaw, but she kept looking at him, tenaciously stubborn. If she was afraid of him still, she did a very good job at hiding it. Which, Nikolai thought, was a pattern. “What does it matter?” she asked, defensive.

“It matters because I didn’t think you’d go about it so self-destructively. And that’s on me.” He pushed himself up from the chair, a bit too quickly, and regretted it the instant he saw her flinch. He froze for a moment, allowing the uncomfortable feeling of it to wash over him and fuel his determination, before he turned away and headed for the door. “I’ll fix it.”

“What? No.” From somewhere behind him he heard her produce a high-pitched, panicked noise followed by the sound of her feet scurrying across the library. By the time she caught him, he was two-thirds of the way out. “Stop. No. Nikolai!”

As he felt her fingers dig into his wrist he thought, quite obtusely, that her hands seemed deceptively delicate from afar. Then he voiced the very next, stupid thing that came to his mind. “Is that all it took for you to call me by my name?”

She tugged at his wrist for good measure, clearly frustrated, then let go when she was sure he’d stopped attempting to leave. “What will you do?” she ground out after a moment, her breath quickened. Nikolai knew that if he reached out to touch the inside of her wrist again he’d feel the same panicked flutter of her pulse. He held back.

“I’ll discredit the source. Which shouldn’t be hard since your sources are pitifully unreliable.” He shrugged, falling easily back onto his confidence. “Or I’ll simply tell them all to shut up.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Isn’t it?” He smiled down at her, amused by the way she had planted herself firmly between him and the door as if he couldn’t simply go around her. “Just trust me. I’ll make it go away.”

“Well, that would entirely defeat the purpose of why I did it!”

It took an astronomical amount of effort for him not to laugh, though by the look she shot him the amusement must have slipped past his defences. He looked at the door above her head and did his best to collect himself before he answered. “Don’t say I didn’t try to spare your feelings.” He lowered his gaze back down to her. “But I would have asked you to dance even if they called you the whore of Ketterdam. So it was a moot point anyway.”

He noted again, the same way he had last night, that her blush seemed to creep up on her quickly and that it started not on her cheeks, but below, as a smattering of colour just beneath her collarbones. It rose like the tide, but she did not let him see it reach her cheeks, and instead let out a frustrated sigh before going around him. Nikolai turned to watch her as she went back to the table and threw herself down into the chair, sullen and rosy-cheeked.

“So the bottom line is that I have no choice?” she said eventually, looking up from her hands, her voice thin and tired.

Nikolai’s amusement melted into confusion. “What?” He’d miscalculated, again.

This seemed to frustrate her further because she shot him such a vicious glare that he nearly flinched from it. “Oh, don’t play stupid. You’ve got me cornered. Either I confess or you throw me out into the limelight tonight. Is that what you want to hear? That you win?” Whatever energy she had poured into this display of ferociousness seemed to drain her completely, because in the end she just slumped back into the chair and closed her eyes. “Fine then. You win.”

Nikolai just stared at her, confused, and it was a while before he remembered that he had use of his limbs and that he could just walk over to her. He did so slowly, cautiously, like one would approach a snared animal, before lowering himself into a crouch in front of her. “Hey Ketterdam?” She did not respond. “Look at me.”

She seemed so fragile then, eyelids fluttering with the effort to keep them closed, the skin thin and so translucent that he could see the bluish outlines of the fine vessels beneath it. Nikolai had no idea how she’d extrapolated all that from their conversation, but he suspected she’d been spinning herself into a frenzy since last night. He thought that if he looked at it from her side, and at an angle, he might see the logic behind it. If she felt her hands were tied and she’d tried to bite her way out of it, then he supposed what he’d just done must’ve felt like having her mouth taped shut. He ignored the faint wave of nausea that rolled over him then. She opened her eyes, so slightly that Nikolai might have missed it had he not been right in front of her, looking for the smallest twitch of muscles on her face. He held her gaze for a moment, hardly moving a muscle himself, before he spoke again, his voice firm. “No games. Remember?”

The huff that left her might have been a chuckle, only completely devoid of any humour. She stared down at him for a moment, eyes glassy and tired, like it had all just caught up to her and she was finally crumbling. “I almost believe you. I think it’s the face. It’s a kind one.” Her eyes searched his face, clinical, like one would observe a painting of him on the gallery wall. “Or maybe you’re just handsome.”

“Why, thank you.” He offered her his best attempt at a self-assured smirk and decided it fell flat. Even his ego was dampened by the moment, which was a feat in itself. He sighed. “What did they do to you?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

Kind of. “Do you want to answer it?”

She shook her head.

“Then it was rhetorical.” Nikolai leaned his elbow against the table, steadying himself, and propped his cheek against his hand as he looked sideways at her. She seemed calmer now, if entirely deflated. “At least now I know you’re not mounting a coup d'état,” he supplied, unhelpfully.

She made a derisive sound, and it took him a second to realise it was a snort. “Because I’m such a sorry mess? Yes, you’re right, nothing so grandiose.” Her fingers slipped absentmindedly across the book that was left forgotten on the table. “You could though, if you wanted to. I think.”

“Yeah, probably.” This time, he did smirk properly. Then he patted the armrest of her chair and pushed himself up. “Now go rest. And wear something ugly tonight, so I won’t even be tempted to look your way.”

This, he found, caught her attention, because her gaze snapped to him almost instantly, suddenly alert. “What’s the catch?”

“Saints, you would not believe me if I told you the Sun set in the West, would you?”

She didn’t answer that, just raised one delicate, precise eyebrow. Well, at least she didn’t look so defeated anymore, which Nikolai decided he’d take as a win.

“Try not to start any rumours in the meantime.” He winked at her, tapping his fingers against the table before he turned to leave the library. “One fire at a time.”

tags (i'm so sorry to bother you if you completely forgot about this 😭): @star-flecked-soul ; @meg-the-second-greatest ; @plowdenkm ; @londongirlcamefallingdown ; @ all the lovely anons in my inbox! <3

[in-my-feels-probably]

Presenting…My Top 10 Fics

alright, this is a little self indulgent, BUT—here’s a list of my top 10 favorite fics i’ve ever written. i’ve written a lot of shitty work, and some semi shitty work, but i occasionally write something i’m proud of, and these are it!

thank you so much to anyone who has supported my work, especially these fics :)

—

and now, in no particular order:

1. Enchanted - Nikolai Lantsov

2. Feeling - Sirius Black

3. Good Fortune - Carmen Berzatto

4. Holding Onto a Mirrorball - Nikolai Lantsov

5. Sweet Creature - Rhaenyra Targaryen

6. You and Me - Jon Snow

7. Paper Rings - Sirius Black

8. Doomsday - Aemond Targaryen

9. Home - Sirius Black

10. Muña - Alicent Hightower

—

idk if this what y’all consider my best work, but hopefully you enjoyed these fics. i think they’re all decent lol, some more than others. “feeling” is probably my favorite!

