#the lantsovs suck

[dhampiravidi]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV), The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo Rating: Explicit Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Original Female Character(s), The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Alina Starkov/Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Mildly Dubious Consent, Cheating, Hate Sex, Revenge Sex, Crying, Tsar The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Married The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Original Female Character(s), Overstimulation, Oral Sex, Bisexual Alina Starkov, Facesitting, Sad Ending, Soft The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Shadow Summoners (The Grisha Trilogy), Bisexual Female Character, Snark, What Was I Thinking?, Tidemakers (Grishaverse)

Summary:

You catch your husband, the great Tsar of Ravka, Aleksander Morozova, in bed with the Sun Summoner. Then he announces his intention to divorce you. So you decide to get your revenge, the only way you know will hurt him.

This can be seen as a less-happy alternative to the universe presented in my other fic, Moi Soverenyi.

[percysjakcson]

Nikolai Lantsov, King of Ravka

SHADOW AND BONE | 2.08 “No Funerals”

[swiftievolturra]

guess what came in the mail today????!!!!!

Eeeeee! **other excited noises**

now my collection is finally complete …

I read all the other grishaverse books from my library lol <3

my Semester end examinations are going on R.N. so I will read probably after two weeks…

(if my mom catches me reading then she’ll confiscate the book)

[ravkanfoxprince]

ummm favorite math subject? I’m learning geometry right now and I love it, but I liked algebra better I think (in 8th grade)

That's an unexpected and interesting question! I do love geometry, and algebraic geometry, number theory is interesting too. But if we are honest, most of it is interesting to learn and use.

[mrs-jamesbbarnes]

Just heard the news about Shadow and Bone being canceled and Six of Crows spin-off not happening.

I’m never going to be over the fact that we were robbed of on screen Zoyalai 😢

[maple-leifarts]

quick thing before i go to bed LOL i fucking love characters that never answer questions directly like on one hand ooo mysterious but on the other hand are you a fucking idiot answer my fucking question

[milosupremacy]

I spy with my little eye… the Lantsov emerald

[sxnctxxry]

i havent posted anything grishaverse lately (wrong) but heres a random edit of the nikolai still <3

i call this evil nikolai

[number-0-iz]

I. Need. More.

Hey! Could you do Nikolai Lantsov x reader? She is darkling’s daughter. They meet for the first time and have crush on each other but they don’t show it. Thanks ❤️

thinking about nikolai especially now that we've got that casting 😩

masterlist

It is cold here, cold in the place you call home. Winters have always been bitter this close to the coast; even inland, Ravka’s wind bites fiercely against your face, nipping with sharp fangs at any inch of exposed skin. The clouds seem inches from snow, as if one fell word or curse would drag the ice upon you. For now, though, they seem content to hover above the turrets and onion domes of Os Alta’s castles, as if even they know that what goes down tonight will be something to watch.

You pull your kefta tighter around your shoulders, doing your best to fight off the chill. What you wouldn’t do to be an Inferni, able to call up a small flame with a snap of your fingers. They’re all tucked away in different corners of the Little Palace, staying warm with cups of kvas and the help of their own gift. However, you know better than to wish you were someone else. You’ve been doing it for a long time, and it has never once worked out.

That’s the truth of being your father’s daughter, of being the person that must walk from the corridors of the Little Palace into the cold winter’s night and make the trip over to the Grand Palace. Although Aleksander Morozova may be the most powerful Grisha known to mankind, he is still at the whim of the Lantsov line, and by default, so are you.

He strides above you, paying no heed to the darkening night air. In all fairness, your father has never once let the darkness faze him. It gathers around his ankles, as if called there by a whistle or the blow of a horn, and follows his wishes as much as you do. You’ve been doing your best to teach the shadows to follow you as well, but his control has always been better than yours. Of course it would be- he’s had far longer to practice his gift than you.

However, your father never takes that as an excuse. You can’t count how many sleepless nights have been spent in the middle of the woods, alone in the dark and cold while your father attempts to teach you how to make the shadow leap from bough to bough, how to kill a man without laying a finger upon him. You practice until you swear darkness falls from your veins instead of blood, but it is never enough. Not for him, not for the Black General of the Second Army.

But it is, strangely, enough for the king. The elder Lantosv is old and greasy, the scorn of the Grisha. Your father hates that he has to follow this man, but compliance is the price of staying alive and keeping his Little Palace free from soldiers. Every now and then, the king calls for General Kirigan to come and inform him of the Second Army’s progress, and your father must swallow his pride and visit.

You’ve never had to go with him. Your father prefers it, actually. He knows the truth, just as well as you or any of the other Grisha do. Once the king sees some bright, sparkly new thing, he latches onto it as if it were a gem or precious mineral instead of a man. You may be the epitome of darkness, as far from the light as you could get, but you cannot pique the king’s attention. No one can, not if they wish to maintain their independence, and even though you seem to have less of it by the day, you follow the rules and keep your distance.

Your father cannot hide you forever, though, as much as he would surely try. The walls have ears around here, and they all report back to the king in honey-twisted whispers that ask for profit at the same time as they spread rumors of what is new in Ravka. The call from the Grand Palace isn’t phrased suspiciously, they rarely are, but there is no reason why the king should need two Shadow Summoners to relay information back on his troop movements instead of just one.

So, you walk, black kefta clinging to your frame as you go. Just before you arrive at the doors of the Grand Palace, your father stops walking, turning to you with a firm expression. His eyes are as hard as granite, his hands firm as he points back at you.

“Don’t say a word unless asked. Let me handle everything. I won’t have you be a jester, no matter if it's for the king. We are better than that.”

You nod, and he relents. “I am glad to have you by my side, but there is always darkness to every opportunity.”

You want to say that you are the darkness, that he’s made you into the rotten portion of Ravka’s glimmering harvest, but your father has turned back to face the guards at the door, General Kirigan once more. There is no more time for kindness, just the civility of someone about to sell his soul for another shot at keeping his position.

Your father walks the halls of the Grand Palace with ease, someone used to the golden corridors and gleaming banisters of the place. You’ve only been here a few times before, so you get to look around with the awe of a newcomer. It seems like a dream compared to the dark wood paneling of the Little Palace, all marble facades and richly woven tapestries. A place fit for the kings indeed.

Your father leads you into the throne room of the palace, pausing once to bow before the king. You follow suit, the brush of your kefta against the ground the only sign of your presence. The king sits on his throne, looking like a doll propped up by a child’s hand and then left to fall and fade with time. The queen, eerily touched up by her Grisha tailors, perches prim and proper on her seat. Her knuckles are white with how tightly her hands are clenched; even if she fears the Grisha, she has to pretend otherwise in court.

The only person who doesn’t look as if they were forced to be there is a young man standing to the side of the king’s throne. You don’t believe you’ve seen him outside of the royal portraits lining the halls, although even the oil on canvas replications don’t do him justice. He takes a half step forward when you and your father enter the room, allowing the glow from nearby chandeliers to paint his face with light.

The first thing you think is that surely there is no way that this man could have been born on the same planet that made that king and queen before you. His shoulders are broad, not overly proud but full of the confidence that comes from knowing you are exactly what you claim to be.

Although he stands without a throne and breathes without a crown, his chin is high as if he were dripping with gold. As opposed to the other royals before him, he wears the olive drab of the First Army. This is a man who has fought, not just held an officer’s position from family prestige alone. At last, this is someone you can respect.

The king squints at you and your father before coughing loudly. “Ah, good to see you. We are accompanied by my youngest son.”

He gestures listlessly behind him and the young man steps forward, nodding at the two of you.

Your father bows again. “Prince Nikolai. A pleasure to see you.”

The young man’s lips quirk in a half smile, not entirely formality but a sign of something more, surely. “The pleasure is mine.”

Nikolai and your father exchange a quick look, as if both daring each other to break from the forced decorum and admit that they both know this meeting is pointless.

The king, evidently not picking up on any of this, glances openly at his gold-encrusted pocket watch before continuing. “Well, General? Is there any correspondence from the field?”

It stuns you then, how out of touch this man is about his own armies. He asks not for your father’s opinion on the fight, not on the state of the Grisha troops or if they need any additional support, but if there is any news at all. Is he even aware of his own spies? Would the spies even be his to call his own?

You glance up, and somehow your eyes lock with Nikolai’s. His lips twitch again into a smile, this time somehow tinged with mild chagrin as if to say “Yes, you’re not the only one who thinks this is all a sham.”

Then your father is speaking, and Nikolai looks away again, the perfect picture of innocence were it not for the fact that a smile is still lingering on his face.

Your father, to his credit, appears used to this sort of thing, and reports matter-of-factly on the latest troop movements, which sectors needed more men and which needed to be removed from the battleground altogether. Slowly, delicately, he presses the urge to have more money allocated to the Grisha armies, although every time he phrases it as if it was the king’s wish in the first place. This is how things get done, then, by trying to spoon-feed the Ravkan king small tidbits of information and framing him as a hero.

The king allows this to continue for about fifteen minutes, then adjusts his position in his throne. “What about her, then? What does she have to offer?”

Your father clears his throat. “Y/N is a Shadow Summoner, still-”

The king cuts him off. “Can she not talk by herself?”

Anger flashes across your father’s eyes, and even though he manages to catch himself almost instantly, you can see his fists clench by his sides. Sometimes, entertaining this fool monarch treads too much upon his pride, and you wonder how many blows he will take before seeking retribution.

This, however, will not happen today. Your father swallows back his rage and extends a hand towards you. “She can.”

You nod, taking a half step forward. “Greetings, my king and queen. Prince Nikolai.”

You dare the smallest glance at the prince when you say his name, and notice that he’s shifted towards you almost imperceptibly, the smallest change in his posture communicating endless questions and answers, all of them directed towards you.

For some reason, this takes the weight off of your shoulders, and you straighten your spine, suddenly a little more confident than before. “I am a Shadow Summoner, and I train at the Little Palace. I have been involved in five field missions, three in Tsibeya and two in Ulensk. All were focused on eliminating Fjerdan threats or otherwise preserving the strength of the Ravkan crown.”

The queen frowns, mouth souring as if she’d bitten into a sour fruit. “Then you’re another one of them? Are you good at being a Grisha?”

The way she says ‘Grisha’ reminds you of children saying swear words when their parents are nearby, barely wanting to form the syllables but having to force themselves to do it to save face.

The second she says it, you understand why it takes so much for your father to control yourself. How are you supposed to answer that- are you good at being a Grisha, a monster to this dolled up queen? Before you can make a rash mistake and answer poorly, you find yourself interrupted, although not from your father, as expected. Instead, Nikolai holds up a hand and speaks.

“I believe my mother would be interested in a demonstration of your gifts. I know I would, if you were willing.”

He phrases it kindly, and when he smiles at you, you can see his frustration as if it were him down here being questioned on the floor of the throne room instead of you.

