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[d1stract-and-daydream]

MY LITTLE INFERNI (NIKOLAI LANTSOV X OC)

WC: 2.6k

Summary: Nikolai re-reads Dasha's letter to reminisce, but the nichevo'ya in him had other plans.

Warning: No warnings.

CHAPTER 2: HOME

Nikolai,

I’m sure by now you’ve heard of my assignment in Fjerda. I don’t want this to be a winding eulogy of our friendship, but—a king and a witch, surely that warrants at least a couple of them?

I jest.

Nikolai grins, thinking back to the fairy tales he had read when he was a child. Surely there was one of a demon king and his fire-witch that didn't end in a tragedy? 

Your highness, I still look back to the first time I bumped into you . 

How could someone have that much energy within them? You reminded me of a ball of star, constantly writhing, and I never knew when you were about to explode. 

He rolls his eyes. Dasha and her obsession with stars. This isn’t even a good metaphor. He’d described himself more like the sun. Brilliant and strong—as a King, and as Sturmhond. 

You reminded me so much of Stepan—bless his dear self—wild, resourceful, always knowing what to do. Sure, I disagree with several choices you’ve made before, but I admire you for springing into action when it calls for instead of being rooted on the ground. Thank you for pulling me off my feet when I was stuck. May you do the same to Ravka. 

I know everything has its ups and downs, even our friendship. I find that none of it matters now, so I’d hope you’ve forgiven my blunders as I do yours. When I think of you, I only feel warmth, Nikolai. 

He feels the same way. He realised that he never once told her how he cares. Their friendship was built on quiet moments and acts of service, so he didn’t think he needed to say it out loud. 

In the end, I could not work myself up to tell you how much I care about you. It was stupid of me to rely on unspoken moments; to think you can figure out the words I could not say. I think of all the times I wanted to touch you, hold you in ways friends don’t normally do, and I laugh at how puerile it all sounds. As if every girl in the kingdom hasn’t already thought the same.

There was a time where he wanted to do the same thing, perhaps he still does. It’s just—he grew up with her. She had been there for him for so long; he didn’t know if it was simply adoration or something deeper than that.

I will do my best to serve Ravka and its king, so don’t even think of worrying about me—I can already imagine your eyebrows knitting together. I have the honour of Zoya as my mentor (don’t tell her I said this) and remember that time I almost incinerated the forest near that lake? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, so I hope you do the same.

Yours truly,

Dash.

Nikolai had reread the letter Dasha left him a handful of times now, the wrinkled edges proof of it. He had no idea that Zoya had given her the assignment to begin with, and if he had any say in it, he would not have signed her off to wager her life in Fjerda. Or maybe he would. He is a king first—foolish man second. 

“Why was I not informed of this?” he asked Zoya the day he found the letter left on his work desk.

“I didn’t know I had to, moi tsar. Dasha is only there as a dormant agent, if that’s any consolation.”

It’s not. 

Nikolai paced the floors of his chambers, and Zoya studied him, confused. Her mouth opened and closed several times to say something but failed to. Her question lingered in the air. Nikolai rested his hands on his desk and eyed the opened letter again, gaze falling on Dasha’s signature. 

“She’s my oldest friend, Zoya. I hold her very dear to my heart, and it—it’ll kill me if—” he hesitated to say the rest of it. What could he have said, anyway? That it’ll kill him if he lost her? He already did, the moment he chose to push her away. He tells himself that it was the guilt. The morning of the first incident, when he found out that he could’ve killed you while you were asleep, it terrified him more than having that nichevo’ya in him. “If you think you did what you thought was right, then I’ll not press any further.” King first, man second.

“I’m sure of it,Nikolai.She’s our best inferni.”

Nikolai looked her in the eyes, a slight nod to dismiss her. For Ravka, he reminded himself. And every time he did, the ball in the pit of his stomach grew.

“Are you ready, your highness?” Zoya called from outside his bedchambers, pulling him back to the present. Nikolai folded the letter neatly into its envelope and tucked it safely in his nightstand under the books and paper of its first drawer. 

“Come in, Nazyalensky,” Nikolai summoned her, stretching and massaging the knot out from his back. Zoya enters, the chains dangling from her arms, a necessary means to an end. So far,the demon has only ever killed livestock, but he lives in fear of the day it decides to take human lives. This is why precautions had to be taken. 

“Have you thought about what I said?” she asks, while untangling the chains. 

“You’ve said a lot of things, Nazyalensky. I need you to be more specific.” 

Zoya rolls her eyes.As if it’s not the one topic Nikolai had been avoiding since she first brought it up.

“Marriage, Nikolai. Setting up your roots as the ruler of Ravka. Producing an heir—”

“I think you’re getting a little too ahead of yourself,Zoya.”

Zoya fastens the shackles over his left hands,frown apparent in her face.

“Well,” she pulls the chains to his right , “forgive me for thinking of the country and doing my job as the general you appointed.” 

Nikolai flashed her that boyish grin famous for melting the hearts of many. 

“And thank you for that. But I think there’s more pressing matters right now than getting hitched with someone I barely know, don’t you?” Nikolai quips, head tilting as he motioned towards himself. 

“I don’t think anyone wants to be with a monster, even if it comes in pretty packaging.”

Zoya snorted. Nikolai laughs and hopes Zoya will forget about it. He doesn't feel like planning that far ahead when something so dark lives within him. 

“How does it feel?” Zoya asked,taking a seat at the edge of his bed. She eyed him, waiting for an answer. Nikolai’s head tilts, beckoning her to elaborate. “You know,” she continues, straightening the nonexistent wrinkle of his bedspread, hoping it’ll disperse the weight of her upcoming question, “with the creature inside of you, how do you deal with it?”

“Oh,” the corners of his mouth twisted in consideration, his mind trying to fish for the right words to explain it to her. “It’s like having someone else sharing my body with me. Losing time. An unwelcome guest prying and muddling every thought I have.”

“Can it affect your actions?”

“Not when I’m conscious.”

Zoya hummed, a little relieved at his answer. She won’t say it, but it’s not easy to put trust in a king that does not have control of his own mind and body. Nikolai understands her reasons even if she chose not to tell him. If he were her, he wouldn’t be able to trust a possessed king either.

“Any other questions,Nazyalensky?” Nikolai questioned. He could at least try to settle Zoya’s unrest if he can’t be the king she thought he’d be.

“Does it speak to you?”

“Sometimes.”

Zoya’s eyes widened. She hadn’t guessed that Nikolai was that close to the creature. Her theory was that they were two different entities, and one is only up if the other is asleep. She’d heard stories of something happening like that passed down from her seniors, someone who was not in total control of themselves. It sounds terrifying, but it made her look at Nikolai in another light. She respected him,looked up to him as her king, but now—looking at Nikolai so helpless against the one thing the Darkling should’ve taken with him when he dies—it feels foreign to admit that she cared about him.

Nikolai’s eyes droop, his mind straining to stay awake. Zoya takes this as a sign for her to leave.”You’re still Ravka’s king, Nikolai. As long as you do whatever you think is best for the country, I will be fighting next to you. And if you want to find yourself a bride, then I’ll be there to help you.”

“I appreciate the elaborate speech, Zoya, but that won’t top my list anytime soon.” Nikolai states, his words slurring like he’d had a glass too many kvas.

Zoya stood,dusting her hands on her Kefta. “Fine,” she turns to leave, “What about Hiram Schenk’s—”

“Goodnight,Zoya.” 

Zoya presses her lips and lower her head to bid him goodnight. She’ll just have to bring it up to him another time,then.

***

Home.

Nikolai wakes from his slumber to find out that it’s still dark. What time is it? He scans his chambers to find out that he was not in it at all. He’s not even in the palace, in fact, he’s way up in the air because he can feel the wind slapping him in his face. Panic starts setting in when he finds out that he was not in control of his body, and the demon had essentially taken over while he was sleeping, but what had changed? He had never been conscious enough to see himself flying this clearly before. Something must have prompted it to behave this way. Was it running away? Going somewhere?

Home, the creature muttered, and he hadn’t expected a response so clear from it, as if the creature was speaking to him—as if they were two separate entities that did not share a body. Nikolai didn’t understand what it meant by home, and is hesitant to push for more in case it’ll shut him down completely. He wanted to use this change as an opportunity to learn more about it, maybe learn how to rid it off of him. The creature sensed Nikolai’s plans and snarled, spraying the sky with thick slobber. Nikolai knew why it was angry, of course—they share the same body, so he tries to keep himself from making any plans to get rid of the pilot while he’s still the passenger, because if they crash, he would hate waking up in the morning. Or worse, not waking up at all.

***

“Zoya, the king had escaped again.”

Zoya stood,putting down her cup of tea so quickly on her table that the clinking reverberated in her skull. She saunters to her bed and picks up her Kefta ,hastily changing from her night robe so she could join Tamar to go look for Nikolai.

“Where is he headed?” she asks, while they sprint to the carriage Tamar had prepared as soon as she notices the king missing from his bed.

“North,” Tamar replied,her hands on her axe. They entered the carriage with Tolya as their coach and rushed north,eyes scanning the night sky for any black winged figure. Since Nikolai entrusted his secrets to only members of the Triumvirate plus Tamar and Tolya, they had to make do with their limited number of hands.

The outlines of Os Alta were barely fading when they caught sight of Nikolai zipping through the clouds. It almost seems like the creature had a set destination it was flying to, its pace unforgiving . 

“We need to stop it,” Tamar yells, the sound of hoof beating ground and air passing the carriage too loud for both of them to hear perfectly. “He’s heading to Tsibeya. If he continues further, it’ll be harder to lasso him in without having to worry about Druskelle.”

Zoya nodded. It does seem like the creature was heading to the permafrost, maybe even further. She doesn’t want to think about what they’ll have to do if it enters Fjerda, so she pushes herself out of the carriage, using the wind to carry her up to the same eye level as Nikolai. She had had flying practice before, but it’s still too risky to do because there are too many variables to consider when you’re up that high, but she had no other choice. 

The creature felt another presence intruding on it and turned to find Zoya zoning in . It screeched and darted towards Zoya, head-butting, knocking her down. Zoya managed to summon a cushion of air before she fell and used it to levitate. She focused her left hands on it, creating a pulse strong enough to knock the creature down from the sky.