ALSO! my requests are still open! here’s the list of characters i’m currently writing for, please send any ideas you have in :)

[justanoasisimagines]

Behind Closed Doors

Summary; Nikolai gets hurt defending your honour, in private the two of you reveal a secret your hiding from the rest of the crew. Pairing; Nikolai Lantsov x Female Reader WordCount; 487 Warnings; Mentions of an injury. A/N; Requests are open! Request guidlines at pinned on the top of the page! Credit to @cafekitsune for the divider and banner

You dapped the salve onto Nikolai's shoulder, the wound deep, the blade had gone straight through the flesh hitting the bone. A mumbled apology, a reaction to Nikolai's wince. "It's okay, you don't have to apologize. That beast of a man should" A roll of your eyes, focusing on patching up the wound the best you could. "You will pick opponents bigger than you. Why did you get into a fight with him anyway?" Truthfully, Nikolai intervened after he caught the man, gawping at you. Jealously surged through his veins Nikolai doesn't quite remember when he got up and punched the man. Nikolai thought he was above the primal urge to protect and defend what was his. He'd never felt it before until you entered his life. 'I didn't enjoy his staring. If his eyes had been hands, they would have touched every inch of you." Nikolai mumbled under his breath. You were close enough to hear every word. "So you were jealous?" You questioned as you covered the wound with a fresh crisp bandage. "Don't laugh. He was drooling at the sight of you" You tried to hide your laughter, attempted to stop your shoulders from shaking. It was a poor and miserable attempt. "Nikolai we've been betrothed since we were children. Married for almost four years. I've got eyes for you and only you" Nikolai rose from his seat, rotating his shoulder to determine how much usage he had. It wasn't a lot. "It's just hard not to proclaim you as my wife in front of the rest of the crew" Arms circled your waist, pulling you chest to chest, waist to waist, nose to nose. You couldn't possibly get any closer if you attempted to. "The crew already know we're together. Would it be so wrong for the crew to know-" "I trust the crew beyond a shadow of a doubt but we cannot risk everyone finding out who we are. If we want to continue to fight, this is the only way" "We both must remember why we're doing this. The safety of Ravka is pivotal. It bothers me we have to keep lying to our crew" "Then don't lie angel, when you don't have to. Continue to be the shining light to guide us through those bleak days. Be the spirit of the crew. Lead by example as you always have done and when we're alone strip away the hidden secrets. Let us be us." A tender kiss was placed upon your lips trying to convey reassurance. "Should we hide from the crew how wonderfully kind and smooth you are too?" You teased, Nikolai buried his head into your neck laughing. "Perhaps I need to maintain my fair yet firm reputation. This side of me is reserved for you and only you." Nikolai would never admit how fit he was to be a Captain. You would always be there to remind him…

[bey0nd-1he-stars]

2 Advent - Christmas decorating with Nikolai

Masterlist

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 875

Summary: You spend an afternoon Christmas decorating in your rooms with Nikolai.

“Nikolai, do we really need to have a christmas tree in our room?” you wondered out loud as some of the servants helped you bring in a tree into yours and Nikolai’s bedroom along with some boxes with decorations. A kind girl came with a tray from the kitchens, carrying cups of hot chocolate, cake and candy. She set it down on a table and you thanked her softly before she fled the scene and slipped out through the doors. 

“I mean, isn’t there enough with the 12 trees we have in the dining room and the big one in the garden?” you questioned with a smile on your face. Nikolai’s eyes shined and he practically bounced over to you and took you in his arms and spun you around in the air. You laughed at him and gave him a quick kiss when you were safe on the floor again. 

The snow had fallen for days now so outside the big windows, all you could see was a white landscape that spread across the ground and disappeared behind a horizon of snow covered trees. It was beautiful. 

“Well, I thought it would make a fun Christmas date to decorate our own tree,” Nikolai explained and pressed a quick kiss on your cheek and then he turned to the boxes of decorations stacked beside the bed. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, of course,” he assured but you just smiled and joined him by the boxes, starting to pull out whatever you could find. Nikolai’s smile grew at your actions and was soon in full swing with wrapping the little tree in lights. 

“Nik, I don’t think that’s how you do it,” you acknowledged and giggled as he slowly but surely was as wrapped up in the lights as the tree. He looked puzzled for a second, almost tripping over a few lights and then bursting into a fit of giggles. 

“I’m stuck, love,” he laughed and tried to detangle himself from the mess. You just laughed at him and put away the glitter you’d been examining to help him out. 

“Just stand still for a second and I’ll help you.” 

After a whole 10 minutes he was finally free from the fairy lights and after another 10 the lights were hung up in the tree branches. 

“There we go!” Nikolai gave you a high five and a peck on the lips. You threw a glance at the rest of the decorations you’d yet to put up in the tree. Nikolai saw your traveling gaze and he too seemed to acknowledge the box full of things. 

“Okay, tinsel’s next!” You exclaimed and snatched up the package. Together you strung up the tinsel and some Christmas baubles in the tree and Nikolai helped you reach the top to put down the finishing star. With the glitter that was over you quickly tied them around your heads making you both look like angels. Nikolai had a servant come in and start the fire and then you settled down to enjoy a hot drink and the sweets you’d been brought. 

“Thank you for this,” you said, although the words got a bit muffled by the cup of tea that you held against your lips. Nikolai just pressed a kiss and a muffled “of course” to your hair. His warmth radiated off of him when he leaned close to you and you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the feeling of having him near. 

“Thank you for doing it with me,” he pressed another kiss to your nose this time and you giggled at him and at the same time feeling your heart swell with the love you held for this man. 

A light lit in Nikolai’s eyes and he was suddenly scrambling away from you in a hurry with a big smile plastered on his face. You raised your eyebrows at him and looked on as he pulled the drawer in his nightstand open. He pulled out a small package wrapped in silver paper and tied together neatly with a light blue ribbon. You eyes the package and Nikolai smiled sheepishly, “I didn’t wrap it myself, I’m very sorry to say.” You giggled as you took the present from his hand when he held it out for you. 

“Explains the Lantsov blue ribbon.” You carefully pulled off the ribbon and tore the paper. Nikolai took it and threw it on the floor for the time being. Inside was a box and when you pulled the lid off you found a bracelet with different types of charms on them. You found a fox, a ship, a star, your first letter in your name and heart. The rest of the spots were empty allowing you to add on whatever charms you wanted. 

“Do you like it?” 

“I absolutely love it, Nik. Thank you, love.” You smiled up at him and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Just as you went to pull away Nikolai pulled you back in, letting his hand braid itself into your hair and pressing you closer. 

“I love you,” he gasped between the kisses and you smiled against his lips. 

“I love you too, Nik. I love you so much.”

Tags:

@hotmoms4life

[heliads]

A Sea of Lies (2) - nikolai lantsov

As a Second Army Tidemaker, you’re certain your latest mission to go undercover as a Ravkan spy in Sturmhond’s fleet is nothing more than a fool’s errand. The dread privateer certainly has tricks up his teal sleeves, but maybe not the ones you’d expected.

part one / masterlist / part three

You’re not sure what you’re expecting when you wake up the next morning– to be abandoned on the docks, maybe, with the Volkvolny far away across the sea, or perhaps strung up by your ankles in an abandoned building to be interrogated for your secrets. Fortunately for you, none of these awful fates are yours by the time dawn begins threading through the few windows of the ship. Instead, you begin your day cautiously, with most of the ship’s crew either staring outright or doing a poor job of pretending they aren’t. It’s so like the Little Palace that you relax in spite of yourself.

Dobrin, your closest friend at the moment, comes bounding over soon enough, looking remarkably refreshed despite the early hour. You follow him up to the deck of the ship, where the crew is already hard at work unspooling lines and preparing to cast off. You’re directed to join the other Tidemakers in stabilizing the water around the ship, then pushing the hull cleanly through the waves. The Volkvolny is large, but you’ve faced a lot more on the warfront than just one ship, so it’s no problem at all to summon up enough force to move the craft forward while still taming errant eddies.