You smile back at him, and nod. “I would be delighted, my prince.”

You spread your hands, and instantly the light begins to fall. Candles waver in their gold braziers, and despite the fact that the room is almost uncomfortably hot from the many fires, a sudden chill descends upon the room so quickly that you can see the king and queen shiver. You call forth the shadows one by one, silently raising your fingers as if beckoning a treasured guest.

They come in groups, moving through the air oil-slick and flowing like wine. They press upon your arms, dancing on the tiled ground like ghosts before soaring to the ceiling. In a matter of moments, the room is so dark that you can scarcely see anything at all. The shadows feel thick, like if you touched them, they would press back, and they do. You let them hang there for a moment, then pull it all back into you.

You see Nikolai’s face first, and it is strange, he looks so proud of someone he’s never met before. His parents look terrified, although if you didn’t know better you’d say that he liked that, too. When the darkness is finally gone, he raises his hands and begins to clap, the sound of the applause charging through the air on a stallion’s iron hoofs before reaching you.

“Most impressive, Y/N.”

You bow your head once in gratitude. “Thank you, my prince.”

When you look up again, you swear that he holds you pinned in his gaze. Perhaps you never removed your shadows at all, perhaps the world has shrunk to just the two of you. From the way Nikolai looks at you now, you’d swear that he feels it too.

Then your father claps his hands as well, just once this time as if to break the moment. It shatters into nothingness, although Nikolai’s gaze remains on you anyway. “Well, I believe that should be sufficient. It is late, and I do not want to intrude upon your schedules.”

The king nods. “As you were.”

Your father takes this as a farewell and turns to leave. You follow him, although you cannot help looking back just once when you reach the door.

The king and queen are already starting to leave their thrones, but Nikolai remains, watching you go. When he notices that your attention is still on him, he smiles, and raises one hand in goodbye. You wave back, then slip away before your father notices.

Night is still brisk and cold when you leave, although you cannot help but notice the lights in the windows of the Grand Palace. When you see them from across the cobbled paths leading back to the Little Palace, you could almost fool yourself into thinking that someone remains inside, someone still thinking of you. If there is a future involving you seeing Nikolai Lantsov again, it appears that you’ll just have to wait and find out.

grishaverse tag list: cannot wait for season 2 besties @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @aleksanderwh0r3, @story-scribbler, @lxncelot, @thatfangirl42

[stray-kaz]

Patched : a Nikolai Lantsov x f!reader oneshot

Anon request: Nikolai is injured in the course of a fight and reader offers to tend to his wound. He is a stubborn ass and refuses...eventually giving in.

A/N: I think I decided to make this "best friends to lovers" trope. Hope that's okay.

18+ at the end!

Nikolai thumped through the door to his bedroom in the Spinning Wheel, landing hard against the wall and almost falling to the floor. If it weren’t for his gaze catching on you sitting on the edge of his bed, he would have given up and allowed gravity to take him. But as it was, he did see you and forced himself to straighten, using his shoulders to push his body off the wall, sheer will skewing the corners of his mouth into a smile facsimile.

“Hey, you” he said, and stumbled.

“Hey, yourself, Sobachka” you grumbled, standing and hastening to him. 

He pouted at the barely tolerated nickname coming out of your mouth.

“Don’t call me that” he mumbled back. “I’m not a puppy.”

“Then stop acting like one, moi Tsar” you retorted, pulling a face at him. “How bad is it?”

“It’s just a scratch.”

He sighed and collapsed into a chair, his head rolling back. You sighed even more heavily and knelt at his feet, feeling for the pulse at his wrist. It was there, and it was strong enough, but he was still an idiot.

“I heard that” he said, not looking at you. “You speak in your head far less than you think you do.”

“Good” you snapped. “Someone ought to tell you what they’re truly thinking. I’m not too scared to do it. You could have been killed, Nikolai. And if you had died, where would I be then?”

He heard the tears in your voice and sat up properly in the chair, reaching out to cup your face with one hand and tilt your gaze towards him. You sniffed, your gaze defiant, just in case he was going to tease you for caring too much. But he just leaned forward and kissed your forehead, his palm rough and soothing against your jaw.

“I don’t have an answer for that, darling” he said softly. “Other than I hope you would be all right. And that no matter where I ended up, I would worry for you.”

You breathed out sharply and rose up to lean your weight against his knees; they widened unconsciously, without Nikolai’s say-so, opening a gap big enough for you fit your body in between.

“Let me help you” you offered, sniffing away the last of your tears.

He merely shook his head.

“No.”

His tone was firm, brooking no nonsense, but you pressed on anyway.

“You’re a stubborn mule, moi Tsar” you told him, raising an eyebrow. “A scratch would not leave you in your current state. I can help you.”

Nikolai eyed you sceptically. 

“You know you don’t have to call me that” he said. “I’m not your king yet.”

Your eyes softened as you looked up at him and he found himself shifting in the chair, striving to get away from the unkempt love he glimpsed in your face.

“You have been my king since the day I met you” you replied. “You will always be my king, Nikolai Lantsov.”

He sucked in a slow, deliberate breath and made a decision. 

“All right, fine” he all but grunted. “You can help put me back together.”

As you reached for his shirt strings, he noticed your hands trembling, and felt the heat of your fingertips pressing through the material at his collarbone. You fumbled with the slim knot, eventually overcoming it, and pulled the cords free. As your hands dropped to the hem of his shirt and worked it up over his stomach, Nikolai couldn’t help the fresh grin tugging at his lips.

“Darling, if you wanted me to take off my clothes, you should have just asked.”

He expected a quip back, but instead, you just glanced away and pulled the shirt free of his head, sliding it off his arms. It left his hair mussed and your eyes dark as you searched him for the injury. It was more than a scratch, but could still have been worse. A long, inch deep gash ran along the side of his ribs, glistening wetly in the low light.

You whistled quietly and Nikolai sighed.

“I truly hope that is because of my impressive physique and not because I need stitches.”

“You need stitches” you answered flatly.

Nikolai groaned, throwing his head back again. You couldn’t help but smile.

“For a man so unafraid of anything, you sure are scared of needles” you commented, pushing yourself to your feet. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Nikolai rolled his eyes.

“Why would I, when you treat me with such gentleness?”

You said nothing, slipping out the door and returning a few minutes later with a stoppered bottle of amber liquid and an armful of clean bandages, a length of catgut and a sterilised needle. Without a word, you handed the bottle to Nikolai but didn’t wait for him to drink before starting work on his wound.

He hissed through his teeth, yanked the stopper out and rapidly swallowed a third of the crown’s whiskey. 

“Am I your king now?” he groaned, tensing as the needle passed through his skin.

“Be quiet, Sobachka” you muttered, concentrating. “Don’t make me stab you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

You worked quickly and carefully, tying off the stitching with a tiny knot and spreading a new bandage over the neat black lines. You smoothed it down, your fingers lingering on the warm skin over the edge of the white padding. Nikolai’s eyes flicked to yours, warmed a little by whiskey but still clear.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re very pretty when you’re causing men pain?” he asked blithely, two fingers wrapped loosely around the neck of the bottle.

You snorted and stood up, gathering the remnants of your work and heading for the door. His voice stopped you at the threshold, called you back to him.

“How long have we known each other?” he asked you, head tilted curiously to one side as his gaze burned a scalding path from the top of your head to the scuffed toes of your boots.

“More than ten years, moi Tsar” you said softly.

He shook his head slowly and got up, wincing as the stitches pulled at him. You took a step in his direction, but he held up a halting hand and shook his head again.

“More than ten years” he repeated slowly. “And in those ten years, how have I never seen what it looks like when you desire a man?”

Your gaze plummeted to the floor and you moved your weight from foot to foot, suddenly unsteady in your own body. Nikolai reached you, his boots entering your limited field of vision. The tools of your trade fell from your hands as one of his hands grasped your chin and raised it so that you had no choice but to look into his blue eyes, now burning with twin flames. You could smell the whiskey as he spoke, but instead of making you uncertain, it liquefied your knees and heated your stomach.

“Until tonight” he finally added, his voice low and his gaze dropping to your parted lips.

You swallowed unsteadily, knowing you were trapped, he had caught you, doe to stag.

“Please, moi Tsar” you barely whispered, not exactly sure what you were begging him for.

He shook his head at you.

“Uh uh” he murmured, arching a single eyebrow.

You opened your mouth to speak again, knowing that your next utterance would sentence you to him for the rest of your life, death withstanding.

“Nikolai...”

The bottle shattered the second his mouth bruised yours, pleasure coursing through his veins and numbing the pain in his side as his head swam, his two empty hands finding you to hold onto, molding to your hips. He eased your lips apart and swallowed your moan as the tip of his tongue brushed yours, so lightly.

He couldn’t believe there had ever been anyone else before you, as his hands mapped the contours of your body, lavishing attention on your clothed breasts when you arched into his palms. 

You pulled away slightly and traced the edges of Nikolai’s bandage with your fingers.

“We can’t” you groaned, whimpering needily as his hand wandered down your belly to tease underneath the front of your trousers. “Your stitches, Nikolai.”

He shrugged, seemingly ignoring the prominent strain in his own trousers.

“No matter” he said casually. “You know what we can do? Or, what I can do?”

You gasped and your eyelids fluttered, but you forced your eyes to remain open to watch his whole hand disappear and feel his roughened fingers begin their work.

[stromuprisahat]

The Darkling antis:

When I see bullshit like, "The Darkling is Ravka's villain. He's evil personified." I feel like shooting myself. The worst thing is that these people think they are superior and more intelligent in general terms and in reading comprehension... It's a pity.

Of course, the Darkling is the worst thing Ravka has ever known ! Certainly not :

- The wars against Fjerda and Shu Han, that have lasted for centuries.

- Racism.

- Sectarianism.

- Persecution.

- The Lantsov line in general with the king and queen currently leading the country to poverty for their personal pleasure.

- The incompetent, lazy and rapist actual King.

- Jarl Brum.

- The apparat, and his goddamn religious cult.

- Baghra who for all we know would let Ravka burn.

Yes of course. The Darkling is the worst thing Ravka has ever known ! The ultimate evil ! Seriously people who think that, fuck off or buy yourself a brain.

[thebadgerclan]

Ravish

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Summary: He will never tire of ravishing you...

Smut!

A/N: Should I be doing notes?  Yes, but I got a 96% on my exam today and cannot get Nikolai Lantsov out of my head

Your ladies fluttered around you, unlacing your gown, unpinning your hair, removing your jewels, and draping a silk dressing gown over your shoulders.  You and your husband had just returned from a month abroad for your honeymoon, which apparently called for a ball in your honor.  The party had been lovely, made all the better by Nikolai doting on you the entire night, singing your praises to anyone who would listen.