It shrieked before losing consciousness, hurtling to the ground at maximum speed. Zoya softened the fall with her powers, Tamar and Tolya behind her, ready to chain it before it woke up and try to fly away again. They decide not to when they sees Nikolai lying there, his dirt-smeared face looking peaceful,like he was asleep in his own chambers. Zoya whispered a quiet apology when she sees bruises blooming on his skin predominantly on his left torso where her air pulse had hit him.

She nudged his shoulders to wake him as it’ll be easier to bring him home if they didn’t have to carry him. Zoya supposed she could hover him in the air if she wanted to, but she was tired, her body sore from getting hit. 

“Zoya?” Nikolai called, slowly gaining consciousness. Zoya was about to explain what had happened, when he continued, “I was there,Zoya. I saw it.”

***

“When you say you were there,” Zoya starts, asking Nikolai for more explanation. They had begun their journey back to Os Alta before the sun started to rise. Better to reach home while it’s still dark, or else people will start talking. There were already words of the King of Ravka being possessed, so Nikolai and his confidantes tried their best to keep his transformations hush.

Tamar sits next to her, her eyes first on Nikolai, then Zoya. She’s equally confused, just sitting there and hoping her friends will fill her in. 

"I mean I was there. A passenger in my own body. I woke up from sleep and all I could do was sit back and watch." Nikolai explained, jittery , and Zoya raised her eyebrow because it seemed like he was excited about the whole ordeal. She shoots Tamar a look , a silent question , asking her is he losing his mind?

Tamar shrugged, she doesn't mind as long as he comes back in one piece. He'd done crazier things as Sturmhond, so Tamar and Tolya have kind of expected it as one of Nikolai's inborn quirk.

"Nikolai, where was it going? Tamar says you're heading straight to Fjerda with no plans of stopping." Zoya states, her gaze intent on him, wanting him to give her a direct answer.

"Did it say something to you,your highness? Any clue as to how we could get rid of it?" Tamar continued .

Nikolai turns to look outside, watching as the trees pass by like a blur. He had a theory as to why it was headed North, but he’s not so sure about it. For all he knows, the creature plans to surrender him to the Fjerdan monarchy. That doesn’t explain why it was intent on going ‘home’ though. 

“I don’t know where it was going. I only know that it wants to go home, and home is somewhere in Fjerda.”

Chapter 1

AO3

[d1stract-and-daydream]

Think With Your Heart, Feel With Your Brain(StuckyxOC)

Summary: Lilith packs for her stay.

WC: 1.8k+

Warning: Language. Just a lil' hint of M/M suggestive content(which will be explored in further chapters)

Chapter 3: Permission

As soon as she was done with her last slot of the week, she went home immediately to pack her stuff for her stay at the facility. Steve informed that someone will be there to assist her, but she didn't expect that person to arrive sooner than she thought. She barely had the time to locate her luggage before someone rang the bell. Bucky stood outside, hands in the pocket of his leather jacket, leaning on her door frame with a smirk on his face.

"Bucky? I thought Steve meant a staff member was coming or something." She stated, confused. Still, she invited him in and told him to make himself comfortable while she continued packing.

"I am a staff member. Plus, I volunteered. Do you need a hand with something?" He asks as he trailed her from the front door to her room before stopping just outside the bedroom doorway. 

Without looking at him, she answered, "No, I don't have that much to pack. I pretty much wear the same thing everyday so it's just grab and go."

In her periphery, Bucky leans over her door frame to look into her room, and she had the sense that he was trying to get a read on her. It was unsettling.

"Bucky…." she said, "I hate it when people watch over my shoulders like that. Please sit. Ask me your questions instead of assuming things."Because, good God, have people been doing that a lot. Always reading between her words, treating conversations like social warfare.

"Sorry, doll, just trying to see if your room could tell me more about you. You have a lot of interests." He muttered as he roamed her room. She had a bookshelf full of books on one side of the room, though books weren't the only thing she had on it. Random trinkets of a variety of interests she had fallen into were carefully arranged in some places; crochet animals, sketchbooks, art supplies and a lot of zombie-themed items.

'Yeah, I guess I do. I can't really help what my brain likes." She replied, zipping up her luggage and taking out a smaller carry on to bring some books for her stay. Maybe a sketchbook and some supplies, too. She doesn't know how long she'd be staying.

"Steve likes to draw as well. Maybe you guys can bond over that." Her head tilted at the surprising tidbit about Steve. Had she known that earlier, her views of him would probably be softer than it was. She does tend to make better connections with people who share her interest.

"That's cool," she acknowledged, "and what do you like?" It is common courtesy to ask what their interests are after she told them hers,right?  She read that somewhere before.

"Well, it's nothing like what you and Steve do, not the same level of artsy I guess, but I do like to take pictures once in a while."

"Oh, photography? It suits you. What do you normally shoot?" She loves photography too, not much in taking them, but they provided her with good references.

"Just nature. Buildings. Things I find pretty." He told her, voice quieter than normal, like he was trying to be humble. Maybe he is being humble. She felt it kind of endearing, actually. Passionate people are attractive to her. Almost all of her friends are people who had an obsession over very specific subjects, like role-playing and avians. 

"No people?" She asked, eager to know more about him.

His eyes went wide. 

"Uh, on special occasions." He replied.

 "I have taken several photos of Steve, but they were—how do I say it—unsavoury." 

For several minutes, her hands still as she tried to parse what he was trying to say. When she realised, he probably meant nude pictures, her eyes wide, mouth forming an 'o'. She doesn't judge what people do behind closed doors, but she never expected Bucky and Steve to have that kind of relationship.

"God, you probably think I'm some kind of creep now. I didn't—"

"No, I mean, as long as it's consensual, who am I to tell people what they could and couldn't enjoy?"

At her response, Bucky shuts his mouth mid sentence to recalibrate his next words.

"It's consensual, don't worry." He reassures her, raising his hands in a gesture to make his point clear. She smiled. Just a little quirk up on the corners of her mouth.

"Then that's okay. Are you—" she trailed off, not quite sure what to call whatever it is they had going on in between them. They seemed like friends the first time she met them, but maybe she's just bad at judging body language.

"Close friends, sometimes more." He explains, short. She assumed there was at least a deep emotional connection. While also fucking each other. 

While she'd never had someone to call her significant other, or at least a friend with benefit, she understands relationships can be complicated like that. So she won't press further.

"I'm done. Shall we go?"

***

The ride back to the facility was quiet. It seemed like Lilith was not much of a talker, though she didn't really give him the vibe of someone extremely shy, just a healthy amount of it. She was probably more comfortable with silence. So Bucky's approach was just to ask her questions and if she wanted to share more, then he'd let her. Either way, he won't force her into anything.

"How did you find out about your powers?" He questioned her.  She rarely mentioned it even in passing, which seemed weird to him considering it's the main reason she was there.

"As soon as I gained consciousness. So, when I was three?"

"That's a really young age to know you could do something like that. Surprised you handled it so well." And he checked—well, Steve did. Her records are clean. Not even mild destruction of property.

"I spent a lot of time at home. It helped." That makes sense.

"And what about school? I went through puberty a long time ago, but I know just how much hormones make us all wacky. Being a hormonal teen is one thing. Being hormonal and having superpowers…" is an entirely different category. There are hundreds of reports of telekinetic teens destroying buildings. And the stronger the power, the greater the destruction.

"Home-schooled through middle school, and I just kept to myself in high school."

It's really hard to gauge what she's feeling when she talks to him. She's not entirely expressive save for that smile she gave him earlier, one he will always cherish. Plus, her voice seemed a little…flat. Maybe he was being delusional when he thought she'd shown him interest before this. Shit. This was one of the biggest idiot moves—trying to befriend someone who doesn't want to be his friend. She's probably the way she is because of how she was raised, though, so maybe it'll be worth it to try just a little more to get her to break out of her shell.

"You don't talk much, huh?" He continued when they were stuck in a mini traffic jam.

"I don't. I like hearing you, though. Your…voice." 

Fuck. she was all cold before, then she said something like that, like it's something people just outwardly say in normal conversations. An in?

"Yeah?" he smirked, leaning back a little to face her slightly. "What do you like about it?"

She seemed to make a show of contemplating. It's almost always like this with her. She'd take a moment before answering, as if she was doing some tough mental maths.

"I like the little rasp when you end your sentences. It scratches my brain in a good way. You'd make a good audiobook narrator." His eyes squinted, trying to figure out if she was flirting or if it was just a genuine compliment.

"See, normally when women say things like that to me, they're flirting, but I can't tell that with you." The hands on her lap stirred, and Bucky was just now noting that she was rubbing her thumb repetitively like she's nervous of him. And not the good kind of nervous, either.

"Shit. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Next time I do that, you have permission to yell at me."

"Why would I do that?" She tilts her head as she asks him. Heaven above,  she's impenetrable.

"So I remember not to do it again? I think I've misread you from before, I thought you were interested in me," he explained, laughing at how silly this all is.

"I think you're very attractive." Lilith began, halting his laugh in its tracks. Her hands move in a rhythm, floating a piece of lint in between them using her powers. It's like he was whiplashed. From one emotion to another, with every word coming out of her mouth.

"I just don't know how to show my emotions well. I'm flattered you would want to flirt with me, but I don't think it should extend to more than that." 

"Can I ask why?" Bucky inquired, no longer able to rein in the string of curiosity. Lilith came into his life with the sole purpose of uncoiling it from its neatly arranged center.

"I'm…very hard to be with. I go days where I don't talk and days where I talk too much. And if I like something or someone, I latch into it like an obsession and forget that other people exist. Sometimes I hate being touched. Sometimes I require bone-crushing hugs. I don't want someone to think that they like me, only to find me too much to be with."

Too much. She said that she can be too much for someone. He emphatised to a certain degree, having suffered PTSD. But, more than anything, he wanted so much to be there for her and tell her that she would never be too much. He wished he was there to deal with the people who put these thoughts into her head.

"Lilith, I won't press if you don't want me to, but I don't flirt with someone I didn't already intend to make mine. And if someone's mine, I'll do whatever I can to keep them happy. If not talking for days makes them happy, then so be it. There are other ways to show someone you care besides words and physical touch."

She looked down again, picking at her finger, and Bucky wondered if he'd made his intentions too clear. God, he wants her. Want to learn everything he could about her. But he knows that what he feels is all too much too fast and that's not a good sign. He should talk to his therapist. The torrent of mixed feelings he's going through right now might be the very thing that spelled the end of whatever this is. Moderation. He needs to proceed with moderation.