It’s nothing more than what Baghra or the Darkling would expect from you, but once the ship is out in open sea and you’re able to relax your efforts you glance up to see the other Tidemakers staring at you, this time with a bit of grudging respect.

“What?” You ask defensively, not sure what you’ve done to demand this sort of response.

The closest to you, a woman with close-cropped blonde hair that lies flat on her skull from the spray, just shakes her head in disbelief. “That was quite the show.”

You look around and realize your overstep too late. Most of the Grisha on these ships never set foot in Os Alta, let alone trained for years as a part of the Little Palace elite. Their control is shaky at best, certainly not enough for the mastery you’ve just displayed. That’s what happens when your only practice is at suppressing your gift, not using it, and that’s the sort of Grisha you were supposed to be according to your alibi. Damn. So much for keeping a low profile.

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly. “I– I worked near a raging river for several years. If I kept the town from flooding, they wouldn’t kill me.”

It’s not technically a lie, but far from your truth. You had kept a flooding river in bay for a few months as a part of a mission, but it was just that– a mission. Still, it’s enough of the truth that the few Heartrenders on board shouldn’t suspect you, if they knew enough of their gifts to tell from heartbeat alone when someone was lying. It’s also enough for the blonde woman to back off a little.

“We’ve all done things to get by,” she murmurs. “Still, not all of us got that much skill out of it.”

You open your mouth, but before you can keep spinning your web you’re interrupted by a voice behind you. “It’s a good thing she’s with us, then, isn’t it? We could all use the opportunity to pick up some new tricks.”

You turn around to see Sturmhond leaning against the railing behind you. He’s removed that ridiculous teal coat so he could help tie off ropes, and the errant sea breeze whips his undershirt against his skin. You don’t know how long he’s been there, watching, waiting, taking notes. You have no idea how much he truly believes your story, but that gunmetal glint of suspicion hasn’t left his eyes once since you met him, and this little display certainly hasn’t done anything to dissuade that.

The sun rises; the ship travels. You have no idea where you’re headed. Although Sturmhond evidently trusted you enough to let you aboard, that misplaced sense of comradeship did not last long enough to let you in on their travel plans. It’s hardly a surprise. You still feel as if all of this was too easy. A little bit of good old-fashioned secrecy is more familiar, and doesn’t leave you feeling as if you’ve been sailing too smoothly.

You’re introduced to the other Tidemakers, who in turn show you around to some of their closer friends, and by the time darkness falls across the never-ending waters, you’ve had the chance to greet most of the crew. They seem dangerous but quite close to each other, and once they hear that you saved Dobrin from something violent they seem more interested in getting to know you. At the end of your first full day aboard the Volkvolny, you’d consider your situation equally precarious and not, somehow. The best thing to do is continue working your way into the hearts of the crew, and try to pick up some whispers they wouldn’t let slip to outsiders. If you have to fake an accident or two to save another few crewmates and improve your image, well, you’ll do what you must.

You should continue laying low, maintaining your routine, but you haven’t been around this much open water in a very long time, and you can’t resist getting up early the next morning so you can steal out to the deck and take in the beautiful sight. Dawn is just rising, although you still feel refreshed. You’ve lived a soldier’s schedule since you were small, and in wartorn Ravka only kings get to sleep in.

You lean slightly over the curve of the wooden railings so you can breathe in the fresh sea air. It’s dizzying, all of this power waiting for you. You can feel the pull of it, irresistible as always. You have no idea what you could do with all of this. Any Tidemaker back home would go mad with jealousy over a small lake, and here you are, surrounded by more water than your eyes can see. Even if this is just a job, even if it’s just an extension of a lie too big for you to tell, you’re still glad it brought you here. If Sturmhond slaughters you when he finds out who you really are, well, at least you got to see something like this before you bleed out.

“Stunning, isn’t it?”

You startle and turn to see the very man you assumed would kill you strolling along the sunbleached deck. He leans against the railing with one elbow, although he doesn’t look anywhere but you.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’m from inland Ravka. I never thought I’d be around this much water in my entire life.”

Sturmhond chuckles. “The thrill will wear off after you’ve spent several months at sea.”

“Has that ever happened to you?” You ask doubtfully, forgetting your apprehension for a moment.

If anything, his grin gets broader despite your impertinence. “No, perhaps not. But it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve brought on a starstruck crewmate just for them to bail the second we landed at another port.”

“That can’t be good for business,” you murmur half to yourself, “Teaching someone the ropes only to let them go a few weeks later, I mean.”

Sturmhond lifts a shoulder. “I’d rather let them go early than keep someone whose heart wasn’t in the work. There’s only so much space on a ship, after all. No room whatsoever for dead weight.”

His eyes flash coldly when he speaks, and you shiver involuntarily despite the warm morning sun overhead. Dead weight, he says. Just like you if he finds out your true motives.

“I won’t make their mistakes,” you pledge. Different ones, yes, but you wouldn’t walk off this ship if it killed you.

At last, Sturmhond breaks his stare to look out over the rippling waves. “No, my Tidemaker, I don’t think you will.”

You don’t know how to answer that without being redundant, so you don’t. It’s peaceful this morning, the last pink fingers of dawn disappearing behind the clear blue of the oncoming morning.

“I also grew up in Ravka,” Sturmhond remarks absentmindedly. “A lot of dead earth, a lot of snow. The first time I saw the sea, it captivated me just like you, even though I didn’t have the lure of the Small Science to tempt me to it.”

You look at him curiously. “You’re Ravkan?”

You’ve heard a hundred rumors of his parentage, ranging from possibly conceivable to completely outrageous. Some claim he’s Kerch, others whisper that he’s a lost son of the Wandering Isle. You’ve even heard tales that he’s a fallen Saint come back for divine retribution. You think you like the truth most of all, actually, that he could be like you, another village boy or local farmhand who saw the glittering sea and set his heart on it forever.

“I am Ravkan,” Sturmhond agrees. “A lot of the crew shares our heritage. I stop by our harbors often enough that the risk of picking up strays is quite high.”

A smile ghosts over your lips. “I assume that’s why you weren’t surprised when Dobrin brought me over.”

This earns you a full laugh. “Dobrin would bring me an enterprising rat if he thought it had good intentions. Any loyal crewmate is useful, of course, but he has a soft spot for Grisha down on their luck.”

“We all do,” you say. “It’s not safe for us out there. If we don’t have each other, we don’t have anything.”

The words pang in your chest as you remember how far you are from the Little Palace, and getting farther. Somewhere in the invisible distance, little children are putting on their first kefta, and trudging across the dead earth to learn how to stop hiding their gifts. They’ll become young soldiers in time, but first, they’ll be allowed to enjoy their youth for a little longer, secure in the knowledge that at last they are among friends who know their powers and love them for it.

Sturmhond turns to face you again. “That’s why you left home, isn’t it? The poor response of your village?”

His voice is slightly lifted, practically daring you to contradict the alibi you’d given him the previous day. However, you won’t give him the satisfaction of a clear defeat.

“You’re right,” you say at last. “My powers became more apparent as I grew older. It became obvious that there were only a few paths left to me– death at the hands of a mob, or the army, or escape. I chose the latter. If that makes me a coward, so be it, but I could never stay in a place like that.”

Sturmhond shakes his head slowly. “It doesn’t make you a coward to dislike fighting for the same people who hurt you.”

“You don’t think so?” You ask.