You stood before your vanity, brushing the curls from your hair, when your husband entered.  The pair of you refused to sleep in separate rooms, something that became a hot topic amongst the palace staff.  “Thank you, ladies,” Nikolai said, unbuttoning his undershirt.  “I’ll take it from here.”  Your ladies curtsied before exiting, leaving you and your husband alone.  “You were radiant tonight,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head, leaving him in only his trousers.  “You always are”

“Thank you, my love,” you replied, setting your brush down.  “You looked quite dashing yourself.”  Nikolai came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chest pressed to your back.  “I love you so much, my Y/N,” he whispered, kissing your cheek.  “My beautiful bride, my perfect girl, you are all I have ever wanted.”  Nikolai kissed the spot before your ear, then your jaw, then a trail down your neck.  You sighed, letting your head rest against his shoulder.  Your husband moved one hand to your hip, the other to splay across your abdomen.

The silk robe you wore was open, revealing your stays and slip beneath, and you could feel the heat of Nikolai’s hand through them.  He continued to kiss and mouth at your neck, making you weak in the knees and causing arousal to pool in your belly.  “Nikolai,” you breathed, bringing a hand up to card through his hair.  “Sweetheart, I–”  “Shh, my love,” he cooed, the hand on your hip creeping towards your core.  “Let me touch you.”

“Please,” you said, and your husband smirked, sucking a mark just over your pulse point.  Nikolai lifted the waistband of your shift, finding you already wet for him.  “Oh, darling,” he whispered, his voice sending chills down your spine.  “Have you been needing me all night?  Have you been aching for my touch, sweet Y/N?”  You let out a frustrated whimper.  Nikolai had been making eyes at you all night; suggestive glances, lingering touches, teasing whispers.  

“Yes,” you moaned, rolling your hips slightly, trying to entice him to touch you.  “Yes, Nikolai, please.”  Your husband cooed again, finally brushing his fingers over your swollen clit.  “Alright, my sweetheart, I won’t tease.”  Your husband began rubbing your clit in slow, gentle circles, which made you moan, which in turn made him moan.  “Fuck, I love hearing how good I make you feel,” he said, still kissing your neck.  “My beautiful bride.”

A haze of pleasure settled over your mind, and all you could do was nod weakly, moaning and whimpering as Nikolai touched you.  One of your hands remained in his hair, the other gripped the hand that rested on your belly, steadying you and keeping you upright.  You felt your husband’s erection pressing into your back, which only served to heighten your arousal.  Nikolai sped up his motions, drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Look at you, Y/N,” he said, and you managed to lift your head and open your eyes.  “Look how beautiful you are.”  The sight before you was indeed arousing: you, stood before your vanity, Nikolai behind you, his arms around you, one hand in beneath your slip, your face flushed with arousal, his hair mussed from you tugging at it.  “You feel how hard I am, don’t you, Y/N?”  You nodded, rolling your hips against his hand.  “How much I want to fuck you?  Make you scream for me?”

His words had you teetering dangerously close to the edge, and you let out a depraved whine.  “Nikolai, honey, please, I’m so close.  Please, Kolya.”  “Oh my love, you don’t need to ask.  Come for me.  Come on my fingers, Y/N.”  His words snapped the thread holding you together, and you came, cunt squeezing around nothing, sparks popping before your eyes.  When your legs gave out, Nikolai caught you, chuckling softly.

“Taking ‘sweeping you off your feet’ quite literally, aren’t we, lovely?”  In response you turned in his arms and kissed him hungrily.  “Kolya, I need you inside of me.”  Your husband moaned loudly, seizing your lips in a fervent kiss as he walked you backwards.  When your hips bumped into your vanity, your husband lifted you by the legs and set you atop it, hiking your slip above your waist, unfastening and pushing down his trousers with the  other hand.

When he entered you, both of you moaned in tandem, relishing in the slight stretch.  Nevermind that he’d had you just a few hours ago (which made you late for the ball), or that he’d had you this morning, Nikolai’s desire burned hotter than any flame, and he wanted you always.  Your husband set a fast pace, sending bottles of perfume and jars of lotions clattering to the floor.  But neither of you heard it, too wrapped up in each other and the pleasure you gave each other.

“I love you,” you gasped when Nikolai reached between your bodies to rub your clit.  “Nikolai, I love you!”  “I love you too, pretty girl,” he reciprocated, resting his forehead against yours.  “You–ah!--you feel so good!”  Nikolai felt his heart swell with pride, as it always did when you told him how good he made you feel, and he thrust into you a bit harder.  “So do you, gorgeous.  Fuck, you’re always so wet for me.  So fucking tight, too.”

His praises sent you over the edge once more, and you shattered with a cry of his name.  Your husband found release soon after, spurred on by the feeling of you coming and the sounds of your ecstasy.  For several minutes, Nikolai kept his arms around you, his forehead against yours, his cock still within you; eyes shut, simply basking in your presence.  “Fuck, I love you so much,” he whispered, kissing you softly.

“I love you too, Nikolai. I–what’s that smell?”  Nikolai lifted his head, looking at you with a furrowed brow.  “What?”  “That smell, wh– oh Saints!”  He followed your gaze to the ground, where there was a puddle of rather fragrant liquid and a pile of shattered glass.  “That was my perfume imported from the Wandering Isle!” you lamented, and Nikolai couldn’t help but laugh.  “Oh my love, I’ll get you more.  As many as you want.”

He kissed your mostly-fake pout away, lifting you into his arms and carrying you to bed.  “Nikolai, that was expensive!”  “And I’m the King of Ravka.  If my bride wants imported perfume, then she’ll have it.”  You cocked your head, a playful smile crossing your face.  “And what if your wife wants you to ravish her again?”  Your husband beamed, gently tossing you on the bed.  “Then she’ll have that, too.”

[marvelmusing]

Keep Your Judgement

Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: After taking the capital, you and Aleksander move onto the next stage of your plan - locating Morozova’s workshop to find a cure as Aleksander’s condition worsens.

Warnings [18+]: smut, fingering, unprotected sex, hint of breast play, Aleksander’s dirty talk, canon level violence and death.

A/N: it feels like this chapter has taken me forever to write but it’s finally done!! (without extensive proofreading since I’m too excited to actually post something again) I hope you guys enjoy it, it’s been a struggle to find time to write these days which sucks but hopefully I’m getting back into my flow now

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

The Grand Palace is practically deserted when you and the rest of your Grisha advance upon the capital. In a matter of days, the occupants of the Sanctuary have settled into the Palace.

Seeing Aleksander in the royal study is a sight to behold. He looks just as worn and tired as he has for the last few weeks, his hair askew from his own hands, head lowered over some maps. But the polished furniture and luxurious upholstery suits him.

His dark eyes flicker up to watch you lean against the doorway as he registers your presence. A fond smile plays over your lips as you look at him, his gaze wandering over the silk nightdress you’re wearing. The fox preens inside your head and you nudge the creature away from your thoughts as you advance towards Aleksander.

“I thought you were coming to bed,” you accuse him lightly. He smiles softly, discarding his papers and leaning back in his chair.

“I am.”

You tilt your head at him.

“Are you?”

His smile widens, a bashfulness creeping into his features as he glances down - avoiding your questioning gaze.

“Aleksander,” you murmur gently, hooking a finger under his chin to guide his eyes up to meet yours. He hums quietly. “We’ve taken the capital.”

His eyes flutter closed as you press a kiss to the small scar on his forehead. A shiver runs over your skin as he settles his hands on your hips, your bodies being drawn together with a magnetism that has your heart fluttering with anticipation.

“The sun summoner is in the dungeons.” He breathes out a soft sigh as your lips lower to the scar on his cheek. “If the Lantsov Prince is still alive, our people will find him.” He helps you settle into his lap, your legs straddling his. “In a few days, we will find Morozova’s workshop and begin working on a cure for you.”

His hands begin to stroke down your sides as you kiss the scar at the corner of his mouth.

“There’s nothing else to do tonight. Come to bed, Sasha.”

Aleksander slides his hands down your hips, wandering over your thighs with a casual eagerness. He squeezes whatever bare skin he can find, fingers caressing your inner thighs in a manner that has you squirming. There’s a roughness to his tone as he whispers,

“You look beautiful.”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks as you glance down at the nightdress. Delicate lace adorns the neckline, lilac ribbons tied intricately at the bodice. Shyly, you smooth down the skirt, fingers playing with the hem that stops mid thigh.

“Genya made it for me.”

“The dress is exquisite,” he admits with a small nod. “But I was talking about you.”

“Aleksander,” you whisper as your nose grazes against his. “Take me to bed. Please.”

He leans in, kissing your lips with an intensity that makes your toes curl. Aleksander’s worsening condition has made you cautious, concerned about hurting him with his body becoming so fragile. As a result, when he reaches underneath the hem of your nightdress, he finds the fabric of your panties soaked with arousal.

A broken moan of relief escapes from the back of your throat as he slips his fingers under the gusset of your underwear. He makes a small sound of approval when he finds your cunt dripping with need. As he finally begins touching you, slow strokes of his fingertips against your entrance, you press your forehead against his, breathing shakily.

“I’ve been neglecting you, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your lips. You shake your head with a small gasp of his name. He circles your clit with his fingertip, the barest hint of movement despite the firm pressure he’s using and you whimper as the cloud of pleasure hazes over your thoughts.

Aleksander captures your lips with his once again. Without thinking, you begin to rock your hips against his fingers, moaning quietly when you feel the growing bulge beneath his trousers. Aleksander is moaning too, soft sighs and breathy whines he’s fighting to suppress.

“With the merzost… my control has worsened since the last time,” he admits. “I won’t last nearly as long.” He bites down on his lower lip, stifling a groan. Every word he speaks is stilted by his breathlessness. “I fear I might… spill my seed the moment I enter you.”

“I don’t mind,” you tell him. “Just, wait a moment. Wait until I’m close.” He increases the speed of his fingers as your walls tighten at the thought of him climaxing as soon as his cock begins to stretch you open. “Sasha, I’m so close.”

With fumbling fingers, you tug on the drawstring of his trousers, pushing the fabric away to free his cock. He hooks his hand under your thigh, giving you assistance as you sink down onto his hardened length. Feeling Aleksander push into you so intimately, one hand cupping the back of your head as the other continues to stroke the sensitive nub of your clit, has you crying out in pleasure.

A deep groan reverberates from his chest and the sensation of his bared teeth against your thundering pulse has you nearing your peak at an alarming pace. Being untouched for so long has weakened your own sense of control. His nails bite into the soft plush of your thighs as he urges your hips closer, slamming you onto his cock. Both of you gasp one another’s names.

During the moment, you aren’t certain who climaxes first. Perhaps it’s the sensation of Aleksander’s release bursting inside you, his hot spend covering your walls, that pushes you over the edge. Or maybe it’s the feeling of your quivering cunt clenching rapidly around his cock, that has Aleksander coming undone with a broken moan.