"Okay then." Her words silenced his thoughts. He hated the way his cock jumped when she gave him that look she just did, like she's giving him a piece of her trust. "Go ahead, you have my permission to court me."

Chapter 2

AO3

[d1stract-and-daydream]

Think With Your Heart, Feel With Your Brain(StuckyxOC)

Summary: Lilith gets invited to the facility.

WC: 1.7k

Chapter 2: Invitation

It has been quite the productive week so far. Lilith's group had been booked full the last two weeks. Some days, she even had back-to-back events to go to. Apparently, even adults like magic shows. 

To celebrate, she decided to take the day off today and treat herself to a meal at a place she frequents, just two blocks away from hers. It's just a family-owned diner, but they have some of the best burgers and fries that she always finds herself craving when she has extra money to spend.

Upon entering, she bee-lined straight to the end of the diner, sitting at her usual place in the corner away from foot traffic. The waitress on shift approached her with her notebook and pen in hand, a bright smile plastered on her face, making her look more youthful than she probably was. 

"Hello Lil," the waitress greets her, "the usual?"

Lilith presses her mouth and nods, trying to emulate the smile, but could never manage to. "Can I also have a strawberry milkshake, please?" She requested, voice quieter than she intended. 

The waitress—her name is Mel—smiled as she wrote Lilith's order in her notebook. "Sure thing. What's the occasion?"

"Just a pleasant week." She replied, keeping her eyes on the notebook instead of her face. The staff here has always been friendly to her, even if she can't quite return the same amount of warmth back, so the only way for her to repay the kindness is to tip a little more than usual.

***

Halfway through eating her burger, the bell at the diner door rings, making her flinch, but she continues eating as she reads an ebook from her phone. She was so absorbed in the story that she didn't pay attention to the two figures approaching her. Who they are. From her periphery, they were just another customer. Until a file plopped down on her table. It jarred her so much that she was about to shoot those rude people with a glare, only to stop halfway as she noticed that it's Captain America. Next to him stood James Barnes, who she recently met while grocery shopping.

"Hi, magic," James waved as he sat down opposite you. Captain America took a seat beside him, and all she could do was take in how broad their shoulders were, stretching beyond the backs of the chair. She shifted in her seat. Is she in trouble? And why is James Barnes calling her magic?

Pulling away the plate and her phone from the file that's taking up the majority of the table space, she asked, "Can I help you?"

"I'm Steve, he's Bucky," Steve points at both him and J—Bucky, pushing the file towards her as he asks "Lilith Hemlock. Can you confirm if this is you?"

Atop it sat the flyer she designed to promote the magic show she and her friends are doing. It took all three of them to come up with the design, and they decided to go for a crude illustration of a hand, pulling a rabbit out of a top hat to appeal to younger audiences.

"Yes, this is me. Were you looking to book a slot?" Next week's slots are still fairly empty, just two events on Thursday and Saturday, so if these men were looking to see her show, who is she to decline?

"Well, that depends on what kind of magic we get to see," Bucky replied, the smirk on his face giving him a boyish charm.

"Buck, don't flirt with our potential recruit." Steve chastised him, and she fought to hold in a smile, watching as Bucky pressed his lips in a tight line and nodded, reminiscent of kids getting scolded by their teachers. "Right. Sorry."

So he was flirting. That solved the questions from way before. It made her feel….good. She can never tell if someone is flirting or just being nice, and she wished—wait.

"What do you mean 'potential recruit'?" She questioned, sitting up straight when that information settled into her brain. Her gaze slid down to the file, and she just now notices that it bore a big S.H.I.E.L.D print on it. S.H.I.E.L.D has a file. On her. She reached out to flip it open, looking at both Steve and Bucky for permission to look through it. When Steve nodded, she proceeded to flip through, and her jaw dropped at the amount of information they had on her. Front to back, down to her birth. If they had followed her this tightly, why was she not approached then?

"Why now?" She spoke. Her brain is racing too fast for her to string complete sentences together. Luckily, they got what she was trying to say.

"Bucky was under the impression that it's unwise to let a rogue telekinetic run around without training."

"And we can always use another member on our team." Bucky added right after Steve. Rogue telekinetic…. She shook her head. The way they say it makes it sound like she was going around torturing animals or something. Plus, it's not like she wanted to join and then have them assigned her death missions every other day. Sensing her hesitation, Steve reassured, "the fighting, saving people, we understand that it's not for everyone." Bucky looked at him, then back to her, biting his lips and nodding in a show of agreeing. Lilith hates confrontation. So she sat there just listening, staying quiet, letting them do most of the talking. It's not like it's an unpleasant experience, though. She found herself really enjoying Steve's tone and cadence when he speaks, as if he's trying to soothe her.

"Look until we can figure out if you're safe—to yourself and others—why don't you come live at the facility for the time being?" Her mouth opened to decline, before Bucky interjected, "Everything is provided. Food, accommodations, transportation. You won't have to spend any money except for your own indulgences."

It sounded too good to be true. It sounded like a vacation. Did she have a choice?

"What if I declined?" 

Steve gives Bucky a look as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "We can't guarantee that more…. Hostile people won't take you. Trust us when we say this is as much for your safety as it is for the public." That made more sense. Being used by worse people is less ideal compared to their offer, and if they have this much information on her, who's to know she won't be forced to choose the same for more evil individuals and organisations? Plus, she's always looking to learn more about being a telekinetic. There's only so much books and the internet can provide her with. A stable and safe environment to train and learn, freely provided….it'd be foolish not to take it, right?

But, she's not keen on the idea of having to fight.

"Will I need to learn how to fight?" She questioned, hands busy fidgeting with the flyer.

"Not much beyond self-protection, your choice. We highly encourage you to attend the self-protection course, though. It's held for civilians too, every Saturday. But if you want private lessons, we can arrange that for you."

The only reason she's even considering this is because she had years of savings in her account—courtesy of multiple jobs and a frugal lifestyle—and is really looking forward to a month-long rest. Assuming that it'll take her that long to convince them that she's as harmless as a dove.

Normally, big decisions require a notebook, pen, and ample time for her to figure out the pros and cons of it. She felt…a pull, screaming at her to say yes, but she's curious if that's just her body and hormones begging her to agree to go with the two big attractive men to possibly live with them and other equally strong people. Maybe it's worth it to give in to the impulse now and then.

"Shit. Okay."

"Is that a yes?" Bucky asks, leaning deeper towards her, knocking down the glass of milkshake by his side. With a thought, she righted its position before it managed to spill down her shirt. No embarrassing displays allowed today.

"Yes," she replied before drinking the last of her milkshake.

"Good," Steve continued, "We'll send someone to help you move." 

They stood, hands stretched out to exchange handshakes as if they were making a shady deal in a dark alleyway.

"And doll, now that we'll be seeing more of each other, you can call me Bucky." He quipped, winking at her before he left with Steve.

***

"Did you just want her recruited so you could hit on her?" Steve questioned Bucky as soon as they left the diner. The change in atmosphere is jarring, especially to his super soldier senses. It was warmer inside. 

When Bucky suggested someone they could add to the team, Steve presumed that this someone has some kind of record, something he could dig into, to figure out the level of danger they pose. The last thing he expected was to be met with a cute girl who's all kinds of shy.

"No—okay, maybe a little. She's cute, right? All that shy is making me think the unholiest thought—"

"Jesus, Buck, stop thinking with your dick for a minute." He chided, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He had known Bucky for so long, knew his appetite and had often been on the receiving(and giving) end of it. Whatever it is Bucky was thinking, none of it is good.

"Okay,okay, it can't be that bad, right? I mean, she could live at the facility for free and train. Let's just see how things turn out. Maybe she'll make a great addition to the team." Bucky says, trying to justify his intentions like he's guilty of something.

Bucky tends to fall into these short obsessive patterns over someone, although it rarely ever ends well. In the end, he either got his heart broken, or lost feelings, and it's always going to be up to Steve to fuck him out of it.

"Just don't do anything drastic, Buck. She seemed reserved. Fuck, do you even know if she's interested in you? I don't want a repeat of last time." Steve reminded him.

The end of his last relationship was so hard on him that he stopped going out for a month. Steve didn't want something like that to happen again. He loved Bucky too much to see him suffer.

"I'll take it slow. Don't worry, Steve. I'll only pursue her if she wants to be pursued, okay?"

Steve sighs, pulling Bucky in to kiss him by the temple.

Chapter 1

[d1stract-and-daydream]

MY LITTLE INFERNI (NIKOLAI LANTSOVxOC)

WC: 3k Summary: Following a heartbreak with a certain childhood friend, an inferni asked to be stationed somewhere as far away as possible–to heal, while also serving her country. It's going well, until she realised her feelings were, in fact, requited.

[This is the longfic I had in plans after 'You Made it Easy'. I update once a week/every two weeks on Ao3, but will update here as well.]

CHAPTER 1: SCORCHWITCH

“How much for the plums?” 

Dasha picked up the ripe purple fruit, squishing it in her hands to check for rot. Next to them are various fruits; apples, pears, perfect round peaches—and her mouth waters at the thought of having peach jam to go with her bread. For a country known for its never ending winter, it’s quite surprising how they can grow the amount of fruits that they do. She’s not even surprised if illegal grisha labour is involved somehow. Saints know how they treat grishas in Fjerda. In fact, being forcefully indentured might sound better to some than getting killed for simply existing.

The village market was nothing compared to the perfectly arranged stalls they have in Djerholm—but Dasha finds it endearing; almost whimsical in its own way. She preferred the Ravkan market more, though. The wares were more colourful, especially in the summer and spring. Rows and rows of stalls full of produce, flowers, cloth and the Zemeni spices her brother used to love. He’d buy something from the spice stalls every time they visited the marketplace and use those to make his famous hot chocolate. Dasha knew it was only delicious because of the spice,but Stepan never got the chance to tell her what the exact ingredient was before he left. She missed his hot chocolate. She missed Stepan.

The sky grumbled. It was such a lovely day this morning, but she can see dark clouds approaching from the distance, sensing a storm coming soon. Just as the snow had stopped falling for the day. Great.

“Oh, dear Astrid!” The stall owner greeted her. “Good to see you today. Doing some shopping for the mister?” 