“No,” he decides. “I know enough of the Ravkan Second Army to know you’re probably better off with me. A school of Grisha dead by twenty because the King uses them as cannon fodder, what’s the point of that? Besides, if you’re a coward, so am I. Neither of us are enlisted right now, are we?”

He barks out a laugh, which you have to force yourself to return. Hearing him speak so harshly of the Second Army, your people, makes your insides swarm with guilt. However, a small, shameful voice inside your head says that he’s not entirely wrong. How many times had you seen the Darkling mad with anger over another one of the King’s useless orders? How many times had you seen your friends forced into the first wave of a stupidly risky attack because it was better to threaten Grisha than the First Army? You’d like to pretend you were brave warriors in the good fight, but you know what you’ve seen. There is no honor on the battlefield, there never has been. Certainly not for witches like you.

“I digress,” Sturmhond says at last, shaking his head to clear the last of the mischief from his face. “A Tidemaker is always in need on the open sea. Your mettle will be tested, and then we’ll see how your optimism fares.”

“I look forward to it,” you say, and smile. 

His face splits open in another clear grin again. He’s delighted, as if you’ve just passed a test. Every conversation with your captain is a test, every word, every breath. His entire life is a challenge to you. You dance on the edge of a knife, and if you slip, his blade will sheath in your throat by nightfall. It’s dangerous, far too dangerous, which is precisely why the Darkling assigned you to this mission, you remind yourself. He knew you could survive the tricks of a privateer, and you will not– you cannot– prove him wrong.

Sturmhond departs soon after to consider his course, leaving you with your endless ocean. The bustle of the crew sweeps you up, keeping you busy with sails to unfurl and various tasks to complete. Still, in the days to follow, you find that the tension has been cleared with Sturmhond. You’ve made enough moves that he doesn’t have to rush the game.

Work aboard the Volkvolny keeps you busy. There’s always something else to do- rust needs removing from important navigation devices, ropes need to be tidied, broken latches and mechanisms must be fixed, sails have to be furled and unfurled and maintained, skies must be studied for looming storms, on and on until dawn and darkness rush into each other in an endless loop. The days pass, your hands toughen under the weight of the ropes and salt, and at the same time, you swear you’ve never been happier. A lightness has dawned in your chest, a weight has been lifted from your shoulders that you thought you’d carry your whole life.

It’s still dangerous, of course it is. At the same time, you don’t have to fake your joy at being free. The Darkling had indicated you’d be stationed on the ship for a long time, and selfishly you hope it’s true. The thought that at some point you’ll have to trade the endless rushing sea and golden sun, the laughing of friends over a playful clash of swords, for gray warfront and endless orders makes you sick to your stomach.

One of the Tidemakers calls over to you, distracting you from your spiral of thoughts. The others have been taking advantage of a rare calm morning to practice their gifts; the Heartrenders in the corner carefully controlling the heart rates, or making each other fall unconscious for a few moments before springing up again, as fierce as ever, the Squallers soaring somewhere above you, and your own creatures of the waves calling upon the rushing water below you.

You jump down from your perch on the railing readily enough, heading over to join the throng of water-weavers. You’ve quickly become fond of them, once you were able to win their tentative trust. The one who’d called out to you, another former Ravkan named Sofiya, has soon become your closest friend among the Tidemakers on board.

“We’re trying to see who can lift the most,” she says by way of greeting. “So far, Florens holds the title, twice your weight in water brought halfway up the height of the mast. Think you can do better?”

“I know I can,” you answer teasingly. “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, though. You first.”

Sofiya snorts. “Fighting words, Y/N. And if anyone’s getting hurt, it’s you.”

She raises her hands, staring out over the waves in concentration. You can feel the tug of her power as her mind calls out to the ocean, and all of a sudden gallons of water rise overhead, enough to cover half the deck. The shimmering wave of blue surges up until it’s a few spans short of the foremast. Sofiya holds it there for a second, hands shaking with the effort, and then carefully lets it all back down again.

You clap along with the rest of the Tidemakers. “Nice work.”

She nods, slightly flushed from the effort, then gestures to you. “Alright, then. Try to beat that.”

You feel a little less confident than you had a few minutes ago. Sofiya’s stronger than you expected, and she’s had a lot more time to get used to the relentless presence of the waves than you, an inland soldier. Frankly, you’re not sure you can match her display, even with the training of the Little Palace. Raw strength and fine control are two sides of a coin, and Sofiya has clearly mastered the former.

Now’s not the time to back out of the contest, though. Around you, the crew has stirred to watch, intrigued by Sofiya’s gifts and ready to see how you fare. The Little Palace has yet to beat the competitive streak out of you, so you steady your breathing and close your eyes. Against the darkness of your shut lids, all you can feel is the churning of the ocean. It knows you, it calls to you, and you call to it.

You feel a tug like a hook in your stomach, and pull on it, not with desperation or sharpness but calm, clean control. You’re not lifting the weight of the water, you’re allowing it to pass through you, like a conduit instead of a strongman. You take the pool of energy in your blood and force it skyward. A chilling feeling passes over you and you shiver slightly but maintain your control. Up, up. Nothing exists but you and the cold glory of your gift.

Murmuring tugs at the edge of your senses, and you’re distracted enough to open your eyes, although you tamp down on your gift, not letting go of the water for an instant. You realize that the whole crew is staring openly now– not at you, but past you, at something right behind you. You turn to see what you’ve done, and at last understand why you felt cold. There’s something blocking out the sun, an impossible wave of water taller even than the very tip of the mast, thick and solid like the Unsea itself. You can’t see the end of it. You’re not sure that there is an end.

Your eyes go wide. You’ve never done something like this, but you’ve never been able to, either. Slowly, carefully, you let the water down again, and not so much as an errant drop splashes the ship. When you turn back to the crew, your shoulders flinch for a moment, waiting for them to know what you are, a spy, a traitor, a witch, but instead they start smiling. Sofiya hugs you around the shoulders, whispering words of encouragement, and she’s replaced by other crew moving forward to shake your hand, clap you on the back, whistle under their breath and engulf you into the rippling mass of friends.

You blink and Sturmhond is in front of you. For once, his mask has slipped slightly, and he looks genuinely surprised, eyes still flicking back to the now still water behind you as if expecting to see wires lifting up the waves instead of your powers.

“Beating one of the crew in swordsmanship or Small Science is considered an initiation into the crew,” he whispers against your ear as he leans forward to shake your hand, “I suppose that’s your final welcome to the Volkvolny. You’re one of us now for good.”

He’s close to you, pushed by the eddying crowd. You tilt your head up to look at him, hands steadying against the teal of his frock coat. “What else would I be?”

His grin doesn’t feel like a weapon anymore, more like a shared secret between you and him only. “I hope I never find out.”

The crew loves you after that, for besting one of their own in a fair test of skill, and with the crew’s love comes Sturmhond’s, in his own way. He talks more to you every day, idly sharing thoughts or genuinely asking for your input on plans of attack. He recognizes that you can extract the most out of his Tidemakers, a necessary statistic when trying to figure out how quickly his ship can move under fire and how much of a shield you’ll have when evading cannons. 

At first, he just asks simple questions, but then he starts running complete plans by you, too. Half the time, Sturmhond figures out the missing step in his strategy just by voicing his complaints aloud, but sometimes he needs your careful thinking, too. You frame your reasoning as if you’re just basing your ideas off of things he’s said, but you’re actually drawing from a lifetime of battle strategy.