In the silence afterwards, the two of you lean on one another, breathing heavily as the pleasure of your orgasms thrum through your bodies. Both of you breathe out a smile as you begin to kiss lazily, soft laughs of embarrassment and shared bliss interrupting the movement of your lips. The moment feels youthful.

With shaking hands, Aleksander loosens the ribbons at your bodice. One at a time, he hooks his finger under the straps of your nightdress, dropping the fabric from each of your breasts.

As the two of you begin to catch your breath, he suckles gently on your nipple. His tongue strokes lazily over the bud and the warm heat of his mouth has your cunt clenching around his softening cock.

“Darling,” he rasps warningly, removing his mouth from your breast with a wet sound as his salvia clings to your skin.

Going for another round would ruin you both, but Aleksander in particular would suffer the most from the overstimulation. Nevertheless, your cunt grips at his cock in protest.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I can’t help it.”

He grits his teeth, pulling his cock from your cunt. His fingers dig into your thighs as if he is imagining dragging you back down onto his length.

“I want you, as many times as possible,” he admits against the hollow of your throat as he layers kisses up to your ear. “Until you’re spent and shaking in our bed. I want to feel you come apart on my cock and continue fucking you through your peak.”

His crude words and lingering kisses over your skin have you clenching around nothing, tears of need prickling in the corners of your eyes. He sighs deeply, and both your body and heart aches simultaneously for him. Gently, you brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, pushing your arousal away as best you can to comfort him.

“When we’ve found a cure,” you say softly. “When you’re all healed and recovered, we can spend an entire day in bed and you can do whatever you want to me.”

A darkness creeps into his eyes, a sharp glimmer that makes you shiver. He winces slightly at the sensation of tucking his cock back into his trousers, though he manages to give you a smile.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

A hint of the darkness in his previous expression is now mirrored in your eyes as you return his smile, somewhat bashfully.

“I hope you do.”

»»---------------------►

“You asked to see me?”

At the sound of a familiar voice, you turn away from the entrance to the throne room to face your friend.

“Genya, yes.” The smile you give her is brief as you observe the way she fidgets with the sleeves of her kefta. “How are you?”

The question seems to catch her off guard and her answer is rather stilted.

“I’m well.”

“Walk with me?” you ask, inclining your head towards the length of the throne room. Her nod is jerky but her steps are smooth as she walks beside you.

“I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must make you, being back here.”

Her back straightens slightly which you pretend not to notice as you turn your head towards the thrones at the head of the room.

“I would have preferred to have returned to the Little Palace,” you admit. “But this building is more defendable.” She nods in response to your words.

Genya is just as practical as you are. Despite how hard it must be, staying in the Grand Palace after everything that happened to her here, you know she will prioritise the advantages it gives. Even still, it can’t be easy for her and you want to offer her something that might make up for it.

The two of you stop at the dais at the head of the room. A small crease appears between her brows as she watches you move towards the collection of decorative swords fixed onto the wall in a rather ornate display.

“I’ve altered the structure of the gold on the throne. I’m certain you’ll find it rather brittle now.” Handing her the one of the king’s many swords, you take a step back, inclining your head towards the throne. “It’s all yours.”

Understanding seems to dawn on her features as she takes the sword from you. There’s a spark of eagerness in her hazel eyes, fuelled by the bone deep anger and hurt she’s been forced to bury inside herself for years. Her grip tightens on the handle, delicate fingers curled with a white knuckle pressure, as she tests the weight of the blade.

“Thank you, moi soverenyi.”

The sound of Aleksander’s title is a surprise - you aren’t sure if it suits you. But the look on Genya’s face has you thinking you might be able to earn it.

As the door closes behind you, a fierce crash sounds from within the throne room and a small satisfied smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. One thing is certain, the Lantsov dynasty is over.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander calls out your name sharply and you lift your head up from the long grass surrounding you. Remaining in fox form, you scamper back over to where he’s waiting with the horses.

The fox is much more familiar with this area of Ravka than you are, meaning that during the search for Morozova’s workshop you’ve shifted form on a number of occasions.

Aleksander crouches down as you approach and you nuzzle your face against his stomach, paws pressing onto his thighs. Dewdrops cling to your fur, soaking the fabric of his kefta and cloak.

“Don’t run off to where I can’t see you,” he warns you, threading his fingers through the fur between your ears. He barely flinches as you shake the dew from your fur, scattering the water droplets around you. “Are we getting close?”

Nodding your head, you turn to lick at his fingers, nudging your damp nose into his open palm. He cups your jaw, blunt nails scratching affectionately at the short hair there.

Shifting back into your human form in front of Aleksander isn’t something you shy away from anymore. His hand remains under your chin as your body returns to its natural state, half settled in his lap and warmth spreads over your cheeks.

“Hello,” you murmur quietly.

Aleksander smiles softly, squeezing your chin affectionately.

“Hello, sweet girl.”

“I think the workshop is around a quarter of a mile away.”

He nods.

It doesn’t take you long to find an abandoned structure, built into the side of a hill. Trees and shrubbery have overtaken the space, hiding it from a casual onlooker. But you would recognise the tingle of merzost and the work of a materialki anywhere.

Old Ravkan sigils have been carved into the rock that comprises the door. Reaching for your power, you encounter an immovable resistance amongst the mechanisms that keep the door locked. Frowning, you brush the tangle of vines and overgrown greenery aside, noting a smudge of red near the centre of the door.

“It’s a blood lock,” you state. “I’m assuming only Morozova blood can open the door.”

Aleksander reaches for the knife tucked beneath his kefta and you wince as he slices a fine cut over his hand. Then he steps towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, grasping onto his sleeve. He frowns, blood pooling from the cut as he holds his hand mere inches from the door.

Retrieving a handkerchief from your pocket, you begin to mop up the blood from Aleksander’s wound, smearing it over the fabric before you wrap it around his hand.

“I’m not letting you put an open wound on such a dirty rock.”

He breathes out a soft laugh, shaking his head despite the fond expression on his face. Aleksander places his hand over the door, blood soaked handkerchief pressing against the stone. The lock shifts, the door opening with a grating sound that has a shiver running down your spine.

Aleksander steps inside first.

At the entrance, there are two stone coffins, side by side. One has been opened, revealing an empty grave, whilst the other remains closed with a freshly picked bunch of snowdrops placed at the helm. Torches light your way, as you follow Aleksander deeper inside.

Baghra stands in the doorway of the workshop, a flickering torch in her hand. She doesn’t seem surprised to see you both. At the sight of his mother, Aleksander’s eyes go wide, scanning over the contents of the workshop behind her to seek out any potential threats.

In the back of your mind, the fox’s fur stands up in anticipation and you turn towards the entrance quickly. But not quick enough. Someone you don’t recognise is standing at the door, watching it close.

Rushing forward, you place your palm against the rough stone of the door, your power reaching for the mechanism at the hinges. After feeling the lock slide into place, you turn back to Aleksander.

“The door’s been locked on the other side. Someone with Morozova blood has sealed us in here,” you say. Aleksander goes still, his eyes unfocused as he comes to some sort of realisation.

“Mal,” he states quietly. “All this time.”

“An otkazat’sya,” Baghra states, a bitter yet knowing look in her eyes. “Morozova did always love the ordinary.”

She steps forwards and Aleksander eyes her warily, moving to stand between you and his mother, though Baghra’s gaze is fixed on the open coffin. She traces her fingertips over the rough edge of the lid, worn by time.

“He made me watch him while he built this coffin, knowing he would never use it. My sister was never buried. There was no village boy saved by Sankt Ilya, like in the stories you’ve heard. There was only my sister. The ordinary girl who should have lived an ordinary life.”

She lifts her head, staring at you.

“There is no firebird.”

“The third amplifier is a person,” you say quietly. She nods, the corner of her mouth twisting.

“Morozova was corrupted with merzost; it seeped into everything he created.”

She glances at Aleksander and you try your hardest not to think about the darkness staining his veins, poisoning his body. As she stares down at the flame flickering in her hand, you watch her move back into the heart of the workshop. Aleksander follows her without hesitation, as a bone deep instinct from his childhood seems to carry him forwards.

“We are his blood,” Baghra says, turning to her son. “There is no redemption for the Morozovas. A legacy of wrongdoing never made right… which ends today.” She looks at you, her eyes locking on yours. Too busy considering her next move, you struggle to decipher her expression. “I tried to warn you, girl. He is beyond saving.”

You shake your head.

“Baghra-”

Before either of you can stop her, she tosses the flaming torch over the contents of Morozova’s desk. The papers there burst into flames instantly. She retrieves another torch from the fixture on the wall as baskets filled with scrolls begin to crumble with the heat, consumed by the fire that burns brighter. Aleksander rushes towards Baghra, snatching the remaining torch from her hand.

“What have you done?” Aleksander asks, his eyes widened as he stares at her.

“What needed to be done, child.”

He shakes his head minutely, taking half a step back from his mother. His expression fractures, anger and sadness and unbridled heartbreak evident from the tears in his eyes and the slight quiver of his lips. Over the crackle of the flames rising, you can scarcely hear his shattered whisper,

“Have you no faith in me?”

“I loved you, Aleksander. Now, I see that was not enough.”

He flinches. Aleksander flinches.

The nonchalance and, at times, outright contempt that you have seen Baghra use when referring to her son has always made you angry. But seeing Aleksander recoil at her words has you wondering how much he has endured over the centuries and an ugly feeling stirs in your stomach.

The fox had remembered Aleksander as a child, and you feel ill at the thought of that small boy growing up believing his mother’s conditional love was all he deserved.

“Madraya,” he whispers weakly. Baghra gathers her hands together and the shadows stir to life. Then a startled cry escapes his lips as he drops the torch, moving forwards to stop her, “No!”

The Cut slices through Baghra’s middle, not a clean cut but deep enough to be fatal. She will bleed out in Aleksander’s arms. He reaches for her swaying body and her clouded eyes fix on the stag bone embedded in his hand, stained with merzost.

“Stupid boy,” she murmurs. Her legs give out and her son catches her.

He sinks to his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks as he holds Baghra close. Sobs heave at his shoulders, as he grips onto Baghra’s dress, rocking back and forth with the strength of his cries. He’s murmuring quietly, small pleas and apologies, and tears gather in your own eyes at the sight.

Aleksander is shaking as he reaches to close her eyes, smoothing her hair back with care. He chokes on another sob, a childlike whine of loss catching in his throat.

Slowly, you place your hand on his shoulder. His hold on Baghra loosens slightly, as he leans towards you. He rests his forehead against your collarbone, eyes shut tightly as grief settles into his heart.

“Aleksander. I’m so sorry, but we need to get out of here.”