Dasha smiled, still not quite used to the identity Zoya had given her. She had been undercover in Fjerda for almost a month now, disguised as a housewife to a leatherworker;a member of the Hringsa. She repeated her new name to herself the first week she arrived— Astrid Karlen, Astrid Karlen, Astrid Karlen— just so she wouldn't be an idiot and say her real name; Dasha Lenkovya, whenever she had to introduce herself. The story she had concocted was that she’s a girl from a rural Fjerda village looking to marry someone who can take care of her—and live somewhere closer to the city for better opportunities. It was simple, but so far, no one had mentioned anything about it.

It was her request to be sent somewhere far away for work—heartbreak makes you do weird things—but she didn't expect Zoya to assign her somewhere this  far.

“Yes,” she replied, “although I’m not sure I will get anything else done today with a storm around the corner.”

She turned to look at the sky, and the lady at the stall followed her gaze. Her mouth twisted downwards, and Dasha grinned. Her fruit stall seems wonky and there was nothing to cover its wares and owner from the torrent of bad weather Fjerda has been experiencing lately,so the lady will have to close shop sooner than she planned.

“Djel must be angry.” She states, as her eyes scanned through her unsold produce. “You know what? Any other fruit you want, I’ll give it to you for half the price. At least I’m getting something instead of leaving them to rot .”

Dasha laughed and picked herself a variety of colourful fruits; apples, plums, peaches, and pears—some for dinner, some for pies, some for the jams she plans to make. She reached into her coin purse for the payment, when she overheard two ladies in her periphery sounding distressed.

“It’s just a precaution,Clara.”  

She arranged the produce neatly in her netted bag—taking her time, focusing her attention on what the ladies were saying. If there’s anything Zoya had taught her, it’s that even gossip from the townspeople can offer valuable information. She just had to be diligent enough to sift through and separate idle talk from intel.

“They probably arrested him,because you know—he’s not actually the upstanding civilian you think he is.” A pause. “When they find out he’s done nothing wrong,they will release him.” 

“That’s easy for you to say. He’s my brother!”

Hmm , so people have been missing . She had heard the same words from different people over the course of two weeks now.

She hurried down the gravel away from the market square, not wanting to be caught out there by any authorities, or worse, Druskelle. Sure, the Druskelle rarely patrols this far down from Djerholm, but with what had been happening lately—the miracles blooming here and there in what she was guessing was a part of Nina Zenik’s plan—it’s normal to be scared.

Her role in Fjerda is to be a dormant agent, to be used only to send messages or news to Ravka. She hasn’t stumbled into anything that requires active work yet, so to her this kind of feels like going on a vacation. Except she has to pretend that she’s happily living with the man of her dreams who she had only known for a month now. It’s already hard enough for her to form bonds, but Zoya had to pair her with someone as ill-tempered as Henrik Beck, who reminds her of the boys who pull on your pigtails just for the fun of it. 

It also took her a while to get used to the ways of Fjerdan women, to be obedient and prude, or in her case seem like it, but other than that, things were going swimmingly. Well, sometimes she wishes the weather was less harsh on her skin—her nighttime routine consists of slathering herself with animal grease so she wouldn't shrivel up like a prune.

She stopped by a house a little further left to the market square to pay its tenant a visit. It took her three knocks before a boy a little younger than her answers, his face a welcoming olive against the harsh colour of snow.

“Dasha,” Adya Yul-Naran whispered as he ushered her into his home. His assigned home. Dasha had known Adya’s sister Zaya since she was a fresh-faced student, still struggling to control her abilities in Baghra’s hut. They have been close enough for her to share some of her secrets, and for Zaya to ask her to take care of her brother as a favour. Dasha treated Adya like her own brother already, so she was planning on doing that, anyway.

“It’s Astrid, Oswin Westegaard. Common Fjerdan name for common Fjerdans, remember?” She reminded Adya, sitting herself in his comfy armchair before he even had the chance to extend the invitation to sit. She placed her bag of fruits by the side of the chair, sinking into the chair like it was made for her.

“Aye, Astrid, I daresay you got that aright. Please, make yourself at home. Fjerdan hospitality,” Adya mimicked as he poured her a steaming cup of tea. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Dasha laughs, threatening to hurl one of his many throw pillows at him. “Just curious as to how my charge is doing. That, and I’m seeking refuge from that nightmare outside,” she replied as she took a sip from her cup. 

Adya crossed over her to pull the curtains down, so that they could talk away from prying eyes.

“You know how those Fjerdan are,Dash. You can’t just visit the home of unmarried men when you have that six feet hunk of a husband to return to.” 

Dasha’s mouth hung open. “Adya, are you lusting over my fake husband?” She asked, a grin spreading on her face.

“Please.” Adya rolled his eyes. “I have better taste. Though I have to admit, Zoya picked a fine one for you.”

Dasha giggled at his admission, though she can’t say she had the chance to look at Henrik thoroughly enough to agree.

They exchanged a couple of pieces of information regarding the mission before Adya slapped his knees and stood, claiming, “You best get going, Dash. That storm cloud looks like it’s going to chase us with a cane,” and Dasha agreed as soon as she saw how close it was. She packed her stuff and rushed out of his doors hurriedly lest she got caught in the storm.

She manages to return just as the sky starts sprinkling its first wave of rain. The house she lives in is situated in Kvívik, a quaint village further east from Djerholm, with most of its building still made up of timber—a stark contrast to the brick and concrete Djerholm is packed in. It was near enough to the capital for her weekly visit, but not that near that it became a common patrol route for Druskelle. 

Bag hanging from her elbow, she unlatched the door to the small snow cabin she had been living in the past month. Well, to Fjerdans, it’s just a normal house. She pushed her wet hair away from her forehead as she entered. The light from outside shone a path from the front door to a small dining table and a modest kitchen Dasha had helped set up.

She hung her coat on the hook by the door, shook the dirt and snow off her boots before removing them. He’s not home yet. Her shoulders sag in relief, though she doesn’t know why she was so tense to begin with. 

Dasha hummed a Ravkan lullaby as she emptied the fruits from her bag to a basin full of water so she could rinse them. She watched as they bobbed up and down, thinking about the summer festivals in Ravka, then realised that her teeth were chattering. 

Changing to something dry, a modest dress that Fjerdan women often wear, she wrapped herself with the blanket she had brought with her from Ravka—blue fleece embroidered with gold stars—and approached the fireplace. Her fingers were numb as she struck her flint to conjure a small kindling of flame to start a fire. It’s probably wiser to use the match propped on the stool to the side of the fireplace, but her hands were too shaky to even attempt to strike a match.

She sits there for a while and watches as the flame grows, the dancing of fire taking her back to the nights spent with an old friend. Someone she probably should try to forget by now, the reason she was here to begin with. She tried to tear her eyes away from the fire,but the rhythmic movement was too hypnotising—her mind too quiet. 

“I find fire mesmerising,don’t you?” Nikolai told her one night, and she agreed. He took a swig out of an amber bottle and continued, “Yellow and orange, like autumn leaves. The sway of them almost looks musical, dancing and playing like the silk ribbons they sell in Noyvi Zem.” She listened to the poetry pouring out of his lips, remembering how the subject of it illuminates his facial features. If she was drunk enough, she would have kissed him.

A loud creak startled her out of thought. She looked to the door, tense, hand on her flint, to find out it was Henrik just returning from work. Saints, how late is it? When the outside wind from the open door crept in, she scoots nearer to the fire to find out it had burned out to a pile of ash on the hearth.

Henrik dropped his tool belt on the dining table, scowling.

“Stupid girl, why didn’t you start the fire?” 

Dasha cringed at the scornful tone that came out of his mouth—she does not like this man, and it doesn’t matter if Zoya says that he’s helpful towards the cause. 

Standing up to grab some more firewood, she replied, curtly, “I did, but got distracted .” 

“I should’ve asked the Stormwitch for more competent help.” Henrik dashed past her to the woodrack before she did.

Her hands trembled, movement so minute that most would just assume it was out of cold or nerves. Then he swiped the matches off the stool and took one out to restart the fire. What would Zoya do if she found out that Dasha had singed their valuable intel’s eyebrows off? She could do it right now—could enlarge the sparks from the matches to make it big enough to reach his face. She chose not to, but there’s a surprising comfort in knowing that she can.

“First of all,” Dasha crosses her arms, “I’m not here to be the help.”

Henrik grunts, more focused on feeding the fire so that it gets big enough to warm the entire house instead of just himself.

“I’m here for my country. And secondly—” she flicks her hands, making the flames roar, barely licking the cuffs of his coat. “—have you forgotten that you were talking to an Inferni?”

The corners of her mouth rose in a smirk, satisfied as she made him tumble back on the heel of his feet. 

He stood up to make himself dinner, rubbing the charred cuff at his wrists, and Dasha heard him call her something under his breath.

“ Scorchwitch .”

***

Dinner was frugal, butter smeared toast and smoked deer meat—though Dasha wished she had jam to go with her bread. She added that to her mental list as she grabbed a couple of plums to snack on as she wrote Zoya a message regarding the stuff that was happening in the market square earlier. Reports of missing people, some saying that they were taken to the Ice Court for trial.

She doesn’t think that the missing people were taken there, because the Ice Court is—according to the Fjerdan—a place for people who were considered the bottom of the barrel. So, Zoya, the infamous Stormwitch, would definitely count as the average barrel dweller. Maybe she would be considered one, too. She’s pretty confident that she could wield her ability well enough to annihilate an entire town. If she tries.

Dasha shook her head, once again distracted by her weird musings. This is why Nikolai called her a ‘space cadet’, which is quite a fitting nickname for her in general. Though she knows it was mostly because her head was always in the clouds—and not because of her love for the stars and moon that adorned the night sky.

She finishes the letter complaining about Henrik,as usual—bless Zoya for putting up with her—and folded it neatly into an envelope. She’ll ask someone from the network to send it out tomorrow, but today she just wants to relax and not have to think of anything else.

With the last bite of her plums, Dasha stood up and walked to the washbasin to splash her face clean before going to sleep. She looks into the mirror and inhales sharply—a little alarmed at the person staring at her in the mirror. Oh, she whispered to herself. She forgot that Genya had tailored her face to fit the usual Fjerdan features. It’ll take a while for her to get used to the new face. Blue eyes, the bridge of her nose a little too high that it looks weird if she were to have it with her original face. And Saints , her hair. She preferred her auburn curls much more than the limp blonde she had to settle with. What would Nikolai say if he were to see her now?