You’re pretty sure you’re past the threat of imminent discovery. It’s been a more than month and a half since you first set sail, and if Sturmhond was going to make you walk the plank, it would have happened long ago. No, the two of you have quickly grown as thick as thieves, a fact that does not escape the notice of your Tidemakers. You can hardly greet him in the morning without being treated to a chorus of raised eyebrows and teasing expressions.

You always wave away these not-so-discreet jokes, but in secret, you don’t mind them in the slightest. Sturmhond is a conniving, lying, master thief. To think that you’ve managed to break past his spiral of knives up sleeves and double meanings to pierce his heart makes you proud.

Maybe his trust just comes with knowing you don’t intend to leave the crew. You’ve had the opportunity to dock at several harbors by now, and you never look twice at any seaside town you pass. After experiencing the wild, free life of a sailor, the narrow confines and greasy oil lamps of life on land never seem remotely as appealing. Saints, you’ll hate returning to bullets and orders when this mission ends.

The thought makes you oddly sad, dimming your spirits enough that you’re more than happy to go drinking with some of your friends when the next harbor approaches. This pub is like every other you’ve come across, similar in the uneven flooring, the surly bartender, the comfortable shadows that bring you all together over a few mostly clean glasses of everyone’s drinks of choice.

The crew of the Volkvolny who had opted to go inland this night ends up crowded around a booth in the back of the pub, doing their best to avoid notice and only half succeeding. You find yourself tucked up next to Sturmhond, increasingly pushed closer to him as more crewmates arrive. The drink, late hour, and dim lights loosen your inhibitions, and you glance up halfway through the night to find that you’ve been leaning your head on your shoulder as he talks. You’re clearheaded enough to acknowledge you probably shouldn’t do this, and straighten up again.

The moment you move, Sturmhond registers your absence, frowning down at you exaggeratedly. “Am I that uncomfortable of a headrest, Y/N? And here I thought I could do everything perfectly.”

You laugh in spite of the embarrassment bubbling up inside of you. “An unwilling one, more likely. I’ll give you back your personal space.”

He makes a tsking sound under his breath. “Whoever I said I was unwilling? Lean back down.”

He reaches up his hand to coax your head back onto his shoulder, and it’s far too easy to give in to the soft pressure of his fingers on your skin. He doesn’t pull his hand back immediately, tracing light circles on your temples, the curve of your neck. You glance around, certain that someone will notice, but for once everyone is distracted by their own conversations or the allure of the bottom of their glasses. Hidden in your dark corner, it’s the most alone you could hope to be surrounded by this many people.

It feels as if the world falls away, replaced by you and Sturmhond and the low ripple of conversation around you. “I was thinking,” he begins, thumb smoothing down the collar of your shirt.

“That’s awfully dangerous of you,” you cut in, laughing under your breath at his playfully indignant expression.

“Rude,” he murmurs, “I happen to be wonderful at thinking.”

“Really?” You ask, the picture of surprise.

You’re treated to the most charming surly look you’ve ever seen. The slide of his fingertips over the nape of your neck stops you from thinking clearly, so you hold from teasing him long enough for Sturmhond to continue.

“I was thinking about our next voyage,” he says. “We’ve spent a lot of time near the boundary of Fjerda and Ravka, but I think it’s time to head a bit further south. Closer to the mouth of the bay near Os Kervo. There’s a lot of shipping activity directly linked to the military habits of Novokribirsk. They certainly have enough to go around, don’t they? Why should we share in the spoils?”

You smile loopily up at him. “You’ve already got a plan, don’t you?”

“I might,” he admits. “Does this mean you’ll help me straighten it out?”

You regard him, rusty hair almost glowing in the low light of the lamp overhead, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them as they look at you. “Since when have you needed my help in making one of your master plans?”

“Since the moment I met you,” he says, barely above a whisper. If you weren’t so close to him, you wouldn’t hear it. If you weren’t so close to him, you wouldn’t feel like doing something foolish tonight, something that could ruin the peace between you or maybe, just maybe, make it grow into something bigger than you could have ever dreamed.

Across the other table, one of the crew manages to look up from his bottle long enough to ask slowly, and with obvious effort, “Wait, where’d Marliene go?”

Sofiya next to him breaks into laughter. “Didn’t she say she was going to get some water? Maybe she took it from the harbor instead.”

The man laughs, then hiccups and says, “It’s been a while. Someone should probably go find her or she’ll end up knifing someone again over a bad game of cards.”

No one looks particularly excited to leave the warm glow of the table, though, and in an act of incredible cowardice, you stand hastily and say that you’ll go look for your misplaced shipmate. You don’t trust yourself to stay here any longer, or you’ll end up making a mistake that you may never be able to take back. 

Sturmhond reaches for your hand as you pull it away from him, the tips of your fingers brushing. “I’ll be back in a moment,” you promise. Just as soon as you remember how to breathe without your heart jumping into your throat.

The cool night air is a welcome balm against your skin the second you’re past the door of the bar, and as you walk, you can already feel your head start to clear. Your lost crewmate, Marliene, is unfortunately known for her tendency to start up bar fights, so you figure you’d better try to find her sooner rather than later.

Your footsteps slow as you spot a silhouette leaning against the wall of a nearby building, their features indeterminate in the dark of the night. “Marliene?” You call out as you draw closer.

Too late, you realize that they’re slightly too tall to be your friend. Apprehension grips you like a knife, but before you can reach for a weapon, the figure steps into the glow of a nearby lamp and you realize that you know them. This is Vasyl, one of the Second Army spies. You’ve worked with him on many occasions before. He’s a Heartrender, hence why the Darkling has trusted him on his own even when separated from the safety of the Grisha by the Shadow Fold.

You feel sober again in a moment, brought back down to reality by the gravity of your situation. It’s funny, you’d almost forgotten why you were here, having gone so long without receiving word from the Darkling, but the truth of your life is impossible to hide now.

Vasyl nods at you. “It’s been a while, Y/N.”

“Yeah, a lot longer than I thought,” you mutter. “Where the hell have you been?”

He holds up a finger to his lips to silence you. “No more while we’re still out in the open. Follow me.”

Vasyl turns and walks quickly into the looming darkness, not bothering to wait and see if you’ll do as told. Of course you will. You’ve been a soldier since you were small. Soldiers don’t act on their own, they follow orders. What else could you possibly do but go after him?

Vasyl stops when you’re almost swallowed up by the darkness of an alleyway. “This is safe, I don’t feel any heartbeats.”

“Safe?” You hiss, already irritated. “Is it safe to leave me on my own in the company of the most dangerous pirate the True Sea has ever known? I was under the impression that I would be receiving assistance from spies throughout the mission, but it’s been two months now without a single word from Ravka.”

Vasyl looks unimpressed. “If we spoke to you too early, we ran the risk of being discovered. We had to make sure you had established your position among the ranks of Sturmhond’s crew before taking the chance of sending a spy to find you.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “You assume I’ve ingratiated myself successfully, then.”

Vasyl snorts. “If you hadn’t, you’d be dead. That’s how thieves like him operate.”

You almost start to argue, then stop yourself. He’s not wrong. You may be in Sturmhond’s good graces, but you can’t let the glow of this evening distract you from who he truly is. You haven’t been with the crew for a long time, but you’ve still seen Sturmhond deal with a few enemies. He believes in justice, to say the least– his own justice, that is. The kind of justice that ends with blood scouring the streets, the kind of justice that leaves a message.

“Of course,” you say dully. “What do you want, then?”