He nods weakly. His eyes are unfocused as he looks at your surroundings, as if he isn’t truly seeing the flames curling around the two of you. Only Morozova blood, on the other side of the door can fix this. Knowing this, you search for an alternative to keep you alive.

“Maybe we could use some dirt to stop the fire?”

Aleksander nods, some clarity returning to his features as he comes back to himself somewhat.

“Search the floor,” he instructs you.

The two of you scour over the rough floor of the cave, giving Baghra’s body a wide berth. With every step, panic begins to fill you and your lungs tighten as the fire begins to rage around you.

The fox skitters frantically through your thoughts, agitated at being trapped with no escape. Aleksander heaves out a violent cough and worry spikes through your stomach. There’s a weary rasp to his voice as he asks,

“Anything?”

“It’s all stone,” you cry out.

“Here.”

Hurrying over to him, you stare down at a tiny patch of dry brown dirt. The ground is too solid for you to gather enough dirt to snuff out the fire that now blazes as more papers are consumed by flame.

“Aleksander, that isn’t enough.”

“Shift.”

“What?”

“Shift into your other form and dig yourself out of here.”

You frown at him.

“There isn’t time for me to get out and around to unlock the door.” Not to mention that only Morozova blood can activate the blood lock. Perhaps you could take the bloody handkerchief from his hand?

He shakes his head.

“I want you to leave me here.”

Stepping backwards, you shake your head with tears glossing in your eyes. The fox goes frighteningly still in your mind as you both stare at Aleksander.

“No. You told me not to leave you again.”

Something shatters in his expression as he steps closer to you, gripping onto your forearms as he insists softly,

“This is different.”

“The Grisha need someone to lead them,” you protest, trying to appeal to his rational side. No one can protect them like he does. He takes your hands as the flames creep up the walls of the cave.

“They have you,” he says lowly. “You understand what needs to be done. You understand sacrifice.”

Tears spill over your cheeks as you cry openly. The nichevo’ya stir in the shadows, responding to Aleksander’s distress but unable to materialise without his call.

“I do… but there’s one thing I can’t sacrifice. You, Aleksander. Everything I’ve done has been for you. I can’t- I won’t leave you.”

He draws you into his arms, sinking the two of you down onto the ground to escape the smoke. Coughs rattle through his lungs, as he breathes into the folded crook of his elbow. The frantic heaving of his chest frightens you and once his coughing stops he buries his face into the juncture of your neck. Every breath he takes is shaky and you can hear how thin the air is for him already.

“My sweet girl, I’m so sorry,” he whispers in a broken voice.

It takes everything in you to pull yourself from his arms, stumbling over towards the remains of the desk as Aleksander continues to choke on the smoke. Your own lungs itch in your chest, throat dry as you scramble through the surviving papers, searching for Morozova’s research on the blood lock. Everything requires balance, something must be able to counter the bond placed on the stone of the door. Something must be able to break the seal.

With shaking hands, you scour through charred papers, doing your best to beat the flames back with the sleeves of your kefta. Once you find what you’re looking for, you toss the little journal onto the dry-stone floor. Instantly, you sink to your knees beside it. Your mind is running faster than you can keep up with, turning pages like lightning, eyes flickering over the scribblings of Aleksander’s grandfather.

Then you find it. According to Morozova’s research, the only thing that can counter a blood lock is someone else’s blood.

Without any time to hesitate, you reach for the knife in your sleeve. Grisha steel bites into your palm, sticky red blossoming from the cut which you smear over the surface of the door, mimicking the pattern drawn onto one of the pages you had seen.Using both hands, you place them in a familiar position and draw upon your power.

Concentrating on the lock is difficult. With the air thinning, sweat rolling down your skin and emotions running high in your mind, focusing on the stone cogs that will open the door seems almost impossible. The fox bares his teeth in the back of your mind and your doubts cower away. Then there’s a low groan from the door.

A gasp catches in the back of your throat as a thin sliver of daylight slips through the gap, pale and faint but it’s the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen. There’s the sound of movement behind you, but all your energy has been placed on forcing the door to open.

Aleksander presses his chest against your back, encaging you with his arms so that he can curl both of his hands around each of your wrists. His power flows alongside yours, helping you to slowly shift the mechanisms of the lock held in place by his grandfather’s blood.

Even with Aleksander’s amplification, it’s a struggle. It’s only once you notice the darkness crawling over his hands that you turn back to look at him.

Black skeins of merzost creep over his cheeks, his blood thick with the dark magic he’s drawing into his body to continue amplifying your power. The veins in his neck are stained with shadow, curling around his throat as he struggles to breathe. The sound of his lungs rattling has tears blurring your vision.

“Aleksander,” you whisper, your voice hoarse with emotion.

“Don’t look at me,” he insists. “Just focus on the door.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you draw upon every scrap of power inside you. There’s a fierce sound of stone grating against stone which rings in your ears. A large sigh of relief heaves at your shoulders, though a sharp cough rattles in your chest at the sudden inhale of smoke.

As you emerge from the cave, Aleksander appears to be on the verge of losing consciousness. Draping his arm over your shoulders, you manage to drag the two of you from the smoke. He stumbles over his feet, struggling to keep himself upright after the exertion of amplifying your power. Both of you wobble unsteadily, clinging to one another for support as you attempt to get back to your horses.

Stones and mud scuff against your boots, making your journey all the more difficult. There’s a fierce pain at your temples, coughs wrack through your body alongside Aleksander. He bends, doubled over, as he chokes. Black blood drips from his nose and lips, running down his chin.

He sinks to his knees and you fall with him, the world spins as dry leaves touch your palms. Aleksander is on his back, your legs somewhat tangled with his as you struggle to stay conscious.

Voices in the distance have anxiety spiking in your chest but when you lift your head to survey the oncoming threat, the blood rushes to your head. Stars sparkle in your vision, your breath shifting into rapid gasps before you collapse against Aleksander’s chest.

»»---------------------►

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[rowritesstuff]

Avoidance (Nikolai Lantsov x Female Reader)

A/N: Heyyyy... it's been a minute... soooo, I could just drop this without saying anything about my disappearance from Tumblr (I mean, I've still been active, but I haven't posted anything), but I figured I should say something. I'm fine. Life's good. I just didn't have the motivation to write. Anyways, this probably sucks ass, but here ya go.

Ro's Masterpost

WORD COUNT: 2.3k words

WARNINGS: SMUT, friends to lovers, argument/yelling, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V (please use a condom), fingering (kinda).

You laughed while Nikolai told the story of a shared childhood memory he had recalled earlier in the day.

You had been seven years old and it was Nikolai's eighth birthday. Another noble boy, the son of a count, you believed, bullied Nikolai throughout his entire birthday party, and you had made it your sole mission to ruin the boy's life, or day at the very least.

You had actually succeeded. You had known that his parents didn't allow him to eat sweets, so you managed to convince him to have one of every pastry served at the party, of which there were quite a few, with it being a young prince's birthday party.

"The poor boy's parents were fuming when they caught him with his face covered in frosting," you cackled and Nikolai threw a pillow from your sofa, which you were both sitting on, at you, which only made you laugh harder.

"I believe they banned him from any social events for a month because of that incident." Nikolai took a small sip of his whiskey.

"I still think he deserved it."

"Oh, of course."

You settled in a comfortable silence, sipping your drinks, chuckling every few seconds. Nikolai scooted closer to you on the couch, moving the pillow he had thrown at you off your lap and next to him.

You leaned your head on his shoulder. He took a deep inhale before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him as he took a final sip of his whiskey. Noticing that you had also finished your drink, he took your glass and placed both yours and his on the table in front of you before settling back into you.

"For the record, I would do the same thing for you," Nikolai said, breaking the silence.

You snorted. "You have done the same thing. Remember when we were sixteen? We had just enlisted and that stupid asshole-"

You were interrupted by Nikolai's lips crashing onto yours, pulling you into a kiss. You tensed up for just a few seconds, but before you could return the kiss, he pulled away and turned his body away from you.

"Nik."

Nikolai gathered his coat from your couch and stood up, leaving your room without another word.

Your jaw dropped at the shock that he just left right after kissing you without even giving you a chance to say anything.

Nikolai avoided you for two weeks. Anytime you tried to speak to him he would walk away as if he had somewhere to be. Which, with him being a king, he very well may have had somewhere to be, but it was still rude.

Since he wouldn't come to you, you would go to him. No matter if it was the middle of the night.

You banged on his door, aggressively knocking until he finally opened the door.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed. "It's late. You should be sleeping."

"So should you, but you're not even dressed for bed," you slipped past him and entered his room, stopping at a small table covered in piles of documents of work and you picked one up, "and you're working."

Nikolai closed his door behind you and leaned his back against the wall. "Well, you're dressed for bed." He gestured to the robe that was wrapped around you, covering your nightgown. "Why are you here?"

You dropped the paper back on the table. "I'm here because you kissed me two weeks ago and you have been avoiding me since." He lowered his head to avoid your gaze. "I deserve an explanation."

"I shouldn't have kissed you."

You stomped over to Nikolai. "Says who?"

"Me!" He pointed to his chest. "I shouldn't have put you in that position!"

"If you had waited one more second I would have kissed you back! I was just shocked because I didn't think you returned my feelings for you!"

Nikolai shook his head. "We're not doing this."

"Why?"

He gripped your arms, not nearly enough to hurt you, and pulled your body closer to his. He lowered his lips to your ear. "Because if we start, I won't want to stop," he whispered.

"And what if I don't want you to stop?"

He pulled back from you a little, looking into your eyes. E/C eyes that showed your love for him, your desire for him, and your anger toward him for ignoring you for two weeks.

He swallowed and moved his hands from gripping your upper arms to your lower back, covered by that damn silk robe. He had seen you in it many times before and he considered each moment a blessing. It was your favorite color and it suited your body perfectly.

"Are you sure?"

You nodded. "Yes."

Now having your permission, he spun the two of you, you now pinned against the wall he was previously leaning on. He captured your lips against his, pushing you even closer to the wall while one of your hands landed on the nape of his neck, curling into the short hair there, and the other went to his upper back, pushing him closer to your body.

He obliged your hand's desire, pressing himself against you. His lips wandered from yours to your jaw, then down to your neck. You let out a sigh as you moved your head to the side to give him more access. In appreciation, he sucked a hickey into your neck.

As Nikolai kissed down your body, your hand gripped his hair. Once he was fully kneeling in front of you, he looked up into your eyes as he untied the tie of your robe. He opened the silk fabric, giving him full view of your nightgown-covered body. He pressed a kiss to your clothed hip bone and looked up at you again. "Can you please take your robe off, darling?"

You pushed the robe off your shoulders and let it fall down your arms, dropping it into a pool of silk at your feet. Taking advantage of the robe on the floor, Nikolai placed it under his knees to protect himself from kneeling on the hard floors.