She tucked herself into her bed, her body weary. She hasn’t used much of her power lately, and the dark circles under her eyes were getting too prominent. Today was the first time in almost two weeks that she had even had a reason to use them. And one of them was out of spite. She smiled—Genya would be proud of her. No more being careless, though. It’s far too dangerous to display even the tiniest hint of Grisha abilities, even this far away from Djerholm. Just like Ravka has the Hringsa everywhere in Fjerda as eyes, so does Jarl Brum. It’s hard to trust anyone these days.

***

“Dash!”

Dasha jolted up from her cot, startled. She took a moment to process her surroundings, using her flames to disperse the darkness she woke up to. Droplets of rain pitter pattered the roof of the tent they had been living in the past months, and Dasha shivered as a gust of wind blew into the slight opening of hers.

Who was calling her? She peeked out, dimming her fire so she wouldn’t leave soot on the walls of the tent. Her eyes widened. Several steps north of their camp, before the trees lining the Sikurzoi, a pyre was set up. Smoke haze her vision, but she can see that something was propped up on the pyre, and the burnt smell of it was so overpowering that her eyes teared up. She looked around—assessing her surroundings for danger—and found that the camp was eerily empty, almost like a mass exodus had happened in the span of one night. When she was sure that nothing would sneak up on her, she raised her hands to diminish the burning pyre, but stumbled when she heard someone calling her. From the pyre. “Dasha…” the person—or rather, creature—croaked, burnt hands outstretched towards her. The voice seemed oddly familiar, and fear tingled up her spine. As the smoke started clearing, she noticed something new that she had missed before. It had wings. And talons. Its eyes as black as the charred wood that was used to prop up its body. It’s—

Dasha’s eyes shot open, sweat beading down her forehead. That was the third nightmare she had had in two weeks. She was at the campsite in all of them, reliving the horrors of the slaughter her mind refuses to let go. This was the first time Nikolai was in it. As the demon. She was pretty sure that when Nikolai’s creature first visited her several moons ago; she was not that scared. So why was she dreaming of it?

Clank!

Dasha’s back straightened, startled. The damn neighbour’s cat is always running into things at night. She was about to return to sleep when she heard the soft pit-pat of footsteps on snowy grounds. Who’s up this late ? She rises and knelt on her bed to take a peek outside. Darkness would’ve cloaked the neighbourhood had it not been for the moonlight providing a wash of dim light against white snow. A figure silhouetted against the walls of the shed to the left of the house. She considered telling Henrik to come and see before another figure joined the first. She wanted to conjure her flames to see the faces of the figure, but decide against it. Should she tell Henrik about this? Maybe in the morning when she feels fresher to deal with his sour self. 

She pressed her ear closer to the frosted glass of her window to try to catch a glimpse of what sort of dealings were going on in the dead of night. The winds were not helping her,at all, but she managed to catch one word that gives her an idea of who one of the figures is.

Scorchwitch.

It’s Henrik.

Here's the prologue.

[d1stract-and-daydream]

Think With Your Heart, Feel With Your Brain (OC x Bucky)

Summary:Lilith was born inheriting her parents' powers:telekinesis. Though that was not the only thing she inherited. It seemed all her persistent obsessions, tendency to panic under overstimulation, and confusion separating romantic and platonic feelings were also somehow, passed down to her. Follow Lilith as she tries to learn her way through her powers-and her feelings.

or

Just a character and relationship study of autistic OC/Bucky/Steve based on rampant daydreams.

Warning: No warning, just some secondhand embarrassment. WC:800+

Chapter 1: Introduction

The fact is, New York is just too full of superheroes. Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, and whatever else she never could remember. And one thing they do best is being loud. Which, coincidentally, is also the one thing Lilith hates the most. Well, aside from microfiber cloths and overhead lights. Actually, it’s better not to start. The list goes on and on.

People often tell her that without them, there would be no one to help with alien invasions and shit. But the same people also bemoan their wrecked cars and ruined home. 

Unfortunately, she's not in the place to have such an opinion. Having two superpowered parents means, well, she inherits the power. For all she knows, she could live a completely different path right now if the right people discovered her. But she wasn’t, and that’s fine. She's not bitter about it or anything. She's been living the good life as a magician at birthday parties, specialising in making things float in the air. It’s not the most prosperous job out there, but it’s nice that she can set her own time and don’t have to bother with putting on the happy mask, which is why she chose to be a magician instead of a clown. People think an unsmiling magician is mysterious, can’t say the same about clowns, though.

She's in no position to do the honourable thing to hide her identity when she’re barely making rent. If she can use her powers to pay her bills, then why won’t she? Who’s going to stop her, anyway? It’s not like she was out here hurting anyone, so honestly people can go f—

She watches as a kid rammed into a tower of stacked can, causing it to collapse right in front of her. This is normally why they advise against zoning out in public. Before the cans could bury her under, she conjured an invisible shield around her, causing the cans to bounce off her instead.

“You okay?” A deep voice spoke besides her. She turned to look at him, removing her headphones to hear him better, but when she got a glimpse of a metal arm, her eyes snapped to the owner’s face to confirm her suspicion. It’s one of them. Well, if anything, it just confirms her initial statement. Although it’s hard to find it in her to resent this man. From what she saw of him, he was genetically blessed. 

“I’m okay,” she assured him, right before she took a step back, slipping over the cans, causing her to fall flat on her back. She has no idea which is worse, the pain or the embarrassment of having that witnessed. Until Mr. Superhero started laughing. Embarrassment, it is.

“Here, let me help you.” He said after he finished, pulling her up by the waist. 

“Thanks.” she muttered, now averting his gaze completely, confident that her heated cheeks meant she was now blushing. Time to change the topic.

“You’re…” she started, pointing at him, trying to remember his name. She was sure that he was the Winter Soldier before, but she doesn't know what he calls himself these days.

“James Barnes,” he offered her a handshake, which she took. But she can’t tear her eyes away from his metal arm, and she realises after that she probably looked like the biggest creep in town, staring at him like that.

“Sorry,” she started, looking down, to his side, his chest, hell, anywhere besides the arm and his face. “It’s just… it looks cool.”

He waves his hands. “You can stare however long you want to. I don’t mind.” Her eyebrows knit, trying to decipher if that was considered flirting or just a good-natured joke. She decides it’s the latter and gives him a smile.

“Thanks again.” She says before pushing her cart to leave the crime scene.

“Oh, and thanks for saving the world and stuff.” She adds, thinking about saying “thanks for her service”, but decides that’s enough of embarrassing herself today.

A/N: This was just for fun. Will be multi-chaptered. Should I make this a BuckyxReader or BuckyxReaderxSteve? Also, if anyone has any scene/dialogue/prompt that will fit, I am always open to explore them.

[d1stract-and-daydream]

Lesson (Kaz Brekker x reader)

Warning: smut. Part two of Pudding. Posted this on ao3 but might as well post here

You made a mistake. You thought you could wiggle your way into the locked room of the house you were breaking into, but didn't realize there was another locking mechanism after you've successfully picked the first one. This triggered the alarm, and you had to escape before they caught you. 

In the end, you decided to jump out of the small opening of a window, manipulating the air to cushion your fall. You escaped with minimal injuries, only a busted lip, and bruises on your right cheek. 

Everyone was glad that you were okay, everyone except Kaz. Oh, Kaz was furious. He was silent the entire ride back, and no one dared to make a sound for fear of angering him even further. You've never seen Kaz this angry, this quiet—surely they have had failed jobs before, right? Why is he treating this like it's more important than the other ones?

Kaz couldn't believe you would stray out of the plan like that. That room was not even one of the ones you were supposed to break into, and you blatantly ignored his warning when he told you to leave it. 

You need to be taught a lesson, and he's going to be one harsh teacher.

As soon as you arrived at the Barrel, everyone scampered to find something else to do, anything, just so they don't have to face Kaz while he's still livid. Jesper decided to man the bar while Inej went off to steal customers from the new gambling den just opened three buildings down from the Crow Club. Anika and Roeder chose to unwind from the failure by drinking and gambling, with no judgments from you.

They left you with Kaz in the carriage, the tension so thick it's suffocating. Not meeting his eyes, you whispered, "I'm gonna get cleaned up," pointing towards your injuries. 

Kaz put his fingers under your chin and lifted your face so you're looking him right in his eyes. His usual dark coffee now looks inky black. Maybe it was the lack of sunlight. Or maybe you're in deep, deep trouble. 

He traced his finger over your lips, and you flinched a little in pain, but why did you feel a familiar heat blooming in the way Kaz handled you like this? You felt his firm grip, saw his eyes scanning your face before ending at your lips, try to close your eyes...

When Kaz releases you and says "sort yourself out, and meet me at my room after," before leaving the carriage abruptly.

Oh, no. You're dead. 

Taking some sweet time in the shower, you run various simulations on how you're going to apologize to Kaz later. It's not that you're scared of him lashing out at you—no, not at all—you're more terrified of the fact that you've disappointed him. You realized that facing his wrath is a million times better than being told you're not good enough for the gang. 

***

Kaz is in his room, trying to keep busy by doing some paperwork and mentally re-running what happened earlier again and again. 

When he saw you fall out of that window... he only heard ringing. The world started to go out of focus while his eyes scanned for you—for any sign that you were okay. If anything were to happen to you, he'll blame himself. He'll have to live with it for the rest of his life—the fact that he cares, the truth that he'll switch places with you right then and there if it means breaking another leg. Please, please be okay, he repeated to himself over and over again. 

When you emerged from the bushes basically unharmed, relief took over him, before being replaced with anger and frustration. Suddenly all the nights he went to bed dreaming about you and the addition of having to face your mortality snowballed into one big frustrating mess, and now he's having really dark, obscene thoughts of you again, bent over him, cane marks slowly welting on your ass. 

Saints, she'll be the death of me.

***

The sun had set when you started making your way into Kaz's room, steps light and unsure. Anything can happen. Maybe he'll shout. Maybe he'll throw you out into the streets. Maybe he'll try to choke you. Well, that's not the worst thing that could happen. 

Three knocks on his door. "Enter." Has the paint on his door always been that shade of brown? 

You enter, then slowly close the door behind you. Taking a seat on the edge of his window, you manage a small "Kaz..." to gauge his temper. So far, unreadable. That's how he always is. Cold Kaz. Cruel Kaz.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" Still looking at some papers in his hands,

he finally speaks after an eternity of silence. 

"Yes," came your curt reply. Kaz finally looks at you, eyebrows raised as if to say: enlighten me, then.

"I wasn't supposed to go into that room," your tone breathy, " 'twas not part of the plan." 