“Everything,” Vasyl replies calmly. “I know you, Y/N. I know you’ve been able to gather enough secrets to please our general. Let’s hear them.”

This is your job, this is your mission. Yet it still somehow feels like a betrayal when you open your mouth and start to speak. You tell Vasyl of the numbers of Grisha Sturmhond employs, how he finds them, and what little training most of them have received. You talk about how Sturmhond picks what harbors he’ll strike. You mention where you’re headed next, although you caution that the Os Kervo strategy is still in development and could incriminate you if the Darkling struck too soon. You spill everything you know, but when you finally finish talking, you don’t feel any lighter. Instead, your stomach twists in knots despite the job well done.

Vasyl doesn’t seem to pick up on your mixed feelings. Instead, he rocks back on his heels, looking impressed. “That’s quite a lot of information. The Darkling will be pleased, I’m certain of it.”

A few months ago, this news would have made you walk with a spring in your step for days. Now it just feels like another knife in your back. “I’m glad to hear it,” you say, forcing yourself to smile.

Vasyl nods. “We’ll be in contact again in another few weeks. Next time, try to write down what you’ve learned so you can hand it off. We we were able to speak freely tonight, but it’ll be harder for you to get away for this long without being noticed. Speaking of which, you should return soon or you’ll attract attention.”

He moves to go, but you’re moved by a sudden panic. “Wait, that’s it? A few minutes of talking, and I’m back to risking my life with no one to watch over me?”

A rare moment of sympathy flashes over Vasyl’s expression. The two of you grew up together as spies once you’d graduated from the scholarly portion of your time in the Little Palace. If anyone understands what it’s like, it would be him. “You know espionage, Y/N. It’s always been lonely.”

Your chest tightens. “Of course. Be safe, Vasyl.”

“You too, Y/N,” he says, and disappears back into the shadows once more, carrying your precious secrets with him.

You breathe out evenly and turn to walk back towards the center of town. Vasyl is right, you can’t disappear forever or someone will come looking for you, too.

As it turns out, someone already has. You’re just within sight of the pub when Sturmhond ducks out from around the corner, his face lighting up when he sees you.

“Ah, Y/N, there you are. Marliene came in just after you left, so you don’t have to keep looking.”

You stare at him dully. Vasyl was monitoring the nearby heartbeats, so you know Sturmhond couldn’t have overheard, but the nagging fear of discovery gnaws at you once again.

As if able to read the secrets twisting themselves around your heart, Sturmhond cocks his head to the side, looking curious. “Is everything alright, Y/N? You look a little uneasy.”

You shake your head quickly, trying to dislodge any lingering sense of dread. “No, I’m alright. Just a little tired, that’s all. I think I’m going to head back to the ship now. Might as well get some rest.”

It might just be your imagination, but you swear his face falls slightly. “Already? The night’s hardly begun.”

You force yourself to laugh at this. It sounds odd, somehow, discordant, like an instrument out of tune. “The stars have shone for hours, captain. Any respectable folks have already gone to bed.”

He smiles at that. “Since when have we been respectable?”

“I’ll start tonight,” you say gently. “Good night, Sturmhond.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he repeats, but doesn’t turn to go, not yet. Not until your conscience-stricken feet have carried you down the harbor and away from him. You board the ship alone, sharing some excuse about being a lightweight to the few crewmates on watch before heading below decks to the comfort of your awaiting bunk. You’re grateful for the sleep that pulls you under, anything to avoid the irregular rhythm keeping your thoughts alive.

It’s strange. You’ve worked as a spy for years now, working jobs just as deceitful as this one. You’ve pretended to be a student, a soldier, a farmhand, a dancer. Every time, you’ve made your way into groups of friends and families, and every time, you’ve wrung them dry of secrets and sold them out to the Darkling. Why, then, does this one feel so different? Why do you feel as if your loyalty should belong to Sturmhond instead of the crown of Ravka? You fall asleep before you can answer the question, although it’s still there to burn within you the next day, and the next. If you’re to find out the answer, it won’t be for a very long time.

grishaverse tag list:  @blondsauduun, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @saltcxrcle, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @bl606dy, @gods-fools-heroes, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen, @a-taken-url, @naushtheaspiringauthor

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

A New Horizon

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!reader

genre: underlining angst(?), fluff

requested: yes

nikolai masterlist

Y/N had known Nikolai Lantsov for as long as she could remember. Their childhoods had been intertwined like the roots of an ancient tree, bound together by the rigid expectations of noble birth and the untamed wildness of their spirits. When he had enlisted in the army, she had followed, neither of them willing to let the other face the horrors of war alone. And when he had cast off his princely skin and donned the name Sturmhond, she had been at his side, wind whipping through her hair as they carved legends into the sea.

For years, they had been happy in the only way they knew how. Sailing across the True Sea, chasing adventure, stealing from the greedy and giving to the desperate. Their lives had been a whirlwind of mischief and danger, but always, they had each other. Y/N had never questioned it before—this life, this purpose. But now, beneath the glow of lanterns swaying in time with the ship’s gentle rocking, she found herself staring into the darkness beyond the deck, feeling a pull that had nothing to do with the sea.

She had spent her entire life following Nikolai. Not because he asked her to, but because she had never imagined anything else. The army, the sea, the battles—none of it had been her dream first. It had always been his. And she had been happy. But was happiness enough?

The letter in her hand felt heavier than it should have. She had read it a dozen times, tracing the elegant script over and over until the words had etched themselves into her heart.

Ketterdam University had accepted her.

It was absurd, really, the way her hands trembled. She had faced Fjerdan raiders, infiltrated Kerch trade ships, and fought alongside Nikolai when the odds were impossible. And yet, the thought of telling him terrified her more than any battle ever had.

Would he be angry? Would he try to convince her to stay? Or worse—would he let her go too easily?

A familiar voice broke her reverie. “You look like you’re either about to stab someone or jump overboard.”

She turned to find Nikolai leaning against the ship’s railing, arms crossed, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. Even in the dim light, his sharp blue eyes gleamed with mischief, though she had long since learned to see past the bravado. He knew something was wrong.

Y/N exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the letter before she unfolded it and held it out. “I got accepted into Ketterdam University.”

His smirk faltered for only a fraction of a second, but she caught it. He took the letter, scanning it with the careful expression of a man examining battle plans. “Ketterdam,” he mused. “I hear they have an excellent program in…well, everything. The best minds in the world.”

She nodded. “I want to go.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the creaking of the ship and the distant sound of waves against the hull. When Nikolai finally spoke, his voice was softer than she expected. “You’re afraid this will change things between us.”

“Aren’t you?” she asked, and it came out more fragile than she had intended.

He was quiet for a long time before he said, “I always knew you had a mind that could reshape the world, Y/N. I just never thought you’d want to do it anywhere but at my side.”

The words sent a pang through her chest. “I never thought so either.”

Nikolai studied her, then smiled—not the sharp, charming grin of Sturmhond, but something smaller, sadder, and undeniably real. “You’ve given me more than I ever deserved. We both know that, so I won’t be the reason you hold yourself back.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “So you think I should go?”

“I think you should do what makes you happy,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “And if Ketterdam is where you find yourself, then I’ll be the fool cheering you on from the other side of the world.”

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and in that moment, she knew. She would always love Nikolai, always be drawn to the chaos and charm that made him who he was. But she could not live her life in his shadow any longer.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

He grinned, though there was a crack in it. “And I’ll make sure you do. But don’t worry, I’ll send letters—mostly complaints, terrible poetry, and the occasional death threat if you forget about me.”