Nikolai dragged his fingers up your leg into your nightgown, pushing it up to your waist. You took the nightgown off and threw it off to the side.

You were left in only your underwear that blocked the one thing Nikolai had on his mind in that moment.

"Can I take these off?" he asked.

"Yes," you whispered.

He dragged the small garment down your legs, lifting your feet to completely remove them from your body.

He took a moment to drink in the visual of your completely naked body. You were perfect. You were the only Saint that he would ever worship, and he intended to do just that.

He nudged your right leg a little bit away from your left, giving you the hint to spread your legs. Once you were where he wanted you, his hands went to your hips and he gave them little massages as he moved his face closer to you.

You took deep breaths as you watched him move closer until he finally placed a kiss on your clit. You gasped, one hand returning to his hair and the other holding onto the doorframe next to you for support.

Nikolai kissed wet, open-mouthed kisses around your pussy, leaving you gasping and moaning while he kept looking up at your face. He kissed and licked and sucked at your entrance and your grip tightened on his messy blond curls.

He licked from your entrance to your clit, closing his eyes as he sucked at it. Your hand moved from his hair to the back of his head to push his face closer into you. After a little fluttering of his tongue on your pussy, then your clit, a high overcame you, making you lean your head back on the wall. One of Nikolai's hands came up to your side to massage it as he worked you through the orgasm, greedily licking at all of your wetness until you pushed his head away.

He smiled as he fell to the floor before he stood back up, holding you against him as he kissed your cheek, whispering praises into your ear while you recovered.

"I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you."

You pulled him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. Slowly, you began making your way to Nikolai's bed until you hit his mattress. You fell down onto the bed, Nikolai following, placing himself on top of you.

You broke the kiss and scrambled to unbutton Nikolai's shirt. Your hands were still shaking, making it difficult to undo the buttons. Noticing your shaking hands, Nikolai took hold of your hands, stopping you. He pressed light kisses on your fingertips.

"Go ahead and lay on the pillows. I'll be right there."

You scooted yourself up his mattress, laying your head comfortably on his pillows as he had asked you to. Only a moment later, Nikolai was crawling above you, completely bare. You looked down his body from his chest, and lower, and lower.

Nikolai gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. He pressed a soft kiss in between your eyebrows. "Have you done this before?" he asked.

You nodded. You had had a few flings in your lifetime, as you were sure Nikolai did too, especially during his time as Sturmhond. He had his own flings on the Volkvolny, as did you.

"Good. I'll give you as much time as you need to adjust and if you ever need me to stop, you let me know. I don't want to hurt you."

You gave him a quick kiss. "You could never hurt me. Except for when you avoided me for two weeks, but- Saints."

His cock entering you interrupted you, though it was quite the pleasant interruption. He filled you slowly and perfectly. Nikolai kissed your cheek as his hips met yours. You took some deep breaths as you got used to the feeling of his cock inside of you. Finally, you gave him a ready nod.

Nikolai started off slowly and it wasn't until you asked him to go faster that he sped up. He kissed you deeply as he fucked you. You moaned into those kisses, the feeling of his cock sending you into euphoria.

"Fuck!" you cursed. "A little harder please?"

He obeyed, going just a bit harder, but enough to have you seeing stars. Your hand started moving down your body to rub at your clit, but Nikolai swatted your hand away and rubbed your clit in small circles himself.

Your hands returned to his hair for the millionth time that night, gripping the blond tufts. He gasped.

"Shit, can you pull it harder?"

You tugged on his hair, making him moan loudly. You smiled as you continued pulling on his hair, loving the sounds that escaped him at the feeling.

He began thrusting into you rougher, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm.

"Nik, fuck! I'm so close!"

Nikolai rubbed at your clit harder. "Me too. Where do you want it?"

"In me! Just-" You groaned, your orgasm overcoming you.

Nikolai wasn't far behind you. It was only a few seconds after your orgasm when you felt his cum shoot into you. He stilled, peppering kisses on your forehead and cheeks.

After you recovered, he slowly pulled out of you, rolling off you and onto the bed to your right. He opened a drawer in his nightstand, grabbed something, and closed it before rolling back to face you and handing you the Alkemi contraceptive. You drank it and he took the empty bottle, placing it on top of the nightstand.

He pulled you closer to him, where your side was tucked close to his torso. The both of you rested in this position for a few moments, you laying on your back, him on his side.

"I'm an idiot," Nikolai said quietly.

You smiled. "Congratulations, you've finally caught up with the rest of us."

He gently pinched your side before lightly laughing.

"What I mean is I shouldn't have avoided you. I shouldn't have left your room that night without letting you say or do anything. I'm sorry."

Your thumb rubbed his cheek. "Apology accepted. On one condition. You tell me how long you've been in love with me."

Nikolai groaned. "My eighth birthday party is when it started. When I saw how determined you were to ruin that idiot's life over him being mean to me."

You laughed. "Wow. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't that."

"Now it's your turn."

You shook your head. "I'm not the one who owed an apology."

Nikolai raised his brows. "Fine. Since you don't want to tell me..."

He moved his hand from your side to your clit, rubbing small circles again. You threw your head back on the pillows, cursing.

"Shit, Nik."

He didn't stop. He kept rubbing your clit, occasionally dipping into your pussy for more moisture. He sped up his motions until you came once again. He gathered all of the wetness on his fingers and licked it all off.

"When we were 16 and had just enlisted. That asshole Novikov was harassing me. You punched him in the face one day. Three times. You broke his nose. That's when I fell in love with you."

"Awww. We both fell in love with each other when we harmed other people." He kissed your forehead. "Should we be concerned about that?"

"Probably, but right now, I want to sleep."

Nikolai hummed in response, pulling the blankets over the two of you. You turned to lay on your side as he got up to blow out all of the candles. When he finally got back in bed, he pulled you into him, your back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you.

"I love you," Nikolai whispered.

You closed your eyes. "I love you, too."

"Good night."

You softly smiled to yourself. "Good night."

[5secondsofsomerhalder]

I’m rereading siege and storm and I started smiling and giggling as soon as Sturmhond started talking; this is going to be a real problem

I have this problem where I start smiling every time Nikolai starts speaking

[depressedbagpipe]

A Heartrender's Fire: ch. IV

Tolya Yul-Bataar x Lantsov!ofc

Words: 5205 Warnings: vasily lantsov, misogyny (mentioned), someone gets a hit to the head a couple of times, anxiety? i guess, david, netflix's poor pacing choices (what even is neshyenyer), made up ravkan A/N: and off we go! why on earth are these chapters so long like wtf am i writing💀 anyways, i think i suck at writing slowburn? or romance in general

Series Masterlist Previous chapter <> Next chapter

IV: Every Monstrous Thing

“Why must you always play the diplomat, Nikolai?” Vasily spoke with disgust in his voice. “Grisha dining beside true Ravkan soldiers is a bit much for all our stomachs.”

“Wow, Vasily, I almost forgot how annoying your voice is,” Irina rolled her eyes.

“Really? I could never forget how stupidly insufferable you still are, dear sister,” he counter-attacked.

“Shut it, you two,” their Queen mother commanded lowly, smiling again for her fellow court members. 

The lines on her face were a lot more prominent after Genya’s departure, and Irina almost frowned at the sight of her mother, looking old and frail. She had always known the constant alterations were only physical, but the Queen of Ravka had always made sure nobody would see her look anything other than perfect. 

“We are all Ravkan here,” Alina spoke after a few seconds of silence, also wanting to defend herself against the heir to the throne. 

The Sun Summoner sat next to Irina at the end of the table, the odd one out in the picture-perfect royal family. Nikolai and Irina had changed into proper garments as soon as they had arrived at the Spinning Wheel per their mother’s request, and seeing each other dressed in something other than their usual attire at sea was beyond baffling. It had been too long, and although both of them automatically knew how to behave as princes, Irina particularly felt she was playing a character. 

“Doesn’t need to be us versus them,” Nikolai added, looking for conciliation.

“General Kirigan should’ve thought of that before he tried to murder my father and stage a coup,” he looked at the King, whose poor wealth was becoming more apparent with every passing second. 

Nikolai and Irina shared a glance at their older brother’s words, never missing the double meaning Vasily always added when he spoke of his birthright. The King was leaning on his chair, barely touching his food, with his gaze lost somewhere in front of him. Irina almost felt bad for the man, yet he had barely shown any interest or affection in either of his lesser kids when they still lived in Os Alta. Deep down, he knew too. 

“That said, absent their Darkling, the Grisha are rather easy to manage.”

“By ‘manage,’ do you mean ‘execute,’ moi tsarevich?” Alina asked with a fierce smile. 

Irina repressed a smile, glad she had yet another person supporting her hatred for her older brother sitting next to her at the table. 

“That fate is reserved for traitors to the Crown, Miss Starkov.”

“If the Second Army requires a leader loyal to the Crown to assure their fealty, then I will lead them.”

Irina gripped her goblet, suddenly interested in the dark and luxurious wine that she had been unwillingly drinking for the past hour. She certainly preferred the cheapest options in beverages, because those belonged at sea with Sturmhond and Ainthe. 

Vasily laughed audibly, looking at their mother before turning again to face the Sun Summoner. “Why should I believe you have any loyalty to my family?”

Irina was already taking a big gulp of her drink when Nikolai stood up, his loud voice taking up the entire chapel they were having dinner at. 

“Today marks the start of a new era of cooperation between Lantsovs and the Grisha,” silence filled the room as they stared at the second son, wondering. “I’m delighted to announce my engagement to Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner and new leader of the Second Army. Together, we will build a better future for Ravka,” he concluded.

Irina quickly surveyed the room. All Grisha cheered, edged on by the twins presiding the table to the left. The rest of the court and soldiers weren’t as buoyant. They shared worried looks, some of them shaking their heads in disbelief, others frowning deeply, staring at the King and Vasily for guidance they wouldn’t ever get. Irina tried to remain impassive, showing no emotion. Princesses didn’t get to care about politics, according to her mother. That was only reserved for the King. 

Nikolai sat down, yet his hand shook a little, drops spilling off his own goblet as he put it back down on the table.

“That was a bit much,” Alina commented, hiding behind her goblet. Her eyes were fixed on Mal, whose head had dropped in defeat. 

“Understatement is overrated.”

Vasily didn’t take long to leave, either. His chair made a profound squeaking noise against the marble as he pushed his chair away, his meal forgotten. 

“Thank Saints he’s gone,” Irina smiled, taking a big bite of her meal with a happy smirk, more animated than she had been since she had stepped foot into the dining room.

“Are you sure about this, Sobachka?” the Queen spoke to her son, her daughter forgotten. As usual. “I understand the political alignment, but is this what’s best for your long-term positioning?”

“This is what’s best for me and for Ravka, Madraya. Your other son is working hard to send this country into civil war. I aim to stand in his way,” Nikolai responded. 