"So why did you?"

"I-I thought that a room locked tight like that means the owner must've hidden something important. I'm sure if I came through the window, I won't trigger any alarms, and we'll stumble into something big."

Another 5 minutes of silence. 

"Do you know what happens when you don't follow the plan, grisha?" Kaz grips his cane to help him up. "People get hurt. And in this business, getting hurt means dying."

You look up at him, unaware that your head was down this whole time. 

"I didn't know there was a second lock!"

Ugh, you hate this, hate how you can't even look at his face without tears threatening to escape. 

"I just—I thought you'd be proud of me when I managed to go through that first one, see how good I was. I guess I didn't really think—"

"That your actions have consequences? That you might've cost someone their life? Why would you think your little lockpicking success would matter in the face of life and death?"

You stay silent. Try to keep your composure. Crying will not help, in fact, it'll only make it worse. What boss wants someone who can't even face confrontation properly?

He's right, it doesn't. Looking back now, it all seems so silly. Why were you trying so hard to impress Kaz Brekker?

And just like that, droplets of tears escape your bleary eyes. 

Not good enough repeating itself over and over in your head. Your mother's words. Your father's look. 

You need to get out of here, but your feet are locked in place. Your thoughts keeping you caged at that moment. 

Kaz didn't mean to raise his voice. He was just trying to make you understand that next time, luck won't be on your side. You almost died, and he was scared. He never meant to make you question your worth, but he doesn't know what's running through your mind at that moment. He sees the tears hanging on your chin, contemplating whether to let them dry on their own, or use his hands to wipe them off.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, "It won't happen again." You start to leave before Kaz has a chance to threaten your position. Right as you reach to open his door, you feel a pull on your wrist. You look and find Kaz's gloved hand wrapped around it firmly.

Your eyes met his." No, it won't," he repeats, "because if it does, then I'll lose you."

He pulls you into him and looks into your eyes, and you can see worry etched across the lines on his face. "And I can't—I won't—let that happen." Before you could answer, his lips kiss the tears on your cheeks in silent apology. You're safe. Whatever ruminating thoughts he had in his head earlier, it's now replaced with a new sense of urgency. His lips chase the tears away from you, but he stops right at the corner of your lips, not wanting to push further, afraid that he'll scare you away.

"Kaz..." Your mind is buzzing. The kisses left patches of warmth on your skin, suddenly growing hungry, wanting more. You crash your lips into his, teeth clashing over the sudden impact. Kaz is a little surprised at first, but very quickly melts into your kiss, being very careful to not bust your lips open again.

"Careful, you're injured," Kaz reminded you after breaking the kiss, his breathy voice making you shiver. 

"So, does this mean you're not kicking me out?"

Kaz rolls his eyes, "Why would I do that?"

"Because I messed up? Although in my defense, no one told me—”

"Stop talking before I make you. I'm not kicking you out. You're a part of us now, and you can't get rid of us that easily. You're stuck with us, stuck with me now."

"Well," you answered, purposely trying to rile him up. He glares at you, reminding you of his threat earlier. "I suppose being stuck with you is not the worst thing in the w—”

Kaz trails kissed down your jaw, to your neck, sucking deeply to leave a mark there. You moan involuntarily, and Kaz decided that was one of the prettiest sounds he ever heard, and makes it his mission to elicit as much of it out of you as he can. 

He sits on the edge of his bed and settles your standing form in between his legs, then proceeds to have his taste.

You close your eyes, no longer able to think about anything besides how good this feels. Kaz's mouth lowered inch by inch, savoring your skin like a man deprived. You don't even realize it when he unbuttons your shirt and exposes your skin underneath his lust-blown gaze. Of course, he should've known that you don't like to wear anything under your shirt, judging by your constant choice of loose clothing. He licks down the middle of your chest and you whine when he takes his sweet time on your skin, making a mental map of every curve, every scar, every mark that litters your body. "Kaz, please,"

He stills. "Please what?" You take his hands and place his palm on your breast, wanting him to do more than just leave kisses. "Now you stop talking, huh? This won't do. If you want me to do something, you have to tell me. Use your words." 

"Kaz, I want m-more. Please make me feel good."

He smirked and palms your breast roughly—gloved hands providing just enough friction—mouth latching over your other nipple. Your legs go wobbly over his ministrations, so he pulls you to straddle his thighs after he unbuttons your pants. He pulls his gloves off with his teeth, making you clamp on his thighs, arousal leaking on his trousers.

"No panties, either?" Kaz's head tilts up to you. You shrug in reply, your smug smile disappearing when Kaz dips his fingers between your folds to collect some of your slick. 

"This wet already? Look at the mess you made on my pants....tsk," he says before licking his fingers, tasting you. You watch it all in awe, heat pooling at your core. Never in a million years would you think that you'd find yourself in this position. You kissed Kaz again, grinding yourself on the bulge in his pants, smirking when you manage to make him groan.

He puts you on his bed while he tries to undress, leaving his boxers on. You tangle your fingers in his hair while he licks the skin of your tummy, going lower and lower, heart beating fast at the anticipation. He parts your thighs and kneels before you, cock twitching at the sight. He wanted nothing more than to ruin you, but decided to take it slow for now. He kisses your inner thighs, enjoying the way your pussy clenches as he gets closer to your heat. You buck your hips, urging him to pick up his pace. Saints know how long you've wanted this. 

Sensing this, Kaz licks a stripe up your folds, making sure to put extra pressure on your clit. You moan at the sensation, a fresh wave of heat traveling up your spine. 

"Better than that damn pudding," he manages, before licking you like he hasn't eaten in days. He pays extra attention to your clit, inserting one finger into you and pumping in and out. 

Your hands pull at his hair and he groans, making his movements more fervent as he sees you enjoying it. "That's a good girl," he muttered, and he feels your pussy fluttering at the praise. He cocked his eyebrows, delighted to learn that about you. 

You can feel the coil tighten as he keeps his pace, but he's relentless. Every now and again he stops licking to suck on your clit, earning the most delicious moans out of you. His boxers are now stained with pre-cum, his covered cock angry to be inside you. He waited long enough for this. Surely he can wait a little longer.

"Kaz," you arch up slightly, a bead of sweat dripping down the back of your thighs "I-I'm " 

"Come."

The stern tone in his order does it for you. Your eyes roll back as he curls his finger slightly, stroking that deep spot in you that made you arch higher. Kaz smirks at the way you fall apart at his tongue and fingers, uttering small praises here and there now that he knows you like it.

He kneels in between you, waiting for a second to give you some space to breathe. Your eyes are closed because of how intense the orgasm is. Longing and frustration give one hell of a climax. You open your eyes and see Kaz just smiling, watching you, his cock straining under his boxers, a wet patch visible. “Had enough?” he questioned you, and you thought he was joking, but Kaz doesn’t do jokes. 

“Not a chance. You?" you reply, propping yourself up with your elbows.

"You already know my answer."

You sit up and pull him down for a kiss, licking every inch of his lips to taste yourself on him. Your hands search for the waistband of his boxers, pausing to palm him through it. He jolts forward and mutters a breathless "Saints," making you smile at the desperation. Kaz notices this and stops your hand, causing you to look at him in confusion.

"What do you want?" There's the Kaz you know. You proceed to tug his boxers down to answer, but he removes your hand from him. "Tsk," his fingers now find their way under your chin, making you look at him. Saints, he loves that look on your face. Half-lidded, blushing, and needy to be filled. Enough to make even the most irredeemable non-believer sing verses of prayer like he grew up on it.

"Thought I told you to use your words." he reminded you, his fingers encircling your wrist. You whine, because how could he not understand? You want him inside you, feel him stretching you out, want him to make you feel complete.

"Darling," 

"I want you to fuck me, Kaz. Want your cock in me, please? And if you don't stop it with the nicknames—"

Kaz tilted his head, prompting you to continue.

"Then you're gonna have to burn these bed sheets after today." 

Kaz snickered, guiding your hands to the waistband, and you noticed how big his hands are compared to yours.

"See? That's not so hard to say," he told you. And feel free to leave your scent on my bed before you go.

He releases his cock at your request, and you drool at the sight of it. You lurch forward to lick the precum on his head, then try to take him in your mouth. Keyword tried. You only managed halfway through before his head hit the back of your throat and made your eyes water. Still, Kaz enjoyed it all the same, his hands gripping your head, struggling to not thrust deeper into you.

After making sure you got his cock all wet, he instructs you to lie down and chuckles when you do it so eagerly. He pulls you to the edge of his bed and kneels in between your thighs, rubbing your folds with his cock. You bite your lips as he coats his hard length with your slick, hitting your bundle of nerves so deliciously as new waves of arousal seep out of you. Slowly, he pushes his tip in while he pins your hips down, making sure you adjust to his size. You never pin Kaz as someone capable of being this gentle, especially given his reputation as Dirtyhands. Suddenly your heart feels full—as full as your pussy, spasming over his cock when he finally buried himself in you.

"That's it, taking me so well," Kaz praises as he sets a steady pace pumping into you. You sob as you feel the ridges of his length massaging your walls and hitting that spot that stokes the fire in you every time he moves. When you feel the familiar coil tightening, you start to buck your hips to meet his thrusts. "Kaz, harder," you whispered, and he started pounding into you at a brutal pace. You bite your lips to contain yourself, but Kaz slaps your clit in disapproval." I want to hear every little sound coming out of that pretty mouth," he tells you as he pins both of your hands up your head, his pace stuttering as he's close. "Yes s-sir," you answered, and you can feel Kaz's cock twitching inside you.

"Saints, you feel so good around me," he bends to whisper in your ear, his hand on your clit in furious circles. You're so, so close now, and by the way Kaz is thrusting, so is he. Your hands find their way on his back, scratching him, pleasure too overpowering to care about the marks you're leaving.

"Come for me, darling," Kaz orders, and your mouth falls open as your body rides the waves of delicious orgasm, spasming involuntarily. Kaz pulls out and you feel warm spurts of come painting your stomach, and when you open your eyes you see him standing over you, admiring you like a piece of art.

He dons on a robe before leaving, promptly returning with a soft damp cloth to wipe you off. You wrap your fingers around his wrist as he does, and Kaz looks at you, the soft glow of light through his windows hitting the apple of your cheeks as you smile. He's not religious by any means, but how many times have he uttered ‘saints’ because of you? His heart skips a beat. He reaches up to caress you—wanting to ask you millions of questions all of a sudden—but for now, he'll let the moment ingrain itself into his brain and ask you about them tomorrow . 