She laughed, though her throat was tight. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The sea stretched endlessly before them, vast and full of unknowns. But for the first time, Y/N wasn’t afraid of stepping away from the life she had always known. She was ready to chase something new.

And Nikolai, as always, would let her fly.

[kookie29]

♡☆~~Materlist~~☆♡

___________________________________________

Shadow and bones

Scream

_______________________________________________

Harry Potter

𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 🧛🏻‍♂️

- Jeremy Gilbert

[downbadf0rficppl]

still be here in the morning?

Nikolai Lantsov x F!Reader

Summary: You drive Nikolai wild. You want him to see you, to see you, but you're scared. If you give in to your desires and you let yourself fall, will he still be there in the morning?

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: SMUTTY SMUT, LOTS OF SMUT, lots of teasing, a lil bit of angst, and some fluff. Also the reader's nickname is Mouse - but it's not a size thing, it's an occupation thing *thumbs up emoji*

Repost

It was safe to say you drove Nikolai wild. You hardly listened to his rules, questioning your Captain in his every decision and driving him crazy with your constant bickering. You knew that you could, you were Nikolai's star crewmate and he would never risk firing you. No one was a better diplomat, marksman, or sailor - except perhaps Nikolai himself. You were a good detective too - you were the only one of his crew to have figured out his true identity.

You had teased him about it on a brief visit to West Ravka - an old family painting had given it all away.

"You'll never guess what I found, Cap." You said, waltzing into his quarters and jumping up onto his desk. He tilted his face up to you - indicating that he was listening - but kept his eyes focused on the maps laid in front of him, studying new routes out west. You were only docked in Os Kervo to collect a round of new supplies - enough to keep you afloat to Novyi Zem or even further.

"Tell me, Mouse. What have you found that is so worth sharing that you break into my quarters?" He used the affectionate nickname you had picked up since joining the crew - you were quiet, almost undetectable when need by. Of course, Nikolai knew how annoying and boisterous you could get when you were comfortable. Still, the nickname had stuck. In fact, you were almost certain that aside from Nikolai, and the twins, no one could remember your true name. It didn't matter. You had moved on from that life.

"Well, Tolya and I spent most of our afternoon in the galleries in Os Kervo-"

"-leaving Tamar to collect the supplies? Yes, I heard about that. Just because you keep us out of trouble with the law does not mean that you get to delegate all your duties to someone else. We work together, Mouse, you'd do well to remember it."

"Yes, yes, she said she was fine with it. Something about getting Tolya's poetic arse off her back for a few hours," Nikolai chuckled at that, "And anyway, the interesting thing is what I found in the galleries. You see, despite the Fold, West Ravka is still a united nation-"

"I'm aware."

"Stop interrupting me!" You swatted him with a loose piece of paper on his desk, "It's rude. You'd have thought that you had some manners - what with your pretentious nature."

"Is there a point to this, Mouse? Because I suggest you get there soon."

"Well, what I was saying was, I came across a portrait. A new one - well, sort of. It had the King - Pyotr, that is - and his wife, and their sons. Did you know that they had 2? I had simply forgotten." A cheeky grin had snuck onto your face and Nikolai was now looking directly at you. You leaned in close to his ear, "I'd say they did the younger son a disservice, wouldn't you? Your Highness?"

Nikolai moved swiftly, clamping his hand down over your mouth. "Does Tolya know?"

You move his hand off your mouth, "Of course not. I'm not one to be going around spreading rumours that are not mine to spread."

"Good. And you're going to keep it that way. Especially if you want to stay on this ship."

"Oh, Nikolai. You're not going to fire me. You won't risk having the biggest threat to your secret not on your side. I'm a diplomat - I know how intimidation works," Nikolai fixes you with a stare, "Ok, I was a diplomat, whatever. Semantics. Point is, you're not going to fire me. Your secrecy depends on it."

After that day, your teasing had increased ten-fold and Nikolai's patience with you had decreased just as much. He hardly spoke to you if he didn't have orders to give you. And it pissed you off.

To be perfectly honest, you made his blood boil. Nikolai didn't know what it was about you, but you knowing who he was had tipped him over the edge. He thought that he was untraceable - a new persona, a new look. He'd made a point to never dock in Ravka - but needs must and there was no way they'd survive a trip to Kerch. They'd been running on fumes. To be honest, the trip had gone better than expected. But of all the people to find out, it just had to be you. He stewed alone in his chambers. They were currently in Novyi Zem, planning to head further west. Ravka had no power further west than Novyi Zem, a notion which many - including you - were grateful for.

He'd never taken the time to understand what you were running from - almost everyone in his crew was running from some demon, but you had never once let slip who you were before you joined Sturmhond's crew. He knew that you were a diplomat of some kind and that you were half-Ravkan, but beyond that, you were a mystery to him. Perhaps that's what pissed him off. That you knew exactly who he was and who he had been and he knew nothing about you.

A knock came at his door. Who the fuck could that be? To his knowledge, everyone was out partying in the taverns. Who could resist a peaceful night out when you spent every other night on a ship sailing in the middle of an ocean? Nikolai could. And so could this mystery person apparently. Nikolai opened his door before the guest knock again, groaning when he caught sight of who it was. You were standing at his door - coat and boots discarded and your shirt haphazardly untied. You pushed past him and made yourself comfortable in his chair, smiling as he ran a hand over his face.

"Awhh, don't look too happy to see me, Sturmhond. Or should I say, Nikolai?" You'd taken to teasing him in the privacy of his room, where you were sure no one could hear you.

"What do you want, Mouse?"

"I just wanted to see how my dear Majesty was holding up. It has been a rough week for us all."

"Cut the bullshit. I know you're here to piss me off. Not tonight, Mouse. Please."

"Ooh. I like it when you beg. Do it again." You grinned at him. You knew you were getting under his skin.

"I said not tonight. Get out, Mouse. Go piss off some drunkard in a tavern." Nikolai said, nearly pushing you out of the door. "Maybe he can fuck the attitude out of you," he whispered under his breath.

"Make me."

"I'm sorry, what?" Nikolai said, turning around to face you again.

"I said, make me, Lantsov."

"I told you to stop fucking using that name," Nikolai growled, pushing you up against the wall, his arm pushing under your boob. You flushed pink, heat pooling in your stomach.

Nikolai grinned, "Oh, I see." He looked you up and down, scanning your figure. You could feel your underwear soak with every second of his gaze.

"What do you see, Captain? Need me to get you a spyglass. Could help you-" You were cut off by Nikolai's lips on yours. They were soft, gentle, and yet demanding at the same time. It was nice. This was nice.

"Is that what you wanted, Mouse? Attention from your Captain?" The honourific felt dirty coming from his mouth. You felt the desire to push him further - to piss him off until he gave you what you wanted. What you needed.

"Are you sure it's not what you wanted Captain? You seem to be a lot more excited by this than I am."

Nikolai nearly growled at that, attaching his lips to yours again, before slipping your belt off. He slipped his hands down to your core, feeling the wetness and smirking.

"Not as excited as me, huh?" He rubbed a circle around your clit and watched your defenses crumble. You grabbed a fistful of his jacket in your hand as your hips bucked away from him.

Nikolai lifted you up easily, depositing you on his desk, "I wanted to fuck you that day. When you hopped up on this desk and threatened me the first time. Should've done it. Should've shown you exactly who the boss is around here."