His mother sighed. “It’s best I’d better plan some sort of official celebration.”

“Now’s not the time for parties.”

“Back straight, shoulders back, elbows down. Smile,” Irina whispered to Alina, trying to fix the Sun Summoner’s posture. “If you’re about to become a princess, you need to start behaving like one.”

“You know I don’t plan on that,” she frowned, yet she followed the princess’s orders. Her attempt was almost comical with how she had been sitting before Irina’s comment, but she had to give it to Alina. It wasn’t easy pretending to be graceful and poised when all you would rather do was run free in the wild.

“I know. But they don’t,” Irina discreetly motioned to the people before them, soldiers from their royal guard, court members, and Grisha alike, staring at her with newfound expressions. “As long as you play the part, they’ll follow you.” She took another glance at her mother. “You want to be in her favor, too, at least for now.”

Both girls looked at the blonde woman, who, at the same time, was already setting the details for whatever celebration she wanted to throw in honor of her youngest son’s engagement. 

“I’ll have my seamstress run you up something appropriate.”

Alina only smiled at her, taking another gulp. 

Irina wanted to laugh, or cry, or both. When had life become so complicated? 

–·–

“Sometimes I wonder,” Irina took a breath. “What would have happened if I had come clean since the start? Would Ravka be any different? A Grisha princess… maybe we wouldn’t be here now.”

Irina looked around, making sure to speak in hushed voices. Nikolai walked beside her, occasionally smiling at the many refugees that littered the Spinning Wheel. Tolya trailed after them, always vigilant, no doubt listening to their conversation, yet Irina didn’t mind. Tolya could always have access to the deepest parts of her soul, and she’d gladly allow him in every time. Nikolai had ordered Tamar to guard Alina while she remained under the Crown’s protection, knowing even in his own house she wouldn’t always be safe. Tolya, instead, guarded the siblings, becoming a safe shadow in every corner. Even though Irina hated having a bodyguard, she was glad it was Tolya trailing after her. She wouldn’t have felt safer had it been someone else.

“You know pretty damn well what would’ve happened, Irina. You would’ve become yet another pawn on Kirigan’s plan.”

“Would I?”

“Just think. The leader of the Second Army, betrothed to the princess of Ravka. It would only take him five seconds to get rid of his competition and sit himself on the throne.”

The girl frowned, stopping dead in her trail. “Is there any scenario where I don’t become a bargaining chip?”

Nikolai grimaced but didn’t need to say further. They both knew what the future for a princess always held, no matter the circumstances. 

Her brother looked at her, almost pleading. “You would’ve left eventually, Irina. I know that. I know you. You were never meant to spend your days locked away in a palace.”

“Neither were you.” She jokingly punched his arm, eliciting a smirk from the prince.

“That’s why we have Vasily for,” Nikolai laughed. 

“Thankfully.”

Nikolai smiled at two Summoners who bowed as they walked by them, and Irina stared after them longingly. Many Etherealki still wore their blue keftas, even though most of them rejected General Kirigan’s old status quo. Irina could understand them, anyway, wanting to at least feel like they had a place to belong. Wearing their keftas was the only thing tying most of them to their past –a past that had yet to be tarnished by civil wars. 

“You know, blue doesn’t suit you,” Nikolai commented, quickly piecing the puzzle together after seeing what her sister had been staring at.

“Gold doesn’t either.”

Her golden apparel mirrored her brother’s. Both of them the vivid images of the golden Ravka. Even if there wasn’t anything left of it. 

“I’d much rather see you in red.”

Irina and Nikolai had hidden their jackets, erasing any trace of Ainthe and Sturmhond. Nobody but them, save for the Heartrender twins and now Alina and Mal knew of their identities. Irina knew the day of the reveal was coming closer at a fast rate, but she wanted to hold on longer to her fiery red garment, a gift Sturmhond had gotten her after she joined his crew. It was only fit that his second-in-command would wear clothes worthy of a ship captain –especially if said captain could summon fire with just a thought. 

Irina smiled a pained smirk. “You and me both.”

“When all of this is over, we’ll go back home. To the Volkvolny. To sea.”

The princess shook her head. “What about Alina?”

“What about her?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You like her.”

“And she likes Mal.”

“Besides,” she insisted. “We both know things are about to change forever. Doesn’t matter how much we want to go back, maybe we never will.”

They both frowned at the reality they had desperately tried not to think about. They both felt it deep in their souls –there was no turning back from this.

“Moi tsarevich!” 

Both siblings turned their heads at the sight of Mal running after them, his eyes wild and angry. Tolya stood straighter despite Mal having proven over and over only to be loyal to his Saint. 

“What’s wrong?” Nikolai asked, frowning. 

“You better come see this.”

–·–

“David.”

Alina’s murderous glance was enough to make Irina shiver. Hers wasn’t the look of a powerful Grisha; hers were the eyes of utter betrayal. She arrived shortly with Tamar and Nadia, the Squaller that had welcomed her at the Spinning Wheel. Nikolai’s petite commitée had gathered at the same war room they had improvised the day before, only this time, David Kostyk, trusted Fabrikator back at the Darkling’s Little Palace, was pathetically standing by the center of the room, with both hands separated to prevent him from using the Small Science. 

David awkwardly waved at the mention of his name, his eyes perking up slightly after seeing Alina.

“Oh, so you do know him,” Nikolai groaned, walking forward to stand next to Alina, which only angered Mal more. “He claims to have escaped from a very alive General Kirigan.”

If the situation wasn’t dire enough, Irina would have laughed. David was tall, yet Tolya, taller and bigger, seemed to loom over him completely. The princess was aware of the many separations the Grisha bore back at the Little Palace, yet she couldn’t understand how the Fabrikator before her could hold such power to attract the Darkling. Yet, she was one to talk. She had practically hidden herself away since she was born only to not give away her own strength. After Alina, the Stag, and the Sea Whip, Irina Lantsov was starting to believe anything could be possible.

“He gave himself up without a struggle. We found this on him,” Nikolai gave the crumpled diary to Alina. “He says it’s one of Morozova’s journals.” He turned back to David, speaking in a louder, boastful voice. “I, for one, am dying to know more, but he insisted he speak with you.”

“Alina,” David tried, yet Tolya’s firm hand on his chest prevented David from walking any further. The Heartrender didn’t even look at him, yet David recoiled, defeated, ready to fight his case.

Irina felt almost ashamed at how Tolya’s action had her warm up. He sat casually on the railing, almost bored, knowing he could take down the Fabrikator before the slimmer man even thought about it, should it be necessary. Irina was having a really hard time not to smile. She knew the Heartrender could be deadly, yet he barely chose violence if he could help it. But his appearance told otherwise, and that was enough for any enemy to think twice before attacking the half-Shu. 

“I know I wronged you,” David began. “Please believe I regret my role in that deeply. I know you have reason to distrust me, but I have no loyalty to General Kirigan.”

“He survived the Volcra?” Alina asked.

“I’m afraid so. He also knows that you survived and that you’re in East Ravka.”

Mal intervened. “Tell us where he is.”

“No, no, no,” David shook his head. “Mm-mm, that would be a very bad idea–”

“You can’t expect us to trust you unless you’re willing to share information,” Alina pressed on. 

Tolya readjusted on his seat, noticing the tension rise in the room. He discreetly looked at his sister, standing a little too close to Nadia. He saw Nikolai, standing in between Alina and Mal. And he stared at Irina, standing by herself, with squinted eyes and trembling hands. 

“Confronting him would be suicide.” David sighed again, looking at every single person before finally giving in. “Kirigan used merzost to create something in the Fold. Creatures that do his bidding, the size of two men.” It was comical the way David moved his hands, trying to get his point across. “Formed of pure shadow. They have no breath to take, no heart to stop, no blood to drain. Yet they live.”

Irina felt her own heartbeat pick up at the thought of such monsters. She had only very recently come to terms with the fact that a living Saint was standing and breathing next to her, and now these creatures were freely roaming her homeland. That was a lot for the young princess to take. 

“They live and they kill. They are nichevo’ya. Nothing. Bullets, blades, fire, all simply pass through. And they walk freely in sunlight.”

Everybody looked at David in silence, wrapping their heads around his words. Irina tried to share a look with her brother, as they usually did in every meeting back at the Volkvolny, but the blond prince was looking at Alina. The sudden lack of fraternal comfort only came with another wave of nervousness. The room suddenly seemed darker, colder, and heavier, and the many candles that surrounded the group weren’t enough for Irina’s mind. Despite the light that came from the skylight at the dome of the chapel, darkness seemed to creep around them at its mere mention.

David finished his deadly blow. “I fear that merzost may be the only way to kill them.”

“So how did you manage to get away?” Mal fired the question everybody was dying to know.

David’s face paled even more, looking Alina straight in the eye. “Genya.”

Even Nikolai and Irina perked up at the mention of their mother’s Tailor. Although Irina hadn’t seen much of her, due to their mother keeping her hidden away for her personal use, she could imagine the hatred she had harbored for her family for years. It made sense that she had worked alongside the Darkling to bring the Royal Family down, and even though Irina wasn’t a fan of them either, save for her older brother, she couldn’t help but feel the twinge of betrayal in her chest. 

This time, Nikolai looked at his sister, yet Irina had her gaze lost somewhere in the darkness in front of her, already spiraling into a thousand different thoughts. It didn’t take a genius to recognize the pure terror on the princess’ face.

“We tried to escape together, but… the nichevo’ya. She sacrificed herself to get me out. I don’t know if she survived.”

Tolya then spoke, with one hand discreetly placed before him. “A smart spy will always play the victim.”

Irina didn’t have time to wonder what her friend was doing, for she immediately felt her heart slow. She looked down, unconsciously allowing the contactless source to apply pressure on her chest, effectively breaking her pattern of thoughts as the blood in her system flowed slow and steady, instead of the erratic speed it had just previously harbored.

Breathe. She felt his words inside her skull, almost enough to lull her to sleep. Her eyes unfocused for a second before the girl turned her attention back to the Fabrikator, still feeling the pressure in her chest, only the anxiety had seemed to evaporate with one last breath. Although she hated it when either of the twins used their power on her like that, unprompted and abruptly, she was now grateful that Tolya had seen her despair before it could get worse.

“No, no,” David shook his head. 

“You make a valid point, Tolya,” Nikolai picked Tolya up. “As leader of the Second Army, this is your call,” he looked at Alina, who looked back at Nadia.

“You’ve known David the longest. What do you think?”

The Squaller had not stopped looking at David, but she still responded in a whisper. “Kirigan always kept him very close.”

“Take him to a holding cell,” Alina declared, looking at Tolya, whose hand was still aimed at his princess.

The giant nodded, slowly breaking the connection with Irina with a small nod in her direction, and quickly walked away with David, taking all of the tension with them.