Part 1

[d1stract-and-daydream]

Pudding (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

Summary: Kaz sits next to the reader by the bar, and it gets harder and harder for him to control his thoughts.

WC: 1.7k

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, sexual frustration.

A/N: I love Kanej with all my heart but I can't stop thinking about this idea so I decided to just write it so I'll be able to move on to other fics. I also might write a second part to this, which may or may not include smut.

Kaz's eyes fixate on your lips. Cursed pudding. He knows they're tasty—and so they're your favourite—but every time you scoop some into your mouth and close your eyes to savour the taste, an image of you spread before him starts swarming his mind.

His gaze moves towards your neck when you swallow, the sudden urge to attack your soft skin with his lips drowning his other thoughts—thoughts that should've been more important than this. It took him years to learn how to be okay with skin to skin contact again, and now that he can tolerate it, the more primal of human urges fizzes within him,threatening to bubble out onto the surface.

You hum in bliss, not realising there was a trace of pudding right at the corner of your mouth. Kaz's head starts spinning at the idea of swiping it off with his tongue, tasting you, tasting that goddamn pudding off your mouth. 

Ghezen, he mumbled, gloved hand flexing over a shot glass full of whiskey, his third one for the night. He's not sure if he's using alcohol to distract himself—or give him the willpower to sweep you off your feet and make you pay for the endless nights (and days) of frustration you've unknowingly caused him.

He doesn't know how long he stared at you until your eyes met his. When they did, you were smiling shyly at him. He looked away quickly and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Kaz, you want some?" You offered it to him, that sweet tone in your voice making his heart flutter and dick twitch. He studies your face, confused—because normally, you're not one to share. It doesn’t matter anyway, there’s something else way sweeter he’d rather taste than chocolate pudding. 

"No, I don't want to deprive you—and you have some over there," he points out, not missing the deflate in your tone when he refused your offer. 

"Oh—oops," you swipe your lips with your middle finger and proceed to suck the pudding right off it. Kaz lets out a hiss. It almost seems like you were stirring him on purpose, but he's pretty sure you're just that oblivious. Your tongue chases the chocolate smearing your finger, and suddenly he's thinking of you on your knees, lips swollen and wrapped around him, tears running down your cheeks as you choke on his aching cock. 

His left hand grips his cane tighter, looking for relief in other ways except that. He's the Bastard of the Barrel. He can survive this night without giving into the myriad of ideas he had involving you under him.

"One more shot, Jesper," perhaps saturating himself with more whiskey will help ease the longing,unfortunately it's not working as well as he wants it to.

Jesper studied how Kaz acts around you tonight. And many other nights before this. He gossips about it with Inej sometimes, too. They've noticed how Kaz's eyes will wander all over you when he thinks nobody's watching. "Here you go," he slides the glass to Kaz, trying his best to talk about the plans of the upcoming job that involve some jewels worth hundreds of thousands of kruge.

Alas, they might need to discuss this another time, some day where Kaz is not distracted by the sight of a pretty lady shovelling pudding into her mouth. Jesper doesn't blame him, you're very attractive—hell, he'd make a move if he didn't know Kaz secretly wants you. He also didn't blame you, because he's the one who introduced you to the place that sells that pudding, and he knows just how good it is for you to be eating it that sensually. 

"Tomorrow, then," he tells Kaz—or tries to. He's pretty sure Kaz wasn't even paying attention to anything else that had happened the past half an hour. Somebody can literally be cheating in on his Three Man Bramble table right then and he won’t even notice.

An hour has passed and it's getting late. You stood up to say your goodnights before heading back into your room in the Slat. You were an unexpected addition to the Dregs, recruited because you have fast fingers and light on your feet. That’s just a nicer way to say you were the only one who managed to pickpocket Kaz. Inej thinks she can train you to do what she does ,going into hard to reach places and stealing the secrets of important—and mostly dangerous people. The fact that you can control air is a huge bonus too. They can get away with taking bigger and heavier antiques using your abilities.'Business' is booming with you as their new addition.

You bat your eyelashes at the boys—your light and flirty ways of interacting a breath of fresh air among the Dregs. "See you guys tomorrow," casting one last look at Kaz, a last ditch effort at casting your lure. You had an inkling that Kaz might have the hots for you, but maybe you were just projecting. Oh, well. Perhaps you misinterpreted the way he looks at you, but after waiting for months for him to make the first move, maybe you should've just taken the hint. Rejection sucks, but you'll survive. Guess it'll be you, your hands, and your overactive imagination again tonight. 

Kaz lets out a sigh of relief as he watches your figure disappear into the night. He stretches his hands, surprised to find out how tense he had been. 

"We'll talk about this tomorrow, Jesper. I'm a bit wound up at the moment." Jesper snorts. 

Raising an eyebrow, Kaz asks, "What's so funny?" 

"Really?" Jesper retorts, "How long are you gonna spend pining over her?"

"I'm not pining. Over anyone. Now pour me another shot. And no further talk about this unless you want to sleep on the streets tonight."

Jesper raises his hands in defeat, choosing not to press further. The prospect of not having a warm bed to sleep in does not sound good to him. He pours Kaz's drink and slides it to him. Maybe sleeping on the street for one night is worth it if it means his boss will finally find someone. At the very least , he was hoping that getting his boss laid will mellow him a little. 

"You know," Jesper starts collecting all the empty glasses on the bar while Kaz tries to down his shot , "She's always joking around me and Inej that she'd sit on your face if you'd asked her to..." 

Kaz choked on his whiskey, his eyes glistening from the burn in his throat. "But of course, that might just be her delightful sense of humour," Jesper added, trying his best not to let out a chuckle and risk getting even more in trouble.

Jesper never missed the telltale signs of longing in your voice when Kaz's name was brought up, but he advises that this was not something wise to pursue—because everyone in the barrel knows just how dangerous of a man Kaz is. Trying to make a living in Ketterdam is dangerous. Trying to make a living in the Barrel—under Dirtyhands himself—makes life and death seem like a game of poker. You never know what hands you’d be dealt with each day.

You're stubborn, though. It's what your parents kept telling you ever since you're a kid. So, despite his reputation, you can’t help yourself from harbouring some sort of feelings for him. Initially, Jesper believed that you were into him more than he was into you. Well, after tonight, he’s not so sure of that anymore. It seems like the tension was mutual on both sides. 

"Jesper," Kaz warned. A dark edge to his tone, as he started visualising the scenario Jesper had put in his mind. A tent was forming in his pants. He'll need an ice-cold shower if he wants to be able to sleep tonight.

"Hey, it's not my fault you two looked at each other like that." 

"Like what?" 

"You know, like that—" his eyes roam the room looking for the right words, "like nothing else in the room exists except for you two."

Kaz scoffs,the choice of words Jesper had chosen a little too out of place with his way of life. It sounds too ...romantic. Kaz doesn't do romance. 

Shrugging at the scornful look on Kaz's face, Jesper continues, "and Inej told me—not to tell you of course—that the feeling is mutual, so I don't see why you have to keep all this," he gestures, "contained."

Kaz glares at Jesper, patience running thin. Why his sharpshooter had bothered telling him this, he had no idea. If it's true, though, then maybe… No. He can’t allow himself to think about it. If his thoughts start roaming again, sooner or later he’ll find himself outside your room and it’ll be too late before he realises the mistake he’d made. Any kind of connection with him makes you a liability—and the idea of someone using you to get to him is enough to make him want to send you far away from Ketterdam. But five shots of whiskey are enough to skew even the most sturdy of decisions. 

Before he has the time to process, he stands off his seat at the bar and makes his way into the Slat. He breezes through the flight of stairs leading to your room, and just as he was about to knock—he heard you. 

“Kaz,please,” you moaned—voice muffled,but it was unmistakable. You were moaning his name and the tightness in his pants prompts him to adjust himself. The whole ordeal sobered him up.

“What am I doing?” he scolds himself, rushing away from your doors into his room.

He wanted so much to stay and listen to you, to join in when he couldn’t take it anymore, but he can’t. There’s too much at stake. 

Kaz spends the night stroking himself, seeking for any kind of relief. Even as he lays there, empty, he still can’t get the thought of you, writhing on your bed, out of his head. After tossing and turning—and making himself come once again—he finally manages to fall into a restless slumber.

[d1stract-and-daydream]

You Made it Easy(Nikolai Lantsov x F!Inferni!Reader)

Words: 2.7k

Summary: Reader looks back to all the time her life had been entwined with Nikolai's.

It's easy to like Nikolai Lantsov.

You remember the first time you met the golden-haired prince. They tested you for your abilities the same day as your brother. Both Summoners, like your parents. You were 10—bright, curious, and very, very lost. Turns out you've inherited your father’s terrible sense of direction, too. 

You bumped into this boy while looking for your way to combat training. 

Your brother had already settled himself into the typical Summoner clique, so you often had to wander the halls of the Little Palace alone. The boy had invited you to join in on a prank—till this day you still haven’t figured out who was on the receiving end of those dreadful stink bombs—and the rest is history. 

Almost everyone likes Nikolai. Even when they don’t, there’s at least one thing that makes him salvageable in the eyes of the utmost spiteful. For you, that redeemable quality is that he pays attention. To you, to everyone. Even to the guards who frequently patrol the palace. He remembers details about their family. Knows when their birthday is. He never misses yours. 

Every year, you can expect a personalized gift from him—usually relating to what you were into in that particular period—and he never disappoints. 

One of your favourites: a commissioned painting of a crescent moon gilded by multicolored stars. 

“For your collection,” he explained, beaming. You have always loved the night sky, and consider constellations more magical than your ability to control fire.

His gifts littered the shelves in your bedroom and filled up the space in your heart.

“You keep surpassing yourself,” you mentioned to him one day, “If you keep this up, you’ll have to bring me the moon by the time I turn 25.” 

You were serious, but all he did was laugh and say, “how else am I going to compensate you for all the times you had to deal with me?”

Your eyebrows arched, lips pursed. There is truth in that. You think back to the multiple times he asked you to light something on fire, calling you his little inferni, like a cute pet name is enough to get you out of punishment. Then he continued — and you remember his words as clear as day — “I'd bring you the moon if I have to.”