He grabbed the small knife he kept in his breast pocket off the desk and flicked it open. You gasped. Nikolai grazed the knife against the outside of your hip, slicing cleanly through your underwear. You were glad you'd taken off your stays earlier - you weren't sure if you could survive him ruining your most comfortable stays.

He placed a gentle kiss on your throat before pulling your shirt off. He gazed at you, momentarily starstruck, before latching his mouth onto your nipple. A hand came up to toy with the other, and you dissolved into a moaning mess.

He pulled away from your nipple to grin at your state. You looked at him breathlessly, grinning, "Is that all you've got, Lantsov."

His stare turned dark. He dove down and buried himself in your pussy. He licked and nipped, flicking your clit with his tongue. He played you like a well-tuned instrument. He fucked your hole with his tongue - alternating between stroking your walls with his tongue and sucking on your clit.

Your orgasm washed over you unexpectedly, sending waves of pleasure through your veins. You clamped your thighs around Nikolai's head, throwing your head back as you cried out.

Nikolai lifted his head up, eyes glinting dangerously, wetness smeared all around his lips. He looked devious. In that moment, he was not Nikolai Lantsov, spare to the Lantsov name, but Sturmhond, masterful privateer, Captain of Volkvolny. You loved him for it.

"You've caused me a lot of trouble, Mouse."

"What are you going to do about it?" You bit your lip, hiding a smirk.

He threw his coat off, carrying you towards his bed. You were lucky that no one else was on board - if they heard what was going on you'd never live it down.

Nikolai laid you on the bed, stripping his clothes off at extraordinary speed. He was quickly inside you, eliciting whimpers from you at every movement. He gave you a moment to adjust before he started to thrust. His hips snapped into you at an ungodly pace and it was all that you could do to not fall apart on his cock.

Nikolai grinned at your silence, his eyes scanning over you. Your face was blissed out, eyes rolling to the back of your head every so often. Sweat glistened on your skin, as you rocked forwards at the force of his every thrust. He couldn't help the small praises that fell from his lips as you moaned lowly.

"Look at you, so fucking beautiful under me, spread out for me like a whore. That's what you are, my beautiful little whore." You moaned at the filth dripping out of his mouth, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Have I fucked the little mouse stupid? No words left to taunt me now, huh?" You moaned softly, your mouth almost stuck in the shape of an 'O'. "Maybe I should do this more often, keep you quiet for longer." You nodded your head, head too foggy to come up with another smart-ass response.

Your second and third orgasms crashed over you in quick succession - Nikolai clamped his hand over your mouth as you screamed 'Nikolai' over and over again. He promised that next time he'd fuck that name out of your brain, before pulling out and cumming all over your chest.

You lay on his bed - dazed from the intense fucking you just received. You were surprised to find yourself alone in Nikolai's bed - he'd disappeared moments after cumming. He'd said something but you were still coming down from your last high when he moved away. You began to spiral. Of course, he was only fucking you to teach you a lesson - why else would he be interested in you? You idiot! He's the prince of fucking Ravka and the Captain of this ship. What do you have that would interest him, apart from your bratty mouth and attitude? He said it himself - the attitude pissed him off.

You were startled when something cold made contact with your chest. You looked up to find Nikolai with something in his hand - a wet washcloth, maybe? - and a sheepish grin on his face. He was still naked, his hair still tousled and his face still flushed. An involuntary beam broke out across your face. He didn't leave you after all.

Nikolai was taken by surprise at the tears that gathered on your lash line. He pulled you up into his chest when you were clean, sitting on the edge of his bed with you held tightly in his arms.

"Hey, hey, hey." He said, drawing mindless shapes on your back as tears streamed down your face, "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He was confused - surely, if he hurt you, you wouldn't be seeking comfort in him.

His heart slowed slightly when you shook your head, but the confusion remained.

"Talk to me, Mouse. What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

"It's stupid."

"It's not. If it matters to you, then it matters to me. Tell me, whatever it is, I'll fix it." Another wave of emotion washed over you. You climbed into his lap and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"I thought you were mad." You whispered quietly, almost hoping he wouldn't hear you and that he would let it go.

"Why would I be mad?"

"You left." You shrugged, "You left and I thought you were gone for good." He pressed a kiss to your temple and pulled your head into his chest.

"Oh, Mouse. For all your genius, you are oblivious." You looked up at him, confused. "I love you, Mouse. I always have." You shook your head, "What?"

"You're just saying that." You said, tears filling your lash line again as you tried to pull away, "You're just saying that 'cause you fucked me and you don't want me to leave." You tried to move out of his arms but he held you firmly. You hit his chest, trying to force yourself off him, but he stood his ground. Eventually, you just melted into his arms - he held you as you cried, hands stroking your hair soothingly.

You calmed down slowly, chest heaving as you tried to replenish your lungs. You stayed relaxed in his arms. He laid his head on top of yours. "Wanna tell me what that was about?"

You shook your head.

"Do you trust me?"

You nodded your head.

"Do you trust me enough to believe me when I say I love you?"

You hesitated.

"Well, we've found our problem."

"You don't love me."

"How do you know? You been inside my head? Pretty sure even Grisha can't do that." You chuckled.

"You hate me. You can't even look at me - let alone talk to me for long enough to fall in love with me."

"I can't look at you because if I start looking I'll never look away. I can't talk to you because I look like a fool every time I try and string two words together in front of you. Ask Tolya - he'll tell you how hopelessly in love with you I am. And for someone who's not interested in romance, he's a fucking hopeless romantic." His words involuntarily brought a smile onto your face.

You looked into his eyes, "You're sure you love me?"

"Honey, you drive me wild."

You nestled into his arms, and he leaned you both back onto the bed. Your head hit his pillow and suddenly you're surrounded by him. His arms wrap around you tightly, his pillow smells like him, his face is right next to yours. It's nice. Comforting.

You looked up into his face, studying his features while he slept. He was pretty - objectively. His face was long - pointy. Someone had done a terrible job of fixing his broken nose - but it seemed off at a second glance. He seemed so different than the paintings in the gallery - more difference than age alone could bring. His eyes were the giveaway - they were muddy green at first glance but under the right light and if you stared long enough, they were the same hazel green as the ones in the painting. You reached up to stroke his face. How long would this all last? How long until he wouldn't be able to play pretend anymore? How long until he had to go back to being Prince Nikolai Lantsov of Ravka? How long did you have with him in this beautiful bubble that you had created? You could already hear the rest of the crew filtering in from their nights out.

A hand came up to wrap around yours, "Sleep, Mouse. I'll still be here in the morning."

You smiled. He'd still be here in the morning.

fin.

buy me a coffee

[shimmerytimbers]

sth about matthias comparing nina to a field of flowers, a raging storm, a little red bird. sth about matthias not wanting to kiss nina because in his culture, it wasn't the proper way to threat a lady and she deserved better. sth about matthias vowing to protect nina until his death. sth about matthias learning to understand and love grisha but never turning his back on his faith with djel. something about matthias being only 18 when he died. sth about the fact that besides the crows, he likely had no one else. sth abt trassel being kicked out of the pack after matthias was assumed dead and guilty of treason. sth about matthias being being shot a boy in the same situation as he had been years ago with brum.

[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.

[thesuntomyshadows]

Y/N: Please tell me we can stop it.

Wylan: If we can't, we're at the center of the blast radius so we won't feel a thing.

Jesper: Well, that's comforting.

Nikolai: Come on, have a little faith. With a dashing hero like me on the case, how can we fail?

Y/N: He is dashing, you have to give him that.