–·–

Irina found Tolya a while later right by the small fountain inside the chapel. The dome stood directly above him, showering the room in light, which the Heartrender used to read his poetry. Some of the Grisha around him eyed him warily, almost afraid, and once again, Irina had to laugh. He wasn’t the deadliest person in the room.

She smirked, seeing as he hadn’t heard her coming yet. She tried blending in with the background as much as she could, sneaking up behind him and scaring him as she forcefully gripped his arms. The girl laughed at the little jump the giant did, congratulating herself on scaring the scariest man in the room. Good-natured Tolya didn’t have the heart to tell Irina that he could recognize her presence anywhere, even before she came into the opening.

“Thank you for earlier,” Irina said as she sat down next to him, fixing her attire after taking a big gulp of air to calm down. 

Tolya smiled at her. “Anytime. I thought you were going to faint any minute.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Irina thought about it for a second but decided against it. “I’d much rather forget all about it for now. What are you reading?” Although she knew Tolya would eventually ask again, she sighed in relief when she saw him pick his book up again, and open it up.

“Selected poems from Negu Kir-Tizur,” he leaned on the fountain, lowering his arms so Irina could see the poems better.

She frowned. “They’re in Shu.”

“You forget I am half-Shu,” he softly hit her with the book in her head, earning another giggle from her.

“I can’t read Shu, you dumbass” she laughed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, moi tsarevicha, I forgot to speak the language of the Saints,” he mocked her, feeling desperate all of a sudden to hear her laugh once again.

That’s exactly what he got. “Hey, that’s not fair!” she giggled again. “You know I always ask you to teach me and then you never do!”

“It’d take years! I don’t think you’d ever understand the complicated themes of the Shu verse,” he continued his teasing, which Irina adored.

“And why is that?” she crossed her arms, trying not to smile.

“You don’t have the patience for that.”

Irina was about to fight him, but she knew he was right. “Well.”

It was Tolya’s turn to laugh. The melodic sound was carried through the dome with its marble columns, and for a second, Irina thought about how that memory would always haunt her in her mind. How, for a few moments, she wasn’t the princess of a dying nation, but a normal girl, talking to the boy she was desperately trying not to like.

“But… I can translate it for you?” Tolya offered, his fingers skimming through the paper, looking for the one poem he knew his companion would like.

“Please,” Irina smiled innocently, using the book as an excuse to not stare into his eyes.

But their moment didn’t last long, because Malyen Oretsev always seemed to have the most perfect importunate timing.

“I was skimming this again for leads on the Firebird, then I remembered a legend about a sword from Shu Han.” Mal had taken it upon himself to read over and over the Istorii Sankt’ya. He claimed it was only to find another way to help Alina, but Irina knew Mal was looking for a way out in it.

Tolya resumed on turning pages of his poetry book, not yet ready to burst the little bubble Irina and he had accidentally summoned for themselves.

“Neshyenyer. The Relentless Blade.”

“You know of it?”

He shrugged. “Of course I do. It’s a folktale. The Fabrikator Kho created an unkillable army made of cogs and bone–”

“Until the Fabrikator Neyar forged Neshyenyer,” Mal finished for him. He showed Tolya and Irina the paintings in the book, reading the words. “‘When Neyar fought, her blade flashed so brightly that people watching swore she had lightning in her hands.’ A blade so sharp it could cut shadow.”

Tolya chuckled. “It’s a bedtime story. My culture has the best myths.”

Irina slapped him across the head, much in the same way he had done earlier with her, only harder. He could take it.

“Ouch.”

“The Sea Whip was a myth,” said Mal with a smirk at their interaction. “So was the Stag. And they were real. She killed an unkillable army. This could be the weapon we need against Kirigan’s monsters. And this book… says it’s in a temple in Ahmrat Jen.”

“No, I doubt that. The one on display is widely rumored to be fake.”

But that didn’t let Mal down. “Okay, how do we find the real one?”

“Who has the money and means to acquire valuable weapons?”

Mal looked at Irina, but she quickly raised her hands in innocence.

“Wrong sibling.”

–·–

“The blade in Ahmrat Jen is indeed a replica,” Nikolai sighed. He hadn’t left the improvised war room at all, and the exhaustion was evident in his voice. “And the original was stolen long ago. I suspect it’s never left Shu Han. If it turned up in the wider black market, Sturmhond would’ve heard about it.”

“This could be the only weapon able to kill Kirigan’s shadow creatures. We need to find it.”

“It’s a valuable old sword, sure. That doesn’t mean the story behind it is true.”

“Any chance is better than no chance,” Mal argued.

Nikolai grinned. “That’s a very Sturmhond thing to say. Were he here, he would surely commend you.”

“It’s a little bit unsettling how you talk about him like he’s someone else.”

“Get used to it,” Irina commented.

“And he would suggest that our mutual friends in Ketterdam might be the perfect crew for the job.”

“You’re really gonna trust the Crows with this?” 

Irina trailed after him, right after they finished their meeting with Tolya and Mal. The giant had volunteered to find it, and rapidly Nikolai had issued a request for a Squaller to join him.

“Not just the Crows. I trust Tolya,” he said as he stepped into his room, turning around to face his sister as she closed the door behind her. “And I trust you.”

Irina froze. “Me?”

“You.”

“You’re sending me away for this?”

Nikolai could argue all he wanted about how he just wanted his best people to get the sword, but Irina knew better.

“Yeah. If anything the Durast said is true, I don’t want you anywhere near Ravka while the Darkling is still alive.”

“That’s not fair. You need every loyal person right here.”

“Irina.”

“Nikolai.”

“I do trust you and Tolya to get the sword. He’ll need an Inferni to cross the Fold, that’s where you come in. And even if this little mission didn’t succeed, I’d still feel better knowing you’re not within the Darkling’s range.”

She shook her head. “Do you think I feel any better knowing I’m leaving you here alone?”

“I’m not alone! I have the Sun Summoner!” He walked to his closet, pulled an army pack from it, and handed it to his sister. “Everything you need is already here. Including your coat.”

She stared at her brother for a few seconds before taking the bag from his hand. “You’re awfully prepared.”

“I always am.”

“Was this your plan since the beginning?”

He shrugged. “I have my own bag, too.”

She shook her head. “And what do I do? Am I supposed to be Irina or Ainthe?”

“Whatever feels right to you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’ll know when the moment comes.”

“Nikolai.”

“Irina, do whatever you want. I’m not letting you live in my shadow forever. This is your time to make your own decisions.”

“I want to stay.”

“Except that one,” he tried to smile but failed. He stood before his sister, staring at her as if trying to remember the sight of her. “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen here, but it doesn’t look good. Should anything happen to me or Vasily, you’ll know what to do. But please, just do me this one favor and step away, at least until we can defeat those shadow creatures. Please.”

It wasn’t like Nikolai Lantsov to beg. Irina knew right then just how much she meant to her brother. He was willing to send her away on a permanent vacation just so she wouldn’t have to face the horrors that roamed freely in Ravka. 

You do what you have to do to protect the people you love. But how do I protect you?

But before Irina could ask, Nikolai was already shoving her out of his room.

“Get ready, you leave at three bells.”

The door was closed after her, leaving a confused and quite afraid young girl in an empty hall of the Spinning Wheel.

Almost automatically, Irina simply followed his instructions, changing into her old pirate’s clothes and keeping her mind as empty as possible. She didn’t have time to cry. It wasn’t the first time the girl left on a mission for a few days without her brother, but for some reason, she knew things would be much different once she came back.

Her red coat felt like a second skin on her, and for a split second, she grinned. The blood in her veins and the coat in her arms would always be something she shared with Nikolai. 

It didn’t take her long to walk back onto the main entrance, where her small party was waiting, together with Mal and Tamar..

“If anyone can find Neshyenyer, I suspect it’s them,” Mal agreed. “Thick as thieves, those Crows. Clever too. Managed to cross the Fold on some sort of fortified train.”

“Last time I was in Ketterdam, I didn’t get to stop at the Kooperom for an omelet,” Tolya commented out loud.

Tamar groaned. “Oh, so that’s why you volunteered. Without me, who’ll stop you from following your stomach off the edge of a cliff?”

“That’d be me.” Irina stepped into the light, joining their conversation. 

Tolya almost broke his neck at the sound of her voice, smiling a wide grin as he got his pistol ready. Tamar’s eyes twinkled at the prospect of her best friend and her brother on a mission together, and she would’ve made another smart remark at that had Zoya Nazyalensky not interrupted them.

“I thought we were leaving at three bells?”

Irina had yet to share a word with the Squaller, but her stiff posture and annoyed voice almost made her roll her eyes. She did recoil at the sight of the princess, but she still looked at Tolya with a questioning glance.

“Tolya’s trying to cram his entire poetry library into his pack,” Tamar smiled at his brother as he gave him his last book, which didn’t fit.

Zoya frowned, disgusted. “Poetry?”

Tolya began. “Long may the night whose dark–”

“No,” Zoya cut him off, making Tamar giggle and Tolya frown. “There’ll be none of that.”

Mal patted him on the back and whispered to the remaining party. “Bring back Neshyenyer for Alina, alright?”

“We will, don’t worry,” Irina said, taking the book from Tolya’s hand and shoving it into her backpack, not missing the appreciative grin the giant sent her way.

The three of them followed Zoya, who had already opened the door to the outside and was walking down the stairs.

“That was from Rabinov’s Cantos. A definitive work.”

Tamar trailed after them. “Yeah, now let’s go over the snacks you’ll bring back from Shu Han…”

“Guys? A word?” Nikolai suddenly called as they were about to exit.

The four of them stood at the entrance, looking at each other with fondness in their hearts.

“Take care of each other. I know I don’t have to worry about you two out there together, but be careful.” 

Tolya nodded, with a solemn expression. “I’ll protect her with my life.”

Irina scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Good.” Nikolai shook Tolya’s hand decisively, before bringing him closer for a quick hug.

“Your brother’s an idiot.” Irina looked at Tamar, who had watched the interaction with a smirk.

“I know.” She smiled. “Be careful, okay?” Tamar tightly hugged her friend, rubbing her back. “And don’t let Tolya eat all of Shu-Han’s sweets. He’s got to bring some back for me.”

Once they parted, Irina looked again at Nikolai. Whatever emotion wanted to escape through her eyes was quickly repressed, if only for a few seconds until her brother couldn’t see her anymore.

“Say goodbye to Madraya for me?” she offered a weak smile. 

Nikolai nodded. “Try not to set anything on fire,” he joked, before crashing into her body and embracing his little sister tightly. “Stay safe.”

“You too,” she whispered as she closed her eyes, her heart cracking slightly at the finality of their words.

“Alright, c’mon, group hug,” Nikolai joked again, and Irina laughed loudly when she felt two pairs of arms embracing them, basking in their warmth for a few seconds before they parted once again. “Come back to us.”

“We will.”

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