How can you not like him? He was the only one to ever make you laugh until you struggled to breathe. When he enters a room, even the dull yellows of the wall become a burst of vivid sunshine. He cares. He notices. Even when you try to hide parts of yourself—the good and the bad, he notices. 

You remember the day you received news of your brother’s death. Remember the crushing feeling as the air was punched out of your lungs. Running to a secluded part of the gardens surrounding the Little Palace for a space, any space, to process. No one knew what happened yet, but Nikolai knew. Somehow, he had read your face and figured out what happened. He was by your side as you fell to your knees, your blue Kefta dirtied by soil. You let yourself fall into the crook of his elbow, your tears leaving indigo blobs on his favourite pale blue jacket. 

Even after that—weeks, months after—he’ll still drop whatever he was doing to pull you aside and whisper “you okay?” when he’d catch your eyes glazed over by a memory. 

As much as he was there for you—you were there for him, too. 

You recall days of toiling under the sun together on Dominik’s family farm. Mitkin’s approach to getting Nikolai to behave still angers you to this day, but it brought Dominik into your lives. 

That day, the infamous duo becomes a trio, although the number of shenanigans has dwindled. You have no qualms about it though, as you spent more and more time with Nikolai—and as you grew older—the amount of gossip concerning the nature of your friendship with him had grown too. You hated the idea of having to be separated from him because of a couple of blabbermouths, so you were relieved the day the universe introduced Dominik to the both of you. Plus, you can always count on him to pull the reins on Nikolai every now and then. You know, for when his hands are itching for some trouble.

You often reminisce about that one snowy day during the feast of Sankt Nikolai. Nikolai claimed that the celebration was for him, and thus the three of you were to put on your best disguise so you can explore the towns like normal kids with normal lives. Dominik was reluctant, saying that he didn’t want to be the third wheel, but you told him it was more like being bodyguards to the prince with a penchant for mischief. Nikolai treated you and Dom to all the sweets you can eat, so it was worth having to babysit him. That day ended with the three of you in the palace garden, huddled by a bonfire and scaring each other with made-up ghost stories.

Alas—your trio didn’t last. Vasily caught you returning from the farm on one fine evening and—despite your effort in trying to convince him that it was your idea—they barred Dominik from ever entering the palace ever again. It didn’t stop you or Nikolai from going out of your way to help Dominik and his family, though you can definitely feel the space in your friendship when he left.

The year he went away with Dominik to serve in the First Army, you recalled nights of ink-stained fingers. Exchanged letters piled up in your night desk drawer. The emptiness was growing too rapidly for the letters to fill. You missed him. You yearn for his presence, his laugh, the glint in his eyes when he’s thinking of something devious. He was your best friend—your oldest friend. You kept his scribbly I wish you were heres tucked neatly into your brain, and pulled it out whenever you needed a reason to keep going. But it was not enough. It was never enough.

You put in a request to be stationed at the camp right before the Sikurzoi, hoping for a distraction. That year, both you and Nikolai experienced the trauma of battle. You lose someone as easily as you met them. Eventually, you grow weary of forming new connections, and each loss adds an extra layer of brick to your walls. It’s true what they say, war changes you. You both stopped writing to each other after news of Dominik’s death. Your days were busy witnessing destruction. 

Every day, you woke up with dread, eyes and ears attuned to any conversation regarding him. You realised that you were trying to prepare yourself for the worst, for news of the death of Ravka’s beloved prince. It was the loneliest moment of your life.

When the Darkling terrorized Ravka, you knew you had to go back and help protect Os Alta soon. That’s what you have trained for, anyway. You’ve also heard the words that Nikolai Lantsov has returned. Following the news,you arrange for a carriage back as soon as you can, eager to return to your warm bed in the little palace—and to Nikolai. There are so many things you wanted to tell him. The breathtaking views of the mountain. The back pain you develop from sleeping on hard ground. The blood on your hands. The nightmares. Then you stop yourself. What if Nikolai had forgotten about you?  

On your third day back, you didn’t expect to see Nikolai—you were sure that he was too busy playing house with the Sun Summoner—still with that shine in his eyes. He looks a little battle-hardened, but the rest of his personality seemed intact. You approached him with small hesitant steps, ready to turn around just in case your presence was intruding.

He turned to you, and his lopsided smile waters the garden in you that you thought was long dead. How did he do that?

Still, a part of you was a little mad that he didn’t return immediately after his service in the army ended. You waited for him, expecting his return—even started writing back to him again—and all you got was silence. The least he could do was send you a pigeon.

You gave him a small smile, not sure how to emote the tumultuous feelings he stirred within you. 

“Not happy to see me?” He asked. You opened your mouth to answer, and suddenly all those months of pushing shit down resurfaces. He was always there, and then he wasn’t. You thought he was your friend, but he left you hanging. Not a single word in 3 years. You thought he was dead. Tears threatened to spill, and you retreated away from Nikolai’s open arms. “Sweetheart?” Nikolai called out to you, his voice dampened by your shallow breathing. 

You ran, as quick as your legs could go, and before realising it, found that you had returned to that very same place where Nikolai had first comforted you. Only at that moment, you were sure no one was going to be there for you. You were on your knees once more, and this time you had planned to crawl into the earth beneath you and let it swallow you whole. The screams of the enemy and your fellow soldiers threaten to pull you apart limb by limb when you feel arms encircling you in a tight embrace. You registered Nikolai’s smell — that woodsy scent that you have always found comforting — hung onto it like it was your lifeline, convinced that you would crumble into ashes if you were to let him go.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. You remembered feeling droplets on your hair. “I should not have left you alone.” 

You still smile when you recall him stroking your cheeks, calloused hands gentle against your skin. You replay that day again and again to ground yourself instead of letting your past gnaw at your sanity. Turns out, falling in love with Nikolai is as easy as liking him. 

You made a promise to always be there for each other no matter what hell you were going through. You supported him as he aimed to prove his worthiness for the Ravkan throne. “The country needs saving,” he declared, on one starless night, when you were both by the lake, cheeks warmed by Ravkan liquor. You nodded in reply, but to tell the truth, you were way more focused on the way the light from your flames bounced in his eyes—making them seem more golden than green. Your hands flex involuntarily, wanting to trace his jaw with your fingers, and you lick your lips at the thought of tasting the liquor from his. You regretted not doing that when you had the chance. 

The both of you fought for your country together with what’s left of the Grisha. You let him hide his face in your arms when he felt that he failed to protect his people from another attack. He lost Vasily. Lost his soldiers. Lost Ravkan lives, and that hit him the hardest. You told him it was not his fault—that he didn’t plan for an ambush to happen. He can’t save everyone. You know very well that when people depend their lives on you, every death takes its toll on your humanity. So you made sure to always be there for Nikolai, side by side, just as you did many years ago.

One memory you hold dear to you is the night Nikolai invited you for a test run aboard the Kingfisher. It was your first time being so high up in the sky, and your heart still flutters when you remember the feel of Nikolai’s warm hand on the small of your back, rubbing small circles of reassurance. “I wanted to bring the stars closer to you,” he told you, and you remember your heart thumping in your ears, feeling your insides swell until something was about to burst. This is why loving Nikolai is so easy.

You were there to witness the Darkling infecting him with his nichevo’ya, watching as his eyes go from brilliant hazel to an abyss black. Like Alina, you believed that he could still be saved, and you never once gave up hope.

“Your side, always,” you had told him time and time again, and each time he'd reply with a straight “Always.” 

That had been the essence of your relationship with him, a friendship that can last a lifetime. 

Still, you had to brace yourself with the idea of losing him—but you were a soldier. You’ve dealt with loss before. You had no time to grieve then, and you planned to push all that down until after the Darkling had been defeated. That was how you had always dealt with it when there was no one there. But Nikolai had always been as lucky as he was resourceful, and he somehow managed to return to his country unscathed. 

One night—sometime after the Fold had been destroyed—you woke up to strangled breathing on the side of your bed. You strike your flint to light up your room and discover a ghastly creature: black eyes, talons, and ripped wings, staring at you. Then you realize—it was Nikolai. The nichevo’ya hasn’t left him. You send a ball of flame big enough to scare him away and go down immediately to report your findings to Zoya. 

Nikolai did not take the discovery well. Little by little, he retreated further away from you and trusted Zoya to attend to him. You tried to talk to him, and offer him comfort, but he busied himself with so many events that it’s hard to even get any time to ask him about it. You wanted to tell him that you weren't scared of him. That first night, you were more terrified of losing him than losing your life. Every time you passed by each other, the confident persona Nikolai had adopted around his people wavered. He stood tall still—he is a king, after all, but he never looked directly at you. You can tell by then that things will never go back to the way it was. 

You were reconciled by the fact that he has the Triumvirate to help him, and since you looked up to Zoya, you believed that he was in capable hands. He will talk to you if he’s ready. 

In the meantime, you have once again requested to be stationed somewhere away from Os Alta. Zoya came to you one day with a proposition, sending you off to Fjerda undercover to help the Hringsa with their plans. You accepted the assignment, knowing full well the danger that will follow. Still, you thought it was better this way instead of waiting around the little palace for Nikolai to come to his senses.

You watch as Zoya leaves his chambers every night, wanting to claw the pain away from your chest. You knew she was there to chain him up and keep the creature from escaping at night, but how can your heart possibly tell the difference? 

Two days before you left for Fjerda, you locked yourself in your room to pen Nikolai a heartfelt letter. Tried your best to tell him how thankful you were for all those years of warmth and friendship, and that you were sorry if you ever did anything wrong. You considered scraping it off when you see your words smudged over by tears, but found that it’s quite a fitting look for a goodbye letter. You went back and forth between wanting to tell him how you felt about him or omitting that part entirely so you won’t have to embarrass yourself. In the end, you settled for a measly paragraph, head swarming with too many thoughts to keep it coherent. He’ll understand. Or not. You’re not so sure anymore.You had planned to tell him about your feelings in person one day — but it seems like that day will never arrive. Certainly not now, not ever, when it seems like something deeper is blooming between him and Zoya. The lingering stares. Unspoken words. Moments too intimate for it to be just friends. You understand. Your heart feels like it is stabbed by jagged daggers, but you understand. It’s so easy to fall in love with Nikolai Lantsov. The only hard part is, however, watching Nikolai fall in love with someone else.

A/N: Made a new tumblr to post fics. This was initially a one-shot of friends to unrequited love but I don't like sad endings so here I am at 2 am plot lining a fic that follows Nikolai and reader(but I'll make it OC) while she's in Fjerda.